Hey Pandas! What's Your Experience When You Or Someone You Know Got Institutionalized Or Committed? (Closed)

A friend of mine (let’s call her Lola) then was married with a lovely daughter. Her husband was tragically killed in a MVA, and as a result, I was practically living there, taking her daughter to work, spending time with her, etc. Lola was shutting down before our eyes. It got to the point at which she was going to drive her daughter to school while she was still under the influence of her anxiety/sleep meds. That was when she agreed to check in. However, rather than this being a simple matter, we got a dose of crazy the likes of which I’ve never seen. She went to intake while I waited in the hall. She came out and told me they would not admit her, but they recommended that she INSTEAD go to Intensive Outpatient Therapy. (IOP). They expected her to appear FOUR nights a week for three hour stints, for an indefinite amount of time. I had to BATTLE with them, as did she, until they relented. I know people are raised to believe they can be admitted for any reason by anyone. NOT SO TODAY. Had I not feared for her health and the health of her daughter, I wouldn’t ever have suggested it. But while it had a happy ending after her stay, I still get the shivers thinking about those people who are suffering alone, and who finally get the courage to admit they need mental health care, only to be REJECTED, and forced into an even more unbearable and burdensome situation. It is horrific.

Attempted suicide. Survived. Days later I woke up. They put a guard outside my hospital room which had a glass wall so guards (and everyone else ) could watch me. When I was well enough I was taken by ambulance to a ‘behavioral hospital’. I could barely walk and had trouble feeding myself but they seemed to think I was ready to be transferred. At the new place they took my belt and shoelaces away. They didn’t give me my meds that I need. Finally they let me have my anxiety medicine. You had to get in line. Each person got their pill(s) and they made sure you swallowed it. You had to go to group sessions every day. They were all about drug and alcohol abuse. There weren’t any sessions about coping with a failed suicide. There weren’t any sessions on dealing with a world you didn’t want to be in. Food was gross. I did not eat. After a week I got called in to see a psychiatrist who asked me how I was. I said fine. He asked if I was ready to go home. I said yes. That was it. A friend came to get me and I went home.

Former roommate went for inpatient rehab (drugs/alcohol addiction.) Had to attend meetings with other patients. Told me patients would take smoke breaks together between meetings. Would often trade each other’s different prescriptions for different kinds of highs.When roommate was finally released, he was addicted to so many different drugs that he totaled his late mother’s Mercedes Benz. Eventually he overdosed from so many prescription and illegal drugs and died 2 days after Christmas, 2009.

My mother a lot. She would go in and out of hospitals all the time. She would try to kill herself. Hear voices, thought that her daughter's where now her husband's new wife's. She even once said her name was a different name and acted different not like in the movies. A lot of that is fake but some of it is real. The teeth chattering she did. Going crazy she did. Talking out of her mind she did. She would get better sometimes and then get bad again. My dad was there and looked after her. Me and my sister where forced to grow up very soon. We had to help dad with her, or at least I did. And seeing some of the stuff I seen isn't good for a kid. But she was my mother. I still loved her very much. But it was like it your mom and then there is mom when she is crazy. She died at a young age of 40. And then my sister got the hereditary disease and now she is in a home. Dad didn't really want to take care of her. Even if he wanted to. Sometimes you have to stay up all night and day with them sometimes more then a day. They get crazy energy. And they have crazy strength. Dad is like in his 60 and I have three kids who I don't want living what I did. I feel bad about it but I know she is safer then she was. Cause she would run away and nobody would know where she was. I was scared someone would find her dead somewhere or some one would take advantage of her. I still feel bad about it a lot. But at least I know someone is taking care of her.

I was an an upper middle class, educated woman. I was a mom, working in an esteemed field. I had postpartum depression which was treated incorrectly and I went into a manic rage. I was out of my mind, began acting like a different woman. Drugs, crime, bad people. I was caught and sent to prison for 5 years. I was introduced to a whole new world and surrounded by people who introduced me to a different lifestyle. Not a good one. My mental health was never properly diagnosed during my incarceration and for the next 10 years I continued this lifestyle. In and out of prison and rehabs committing crimes, using hard drugs, toxic abusive relationships. I finally went to a rehab 4 years ago that properly diagnosed me, Taught me the tools to live a healthy lifestyle. I came home, changed every aspect of my life. During these 10 years of institutions and messing up my life, I lost custody of my children, lost both my parents to cancer and was estranged from my family. However during these last 4 years of being healthy, clean, and choosing a good life, I have reconnected with my family, built a new career, have a beautiful home and amazing boyfriend. My whole life is different now. I am different now. I have put in a lot of work, and I am rebuilding my life. For the first time in nearly 15 years, I am proud of myself and more importantly, I love myself.

Its bizarre that they ask someone who has just failed to take their life "are you still suicidal?" I had a failed attempt four years ago after 22 years of abuse in my relationship, and fully intended to try again when I got out. Fortunately, when I was released, he was gone, and numerous friends from the past re-entered my life because it traumatizes those that know you when they haven't dealt with it before. This kept the intention to try again away until I began to find a new, happier normal.

I was admitted into a pysch ward when I was 12, almost 13. Pretty young. Or at least I thought so, there was 7 yros admitted as well. Overall I had a good experience. I was the type of kid to be extremely skeptical and not trusting, but I truly felt like the people there genuinely cared. Had group therapy three times a day, and "school" on the weekdays. We didn't go outside but we had gym days where we'd play basketball. Felt like rehabilitative prison. Food was absolutely c**p, and some of the therapists I met with very obviously could care less. It was just a job to them. Listen to the pyschotic kid talking, give him drugs and tell him to not kill himself every time you see him. They did the absolute bare minimum when it came to sorting out family issues, which was the cause of my suicidal ideation. I remember I wasn't the greatest person either. There was therapists/pyschologists who talked with us and therapists who took care of us. Looking back at it, I was definitely a pain to deal with. But they put up with me, and were so very kind. I'll never forget these people. Especially the guy I played chess with. He was funny. The kids I can't comment much on but I met people going through what I was going through at that age. And they became sort of my new family while I was staying there. For everyone that got admitted as an adult, I'm truly sorry our experiences are so drastic. It's absolutely horrible. There shouldn't be a difference in how mentally ill individuals are taken care of, not by age at least.

I have been institutionalized twice. Both times I was 13.

The first time, I was admitted because I just literally wasn’t myself. I was depressed, too the point I tried to take my life; I never could go through with it because I was too afraid to die because of my crippling anxiety. I wrote notes, developed pica to the point I was starting to eat metal and other dangerous stuff. But I got so paranoid, I couldn’t be home alone without a knife by my side to ward off intruders if needed. I couldn’t relax, and I developed severe insomnia. But one day, this kid took it too far. He called me a stalker and made my life a living hell. I threw a pencil at him because he said I was going to rub hand sanitizer into his hair. The pencil missed, but I was told to sit down. (I was looking at the bubbles in the hand sanitizer) I deliberately disobeyed, walking out to my locker to get pens. (I won’t stay without something to let me draw; as it helped me out to stay successful in classes, my teachers didn’t mind seeing the scribbles of my artwork). I heard my teacher shouting “[my name]! Come back!” But I continued with my duty and went through my dirty locker of a bunch of paper to get two pens. I came back, but my other teacher told me to go to the support room or else I would be suspended. The woman there literally belittled me, saying that I shouldn’t be so obvious with my feelings and that I’m a stalker. I nearly threw a chair at her. I stayed in that room until my dad could get me. I was given my computer and my schoolwork and I tried to work. My dad couldn’t get me admitted because they were saying “get her checked out; does she really* need to be inpatient? So, I went to an emergency room where I got evaluated, and to no one’s surprise, I needed to be admitted as an inpatient to another hospital. Since I was reported to have suicidal thoughts, a nurse had to watch me, but I got to draw on paper and I gleefully chatted with her. The nurse clearly understood that I wasn’t going to do anything. Then at 1 a.m., after a bit of a wait and an incident where a fire alarm was pulled down, I was transported via ambulance to my first mental hospital. I had very little sleep, and it took about 6 hours for me to finally be admitted into the ward. They were severely understaffed and I got into extremely uncomfortable positions to get 10 minutes of sleep. My neck hurt badly. Then, after getting an alcohol test, into scrubs and getting a full body check, I had to deal with talking about my history, and I was really frustrated. Then, at 9:26 in the morning, I finally got in. I first refused to do much, but I found little tricks to not have to use a community bathroom, as it had a fire alarm in it and I had a strange fear of fire alarms, and got along with everyone there. After 8 days, I got discharged. My mental health slightly more stable, I worked in school and managed to complete it. Got a psychiatrist, but one of the medications I got prescribed made my depression worse.

I ran away from home. I don’t know why I left, but I just couldn’t be home anymore. So, in a half delirious state, I ran off at approximately 2:47 in the morning. I got pretty far for walking; 5 miles, according to the officer that found me. Had an emergency appointment with my psychiatrist, and it was decided I had to go to the mental hospital, also because I begged for them to send me back. So I went, but again I first had to go to the emergency room because I had to have a physical exam done because of my eating disorder. I passed, but then I had to deal with a much less painful wait time. I was sent to the special needs ward because of my pica and had to have constant supervision, and had to switch programs because the first one I was in caused me to have mental breakdowns. After getting my medications changed, they actually told me that I didn’t actually have to take them (not standardized but really good care). I took them anyways, because at the last hospital, they…

I was raped in April 2020. I reported it and obviously was crying. I wasn't a danger to myself or others, and the police Baker Acted me. All the staff there told me I should sue the police department for what they did. But everyone that worked there were very kind!