Room 18.

“Women are like teabags. You never know how strong they are until you get them in hot water.”

...

It started on a Friday.

I didn’t feel like myself. Walking into my therapist’s office that afternoon, I had in mind what might happen, and I was right: I was sent to the emergency room for unbearable obsessive suicidal thoughts. I eventually signed a form voluntarily admitting myself into the psychiatric ward of a university hospital (referred to in the ward as “the unit”). I was accompanied on my to the hospital by my incredible boyfriend, who deserves a special shoutout for spending our two month anniversary in a tiny room in the ER for 8 hours.

Eventually, I was separated from all visitors and brought up to the unit at 1 AM Saturday, and finally got to sleep at around 2:15. Not knowing anybody, I was thrilled to wake up to find that my roommate Bethany (whose name, as well as all names in this post, have been changed for privacy reasons), was about my age. There was also Jackson, a boy a bit older than us, who had gotten to the unit before me, too. We all became fast friends, going to group therapy sessions and eating meals together. We had to pass time efficiently, as we wouldn’t be seen by the main care team until Monday, so we spent that weekend time in a sort of holding pattern, entertaining ourselves by playing cards and convincing everyone on the unit to watch the Grammys (which the art therapist helped us make decorations and set up for.)

When Monday came around, I was excited. Would I get to go home soon? Would they diagnose me properly? The answers were mixed. Yes, I had a proper diagnosis and a medical plan, but no, I couldn’t go home just yet. I am expected to stay in for about a week.

In terms of a diagnosis, I have been diagnosed with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, or OCD. OCD can manifest itself in many different ways, but for me it comes in the form of disturbing obsessive thoughts that stick in my brain and won’t go away. They can be anything from thinking I’m not worthy of being loved to thinking I’m going to hurt someone important to me, and even thinking a violent scene in a movie might happen to me in real life. When I came to the hospital, the thoughts came in the form of thinking I was going to hurt myself. I had had the obsessive thoughts very vividly for about 2 weeks before admitting myself. The depression and anxiety that it was thought that I had were simply results of the difficulty of having thoughts like this, so it’s really good that I’m in the hospital and getting the treatment and help I need for the right diagnosis!

So...why am I writing this? First of all, I’ve always been very transparent about mental illness and want to continue that. Second of all, if I had been more open about my scariest symptoms I could’ve gotten more help sooner. Also, I want to stress how important it is to be open with your support system so that they can help you—and know that they will help you, even if you think that “we’re not a family/friend group that talks about those things,” if you need help, ask for it!

I also wanted to give people an update as to where I’ve been, since I haven’t been at work or in school, and just recently regained access to my phone within the unit. My internet access is minimal, but if you text me, I’ll respond! (If you need my number, private message me).

I’m sending love to all of you, and to the world, but also to myself. We all need a little love and a little reminder that we are loved. But I’m especially sending love to my biggest supports, my family, my therapists and medical team, my amazing friends and roommates, my boyfriend, and my CPY family. Thank you for everything. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

I can’t wait to see all of you when I am discharged. And if you ever need someone to talk to, I’m always here.

Xoxo
MK