Room 14
A candid piece about the reality of a stay at an acute adult psychiatric ward by writer Izzy Stokes.
TRIGGER WARNING - a detailed piece discussing the experience of being hospitalised in a psychiatric ward, including details of the writer’s mental health and experiences during the stay, as well as discussions of other patients mental health and actions. SPECIFIC TRIGGER WARNINGS: mental health, mentions of harassment, suicide, assault and r*pe.
“Four pairs of underwear, three pairs of socks, two dresses” the nurse lists off my items of clothing, while a support worker writes down her dictations. It’s 1am, and I’ve just walked into an acute adult psychiatric ward, after being held in a place of crisis for almost twelve hours previously. I am shaken after receiving a distressing welcome from the other patients: a young women spots me through the glass in the double doors, and stares at me, beginning to violently bang her fists against the glass. She starts to cry and has to be escorted away for me to get past. Panic is coursing through me, as I am taken down a harshly lit corridor, with parallel heavy-duty doors, until we reach the last room, number 14. “This is where you’ll be sleeping” the nurse informs me, and then handing me some toothpaste, a comb, a sachet of shampoo, toothbrush, and three hospital towels, she leaves me to unpack. The bleak unfamiliarity of the room brings me to tears, and all I can think about is how the fuck I’d managed to end up in this place again.
It’s been seven years since I last stayed in a Hospital; the last place being a youth psychiatric ward, where the nurses deemed me a ‘trouble-maker’ and ‘ring-leader’ there, and it was made clear to me that I was ‘too well’ for a place like that. Unfortunately there is some truth to that, as someone who suffers from high functioning Emotionally Unstable Personality Disorder, AKA BPD, the majority of psychiatrists I have encountered will only use hospital admissions as a last resort, because being on an acute ward can be extremely triggering (especially if you are suffering from more depressive or mood disorders) because you will be placed with people who may have lost their sense of reality, and may become aggressive for seemingly no reason, you may also see some disturbing scenes, or be subjected to sexual harassment from other patients, which can and will make you worse.
During my five days on the ward, I experienced countless physical fights, racial abuse from patients to staff, I was threatened by other patients both verbally and physically, all while trying to rest and recover from the relapse I had just experienced. There were a small number of people who were in a similar position to me, but didn’t even have the privilege of going on walks to escape the ward when they needed air, as unlike me, they were placed on a section, which meant they had very restricted leave from the ward, which can be extremely intense, as there is constant screaming, singing, and arguing from the other patients that are more unwell than us.
Even if like me, you were allowed to go on walks when needed, you still had to eat in a common area, at 9am, 12pm, 5pm, and 9pm, where it was not uncommon for a fight over food to break out or in my case, being very close to receiving a wet floor sign to the head because someone wasn’t allowed to order takeout.
The reality of where I was didn’t hit me until day two, after being accused of murdering my own mother and being a gang member by another patient, who would read biblical passages aloud, while pacing back and fourth throughout the hallways, they would also explicitly talk about being r*ped and go into vulgar details about the assault, which was incredibly painful to hear, especially as it would happen countless times throughout the day, and there was no escaping the topic, as this person would shout at you over and over until you acknowledged them.
Being on the ward really put life in to perspective for me, I had so much agency in comparison to my peers there, which led to me taking on what felt like a staff member’s role there, out of pure guilt of the perceived power imbalance I felt. I helped other patients with their various needs, ranging from getting them some water from the kitchen, giving them advice about jobs they wanted to apply for, comforting them, helping them deal with customer services, and being a middle man between them and the nurses. I began to focus so much on making the other people on the ward comfortable that I completely lost a sense of why I was even there. And that’s how it really felt, even though emotionally I was destitute, I still felt like my issues were menial in comparison to the other patients, especially as I am not medicated, and unfortunately medication is the main body of treatment in acute wards, which is extremely positive for the majority of inpatients, but for someone like me, who has a mood disorder that there is no FDA approved medication for, it’s ultimately futile.
I was offered medications at the drop of a hat, instead of being given someone to talk to and confide in, I was offered something to “mellow me out”, as the staff were too busy dealing with conflict resolution to be able to make that time to talk, and there were no therapists on the ward for you to discuss your distress with, so by the following Thursday I was discharged by the ward manager, as for me the chaos of the ward was entirely detrimental to my stability, and I wasn’t receiving the right support for my recovery, so being discharged and being put on a therapy waiting list is my best option at this current moment in time.
Being back in hospital was like having my head pushed into a vat of freezing cold water, it was a warning that things could not regress the way that they were, or I would end up in a very unforgiving place. It was a painful reminder that other people were suffering more than I could ever comprehend, and that I was in such a place of privilege to be able to articulate my thoughts and feelings to my peers, even during periods of intense emotions.
Acute wards are not an experience I would wish upon anybody; although the staff are wonderful, with nothing but good intentions, they are overworked and underpaid, and are having to deal with mental conditions that far exceed their handling capacity. There is very little separation in wards, with the main difference being the security of the ward itself, so the people can be unpredictable, and unfortunately, quite scary at times, which is why I would only ever go to a ward again as a last resort, which it can be for many reasons, the main one being that you are no longer able to keep yourself safe at home, and need to go to a temporary place of safety.
It’s incredibly hard to describe how it feels to be hospitalised, I tended to cycle through feeling like a failure for being there, and feeling like an imposter as my symptoms are less prominent than others, I journalled almost constantly while I was there, but rarely was I able to write anything deeper than descriptions of what had happened that day, as I was so engrossed in the microcosm of the ward that I wasn’t able to do any real work on myself, which is why these wards are generally just used to facilitate short stays until you are either discharged or moved on. A change of environment gave me a chance to see myself and life from a new angle, which helped relieve that desperate feeling of being ‘stuck’, as I’m sure many of you are experiencing during this pandemic, so I was grateful for that. I was reminded of what was important for my stability in day to day life, by having my routine stripped back to basics, using my phone and social media less, being in nature, and having set meal times, all of these aspects are what I hope to carry forwards in my recovery.
The NHS is truly a lifesaver, with private psychiatric wards costing around £5k a week, being given access to a place of safety, with 3 meals a day minimum, nurses, doctors, occupational therapy and a room with a locked door for free is incredible. I’m so grateful for the nurses that provided me with words of comfort, cups of tea, and the occasional joke, as in the space of a week, despite the unpredictable setting, I went from being ready to take my own life, to looking forward to going home to be with my housemates and feeling like I had been given a clean slate to give things another go, and I believe that wouldn’t of been possible without the patience and support I received from not just staff, but patients too, during my stay at the ward.
Words: Izzy Stokes