Yo! Youth OutLook

When you hear the words mental institution what do you think of? Do you think of cold white walls, caged windows and padded rooms? Or how about Eminem’s video for “The Real Slim Shady” – where he was taking hella meds and acting insane. I used to think of the movie Girl Interrupted, which was about girls in a mental institution in the 60s. In this movie, everything seemed so cold, dark, depressing and everyone had serious issues or was suicidal running around in hospital clothes. I guess I thought this way because most movies and books give very generic images of mental institutions. It seems like everyone I talk to has some stereotype about them, but they’re not what you might think.

...I thought the hospital helped by taking my freedom away. But, the longer I stayed there, the more I was forced to look at myself and figure out my problems and – trust me – it’s hard...

When I was told I was being 5150-ed (a code for 72-hour confinement of people who are either considered a danger to themselves or others or are so mentally disabled they cannot care for themselves) and I was being sent to a mental hospital, I was more scared than anything. Because I was truly depressed, I had downed half a bottle of aspirin and I was still trying to recover from my failed suicide. I was told the institution was for youth, ages 12-18, and it wasn’t long term and it should help. I was hesitant but I still went along with it.

When you’re transported to the hospital, paramedics take you and you’re restrained on an ambulance stretcher because you’re supposedly a danger to yourself and/or others – even if you don’t resist. One paramedic stays in the back and asks you your health history and after that it’s awkward silence. When you get to the institution, the paramedics have to lift you out of the ambulance while you’re on the stretcher and you can’t get out until you’re in the building. I felt so stupid and the way I was being treated really made me feel crazy.

My first thought was I wasn’t going to fit in and everyone was going to be psycho and on all sorts of medication. In spite of this, my first impression of the place was totally the opposite of what I had in mind. The walls were soft pastel colors, the flooring was carpet and I didn’t get the sense of being caged in. I felt welcomed even though there were bars on the windows…it was weird. The rooms reminded me of a college dorm and almost every one had a roommate. My first roommate was a drugee/kleptomaniac and we only spent one night together because the next day she was discharged and back to the outside world.

For the most part everyone seemed totally “normal” with everyday issues. Some seemed to be in a funk and sick of society, others needed anger management, a handful were addicted to drugs, and a couple were misjudged/evaluated and shouldn’t have been there at all. But, I won’t lie, there were some kids that were either schizophrenics, bipolar or had other illnesses, who really did need to be hospitalized. Most of them were on at least two different types of medications and were the calmest and quietest because they were so doped up. I talked to one kid who was schizophrenic and he told me he felt like a prisoner in his own head because he couldn’t tell the real from fantasy. On the other hand he hated to be on medication. “I can’t feel or express my feelings because my medication makes me feel numb…its like I don’t have feelings,” he said.

I can’t remember everyone I met, but several stick out in my mind… like Christy, she was my second roommate and she was real cool and beautiful. She was diagnosed with almost everything from personality disorder to compulsive liar. She claimed she did speed and you could get high off of sugar, so one night after dinner she snuck some sugar packets into our rooms, poured it on a sheet of paper, lined it up and begged me to sniff it with her like it was coke. I guess that was her way of bonding. Then there was Dustin, my psychotic boyfriend in the hospital. He was so hot he kinda looked like Justin Timberlake and was extremely bipolar. He used take the plastic forks and spoons we used to eat with and would engrave random shit in his arms. It was fun but some blonde girl came and we broke up. There was also Zulahay. She was 12 and claimed she saw dead people and every time she saw one she had an asthma attack. I believed her because the hospital’s basement was an active morgue. In addition to them, there were the less needy kids like Amber my best friend there. She ended up hospitalized because she got really drunk and tried to fight a police officer.

It was kinda like “The Real World” – everything you did was watched, there was drama, there were fights, people talked shit, and kids hooked up with each other. There was never a dull moment. There were some days where we wanted to leave but it was up to the doctors to determine if we ready to be discharged. At first I thought the hospital helped me by taking my freedom away. But, the longer I stayed there, the more I was forced to look at myself and figure out my problems and – trust me – it’s hard. I ended up going back about four times throughout a three month period just because it was so much easier to be sheltered from the actual real world and to live my complicated life behind closed doors with people helping me. What I thought was going to be one of the worst experiences in my life turned out to be quite the opposite. Actually, thinking about it now makes me nostalgic for that time. I learned so much about myself there and did a lot things I wouldn’t normally do. I made bonds with people and learned how not to judge. I kind of liked being there.

I know this might sound kind of crazy but, sometimes, I wish I could go back. In the mental hospital, I was free. I could say whatever I wanted, act however I wanted, be whom I wanted and not be embarrassed. It felt good to be around kids that were in my situation and, for the first time, I felt I could relate to other teens. I had no responsibilities to worry about or pressure from society and/or my parents to put up with. Really, being 5150-ed was one of the best experiences in my life.

1 of 1