My first experience being hospitalized for depression came after an extremely emotional and tearful conversation with a counselor on Kids Help Phone. I was in grade 10, and it was in march, so I must have been 15. (This was after years of different ways to deal with my unhappiness, such as eating only carrots in grade seven. I lost 20 pounds in a month. Not eating didn’t work, so I guess emotional eating was just inevitable.) I remember walking in the cold, rainy weather thirty minutes to the emergency room. I was in tears, my eyes hurt and when I got there, all I wanted to do was sleep. I remember being completely disoriented. I don’t remember exactly what happened, I was in a private room for probably an hour or maybe a few hours. I walked down this long hallway after being told I was being admitted to the child and adolescent ward of the hospital. I was walking with a nice lady and arrived up on floor 6 to a strange place where she took my phone and took me to my carpeted room with a bed, window and bathroom. She gave me some hospital pants and a gown and told me to go to sleep and they would sort everything out in the morning.
I woke up in the morning, my eyes stinging, my hair disheveled and feeling ugly and embarrassed and scared. Nobody came to my room for the long while I just sat on my bed and thought about what had happened to lead me to this place. I was nervous to open my door and saw a strange not-really-a-hallway-but-not-a-room area with a few doors, and a hallway at the end. I didn’t see any people, and didn’t hear anybody. Eventually somebody came to see me from the nurse’s station and gave me ten thousand questionnaires and surveys. In the in-patient unit, they tell you that people usually stay for 3 day to 2 weeks. I was there for 36 days. There was a whiteboard with every patients name and their nurse for that day, and their psychiatrist. There were only five or six of us there.
I remember every detail about that unit, and every emotion. It was very confusing. I met a girl there, let’s call her A. She and I were the most normal people there. There was an angry 7 year old, an anorexic little girl (who A was friends with, because she was re-admitted a few days after me, and already knew this girl) a kind of girl, and a schizophrenic boy a year or two older than me and I don’t remember who else. A and I ended up sharing a room eventually, which was nice because we talked about things that we weren’t allowed to talk about in the lounge. We couldn’t talk about our treatment, feelings, emotions, or anything in the lounge. It was a place where we played cards, played wii and drew pictures.
I was in hospital because I was about to kill myself and knew that it was wrong to do that. I knew I shouldn’t kill myself, but I was standing there with the rope ready to do it, and that scared me. I was so unhappy with my lack of friends, fatness, everything about my life sucked at the time. I didn’t have anything to look forward too, and looking back I don’t know how I pushed on as long as I did. My family life at home was terrible. I needed to get away and sort out myself. I told myself that if I had a gun that night, I would be dead. Being an inpatient, you went to the school – through the locked doors of the unit, and down the hall, on the way to where the sick old people who are dying were. After they threatened to send me to regional which is like the unit I was in, but specifically for teenagers with mental health issues, no children, no eating disorder patients. I eventually decided to leave the hospital, against doctors orders. I was then an outpatient (along with A) going to school at another part of the hospital with a bunch of other teenagers. It was also pretty pathetic. We spent our days in the one-room school at the end of the hallway, and had group, and ate lunch around one big table. The eating disorder out patients were down the same hall as our school room.
Outpatient was also like having nothing to look forward too, and when I’d been there for a few months, I decided to take myself out. It was summer then, and I didn’t want to spend my summer waking up at 7 to go to a place I didn’t feel like I needed. All the people who were there when I was admitted were gone now, and I just didn’t like it. So I left. I spent that summer gaining weight.
The next school year, I was at a different school so I wouldn’t have to explained why I disappeared the day we were all going to take our Literacy Test. This new school was fine. It was nice. I was starting in grade 11, so everybody already had their friends, cliques and such. Whatever. It was fine. But then it started again, I slept all day, missed school, and eventually landed myself in the ADULT psychiatric ward. I was admitted as an adult because I was 16, and had to spend the night in a room that locked from the outside, with everything bolted down, straps on the bed, a camera in the room and the communal bathroom had no seat, no mirror. It was like prison.
I’m kind of fuzzy about this, because I know I was only there for three days, but somehow lost 3 of 4 credits that semester. I don’t remember if this happened first semester, or second, because I don’t remember anything about that year except what I just said, and where my locker was. It’s like a school year just disappeared. I remember being sent to the adult psych ward again, and then ending up in regional. I don’t remember when, but I know that I turned 17 in the hospital. I was at regional for three months, I believe. It was actually kind of nice there. A boys hallway, a girls hallway, and there was only about 7 people there. The maximum was 12. Some people stayed for a few days, but there was a few of us that became friends. H – fashionista was like me, depression, and had the same name. She was closest friends with L – beautiful, who was also like me, depression. T – tattoo was a self harmer, and dispite her appearance of thick eyeliner, strange clothing and piercings, we became friends and still talk. K – horses was also there when I got there, she was a self harmer who I became closest with – we ended up sharing a room there too. She had been raped and molested, almost like an acceptable reason to be depressed (while I was just sad because I was sad). There was also K – wii who didn’t talk, and played wii all the time. I think there was another boy, but I don’t remember.
Those were the people there when I was admitted. I stayed to myself at the beginning, because I didn’t look like any of them. I was wearing abercrombie, and lululemon, and always tried to look nice. I wanted to look happy. We spent every single hour of the day together, though, stuck in that large unit together. I could talk with them about taboo things, and we all cried, laughed, cut up pieces of magazines and learned together. We spilled ourselves in group, and watched TV together after program was done. K and I ended up sharing a room, we snuck food in through the window that only opened a few inches. We cried, and laughed together, I helped guard the door while she smoked out the window, we sprayed perfume, wrote on the walls in chalk and in sharpies. We shined a laser pointer on the staff as they walked to their cars. We laid on our beds and talked, made crafts, cleaned up our room that somehow became very messy, very fast. I still text her a lot, and though she lives an hour away, I wish I could see her more. We get a long, and if she’s reading this, she knows I love her.
V – click,click was a strange and beautiful girl, who we (H fashionista, L beautiful, K horses, T tattoo, A stab, N smile, L halo and A skinny) all agreed was a sociopath, borderline psychopath. I’m always going to remember her because she was so … strange. She was very self absorbed, she was beautiful beyond anything, she talked with a strange I’m-better-than-you voice, and (I shared a room at the beginning with her) she didn’t move in her sleep. She was just strange, totally content with being in her own superficial world.
A – Stab was a boy who arrived after me. A kid escaping juvy with an unexplainable mystery that I was attracted to. A – skinny was a girl who I had met in out patient, although she was in the eating disorders program. She appeared to be shy and fragile, but after we all got to know each other, she was a survivor of sexual abuse in the family, relationships and PTSD. N – smile arrived later, I met her on a Friday, when I was leaving for the weekend. She was a lesbian who was addicted to hardcore drugs. She was actually so friendly and sweet. D -small arrived and stirred up trouble, didn’t really talk with her. L – halo arrived too, and she and N became close – also sharing a room eventually. And finally A -hair a very disturbed and socially challenged girl, same age as me.
From my months at regional I learned most of all, not to judge somebody by how they look. Or what they show you. I learned things in groups, and how I am so similar to almost everybody there. I also learned that I was extremely fake. Like my mum. I learned so many things from regional, and I NEEDED to go there, and have that experience. I’m grateful for it, and know that had I not hit rock bottom and ended up there, I wouldn’t be who I am. I still talk to K, T and N regularly, and the others on facebook. I remember them by DHAKLANa each letter represents a name. Doug, Hfashionista, Askinny, Khorses, Lbeautiful, Astab, Nsmile, alauna(art therapist).
The new year, my grade 12 year, I spent the first semester in alternative education because I had been so unable to get to class the last year. Now second semester, I’m enjoying my classes, and know myself a bit better.
I don’t know exactly when it happened, but I believe I’m happy. For my entire memory, I’ve only been unhappy. I remember running away once when I was littler, and ending up in this oriental couples house that smelled like cigarettes. I remember crying my eyes out and telling my mum I can’t take it anymore when I was nine years old. I’m behind a year now, and don’t really have a lot of friends. My friends from my two previous schools have all melted away, and my friends from elementary school have all become close to each other, but have become acquaintances to me. I know from experience that being unhappy and being unable to function doesn’t get you anywhere but thrown in a psych ward.
I think what I just talked about was only the physical side of it. What happened. But what happened inside, the realizations, the questions, everything would just take too long. I cried. I cried a lot. I was on many different medications, tried to kill myself, and discovered that I’m a thinker. Looking back on the last few years, was hard. I couldn’t remember a lot of details, but I’m sure if I looked through my journals they’d all come rushing back to me.
A lot of my problems were rooted family issues, because I spent most of my time in my house, surrounded by negativity and yelling. Not everybody is blessed with a happy family, and if you’re not strong enough like me, you have a mid-life crisis before you’re sixteen. I still have my days, but I’m essentially happy now. It was not even a year ago I was in hospital being watched always, and having medication become not optional. I suffered from depression. Through this experience, I gained weight, and it’s ironic because I’m at my heaviest now, and I can honestly say that I’ve never been happier. Some parts, like the doctors meetings, the clerks interviews, the not being allowed to go outside, or take walks without supervision, and the being treated like I was stupid, were not a good experience at the time, but I’ve learned that EVERYTHING is an experience, and you can learn from everything that happens.
I know now that I have to take care of myself. "take care of number one and be a little selfish. I need to make sure that I am doing good, before I can concern myself with anybody else. That may sound selfish, but if I don’t look after my emotional needs, nobody else will, and I’ll just end up in the adult ward again. I found something that I love, and am passionate about, and it keeps me sane. I’ve grown and become very much my own woman. I’m happy with myself, and don’t let things affect me so deeply and personally as they used to. I’m strong now. My story of hospitalization, friendliness and unhappiness is apparently not so unusual, and I know I shouldn’t be embarrassed; to talk about it.
Aly, 18, Ontario, Canada
Shelbie, 16, Canada
by Matt, 18 California, USA
Dani, 27