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The "Florida Mental Health Act" also known as the "Baker Act" is a way to involuntarily commit individuals for psychological evaluation. Per Florida rules, there is a mandatory 72 hour hold. Baker Acting is meant for individuals who have a serious mental illness or have a desire to harm themselves or others. Baker Acting is supposed to be a way of helping people who are in these kinds of situations, though my experience with this is that it is not helpful, but harmful. Very harmful. I have an abusive father. For all 23 years of my life, I can remember the abuse. He doesn't hit me, though I wish he did and continues to do. It is verbal, emotional, and financial abuse. I will not go into details about how or what he did, because that is not what this thread about. I only mention it because it is part of the reason that I ended up in the hospital over the weekend. On Friday night I was feeling very bad. I have had serious depression and anxiety issues since I was 11 years old, and have been seeing a therapist for talk therapy since middle school. Sometimes it helps, sometimes it does not. I am also on medication for my anxiety/depression. Sometimes it works, sometimes it does not. Friday night it did not help. I needed help desperately. My therapist had given me her personal cell phone number and said I could call her any time I needed to, but she had been on vacation, and it was my thought that she was still on vacation and wasn't to return for another three weeks. My parents were asleep, my boyfriend was an hour away, and all of my friends were asleep. I turned to some online psychiatric help and was told that I needed to go to the emergency room. Everything I read online said that if you have thoughts of harming yourself, or if you are feeling depressed, that you need to go to the hospital. I thought long and hard about it for an hour or so, weighing the pros and cons, and I thought that the moment I stepped into the ER, I would receive help. I was wrong. In my depressed state, I signed a few papers, papers that I thought were the papers they normally give you in a hospital as consent for treatment. I was actually involuntarily committing myself into the hospital. I spent all weekend in a psychiatric ward with a bunch of dangerous, violent drug addicts and received no therapy or treatment to speak of. Though my stay was short, it was an absolute living hell. I was treated like a child, a criminal. It is an experience that I never want to have again, and something I would never wish upon anyone, even my greatest enemy. I kept a journal during the time I was there as to remember my treatment and keep myself from going absolutely insane. There's a few incidents I will provide as examples for questions to ask:
Please try to keep this as civil as possible. I know this is Something Awful and there will be trolls, but try to be as respectful as you possibly can. All of my gratitude.
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| # ? Sep 3, 2012 22:08 |
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| # ? Jun 19, 2013 19:35 |
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Tell all of the stories you mentioned. Don't hold anything back, there's nothing we don't want to hear.
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| # ? Sep 3, 2012 22:23 |
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I don't doubt that your experience sucked and was not helpful for you, but remember that there are people who are seriously mentally ill and need to be able to be more or less imprisoned for a few days until they can be medicated and stabilized, assuming they are willing to be treated/medicated. If they are unwilling... shudder. I'm curious, did your insurance (assuming you have some) cover the bill? How much was it?
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| # ? Sep 3, 2012 22:29 |
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Did you actually sign papers committing yourself? That's rather the opposite of involuntary commitment, actually. If you were admitted under the Baker Act, you were involuntarily committed, and you did not sign papers to that effect. Either the ER screwed up in triaging you (if you weren't really a threat, they shouldn't have admitted you) or you aren't fully aware of where you actually were. I don't know which one it was, but one of those two things had to have happened for you to get admitted under a hold.
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| # ? Sep 3, 2012 22:41 |
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silversiren posted:financial abuse I've never heard this term. Is this actually a thing? quote:I was actually involuntarily committing myself into the hospital. I am not an expert in mental health protocol but it would seem like if this was the case then your commitment was voluntary.
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| # ? Sep 3, 2012 22:43 |
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OP, if it is okay with you, I can also offer my story in this thread. A few months ago I was committed to a mental health ward in Massachusetts following a drug overdose. In the emergency room, they told me if I didn`t sign papers voluntarily committing myself for three days, I would be involuntarily committed indefinitely; however, I was held there for a week. It was a terrifying and dehumanizing experience. I`m not sure where to start telling the story, but I can answer any questions asked.
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| # ? Sep 3, 2012 23:06 |
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bewbies posted:I've never heard this term. Is this actually a thing? I've heard of parents opening credit cards in their childrens' names and running up debt without the child's permission or knowledge. That could be "financial abuse".
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| # ? Sep 3, 2012 23:22 |
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silversiren posted:The "Florida Mental Health Act" also known as the "Baker Act" is a way to involuntarily commit individuals for psychological evaluation. Per Florida rules, there is a mandatory 72 hour hold. I'd like to hear about the first day or the point at which you realized you were committed and not just visiting.
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| # ? Sep 3, 2012 23:23 |
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Saeku posted:OP, if it is okay with you, I can also offer my story in this thread. A few months ago I was committed to a mental health ward in Massachusetts following a drug overdose. In the emergency room, they told me if I didn`t sign papers voluntarily committing myself for three days, I would be involuntarily committed indefinitely; however, I was held there for a week. It was a terrifying and dehumanizing experience. I`m not sure where to start telling the story, but I can answer any questions asked. Why do you use ` instead of '
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| # ? Sep 3, 2012 23:25 |
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minya posted:Why do you use ` instead of ' My keyboard was accidentally set to French and I didn't notice. I fixed it.
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| # ? Sep 3, 2012 23:41 |
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I was baker acted when I was...fifteen I think? I don't remember much of it. What I DO remember is that they took away the book I had. A collection of short stories by Clive Barker. I think because it was entitled "Books of Blood" or something like that. I was mad as heck! Overall I recall the stay being rather boring and dissimilar to the OP's. Most of the people there were just kind of quiet, but I was also a child put in with children so that probably has something to do with it.. From my experience it is hard to baker act someone else without their consent. My ex's dad had a history of schizophrenia (was not taking his meds,) suicidal tendencies (once called their house with a noose around his neck threatening to hang himself,) and a history of violence towards his children. No matter how much we tried through the police they never did anything, so he never got the help he needed and eventually killed himself. Not entirely sure what the point of this statute is. the best place to start a story, op, is at the beginning, unless you are one of those fancy writers who doesn't do that.
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| # ? Sep 4, 2012 00:33 |
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Gibmiser posted:I don't doubt that your experience sucked and was not helpful for you, but remember that there are people who are seriously mentally ill and need to be able to be more or less imprisoned for a few days until they can be medicated and stabilized, assuming they are willing to be treated/medicated. If they are unwilling... shudder. Oh I have no hesitations in saying that some people do belong in facilities that cater to their certain needs, but the place where I was staying was more of a holding tank or "detox" center for people waiting to get into a halfway home or gateway house. It was not the kind of place for me. What I needed was treatment and help, not isolation. During my stay I chose self-isolation because there was not a time when the addicts weren't talking about drugs -- where to buy them, how to buy them, how they did it, etc. I certainly did not feel safe being around these people and there were no psychiatrists or therapists to speak of since it was a holiday weekend. Even the nurses there were not qualified to talk to anyone about their issues. Throwing someone such as myself into the situation I was in and expecting them to get better is not a very good idea. I do have insurance but it isn't very good insurance. I am not sure if they will cover everything, and I definitely know they will not cover the ambulance ride I took when they transferred me to the other hospital. A 15 minute ride in the back of an ambulance will probably run me $4k or so. Krakkles posted:Did you actually sign papers committing yourself? That's rather the opposite of involuntary commitment, actually. If you were admitted under the Baker Act, you were involuntarily committed, and you did not sign papers to that effect. I signed what I believed was a consent for treatment. Due to some other problems, I end up in the ER a lot, and I am always signing consent for treatment forms. I was being hurried along, pressured, and I was not in the right state of mind, so I signed papers without fully reading or comprehending. In hindsight, it was a mistake not to read what was being presented to me. No one ever said anything to me that had the words "involuntary" or "baker act" in it. bewbies posted:I've never heard this term. Is this actually a thing? http://www.loveisrespect.org/is-this-abuse/types-of-abuse/what-is-financial-abuse posted:
bewbies also posted:I am not an expert in mental health protocol but it would seem like if this was the case then your commitment was voluntary. As I said, I was not fully comprehending what I was signing. I was hoping that they would send a therapist to my room in the first hospital and have someone talk to me and recommend some treatment from there, not throw me into a shark tank. Saeku posted:OP, if it is okay with you, I can also offer my story in this thread. A few months ago I was committed to a mental health ward in Massachusetts following a drug overdose. In the emergency room, they told me if I didn`t sign papers voluntarily committing myself for three days, I would be involuntarily committed indefinitely; however, I was held there for a week. It was a terrifying and dehumanizing experience. I`m not sure where to start telling the story, but I can answer any questions asked. I do not mind at all if anyone shares their experiences. Please go ahead. Skeesix posted:I'd like to hear about the first day or the point at which you realized you were committed and not just visiting. It began during the ambulance ride there. The hospital I went to where I told them that I was seriously depressed was very close to my house. I had brought along a few things, a change of clothes, some books, my makeup, my laptop, and my cellphone. I thought that they would just let me spend the night in that hospital and give me someone to talk to. Before the ambulance ride there, they made me change out of my clothes and into a hospital gown. They did not allow me to keep my bra, or keep my purse on me, but I managed to stuff my cellphone into my underwear so I could at least tell my parents what was going on, because it was at this point that I got scared. Two men came and strapped me onto a stretcher and hauled me out into an ambulance. I remember looking out of the back of the ambulance at my car sitting in the parking lot and thinking, "I don't think I'm going home tonight." We finally arrived at the other hospital and the men from the ambulance wheeled me through a maze of hallways and doorways. The further into the hospital we went, the thicker the doors got, the more precautions they took to keep them closed, and the harder it was to get them open. Passcodes, key cards, etc. There was a combination of very strong magnetic locks on top of the doors, as well as bolts that shot through the doors in case of lock downs. When we got up to the facility, I was completely scared out of my mind. They had taken all of my things, but I still had my cellphone on me. They had a nurse "examine" me, which included taking off my shirt to identify any marks, and lifting up my breasts to make sure that I did not have any drugs hidden there. She also kept asking me leading questions such as, "How many cigarettes do you smoke a day?" "How many drinks do you have in one night?" When I told her I don't smoke or drink, she would ask me several times if I was sure. (During my second day I was also offered a nicotine patch as a "just in case"). As soon as the nurse left the room to go get some paper work, I whipped my phone out of my undies and texted my mom and my boyfriend, as well as a best friend of mine and told them what was going on. I gave them all of the information I could and tried to hide my phone from them, but when the nurse came back she demanded I give it to her because, and I quote, "If we let you keep it you could take it apart and make a weapon out of it, or take the battery out and swallow it". To give you a taste of how stupid an idea it is that I could swallow the battery in my drat phone, here is how big it is:  The battery at least half the size of the phone, and as square as the phone. I tried stuffing the battery into my mouth just now and there is no way it would ever make it past my tonsils. At this point, my clothes were also taken away from me, and I had nothing to wear but a hospital gown that quite literally smelled of vomit, and that would not tie correctly in the back. They took some blood from me and it was the most painful blood draw I have ever had in my life. Immediately after they removed the needle, I began to bruise. The bruise on my inner arm is about as big as my fist and as black as pitch. At this point it was about 7 in the morning, and I was in bed a full 15 minutes before we had a "group meeting" where we could share our feelings. Every word that came out of my mouth was "poo poo. I feel like poo poo.". That's the last thing I ever said to any of the other patients in there. After that, I went to my room, closed the door, crawled under the sheets, and cried. I will occasionally post excerpts from my little journal that I kept, just in case they don't fall in line with the questions.
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| # ? Sep 4, 2012 00:34 |
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GulagDolls posted:I was baker acted when I was...fifteen I think? I don't remember much of it. What I DO remember is that they took away the book I had. A collection of short stories by Clive Barker. I think because it was entitled "Books of Blood" or something like that. I was mad as heck! In Florida, it is quite a regular thing to Baker Act people just because you can. My mother has told me stories about people she knew with abusive husbands or ex boyfriends that would call the police and say the person was going to hurt themselves, just to get them thrown into a facility. And yes I do consider myself a fancy writer, I even hold my pinkies up when I type.
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| # ? Sep 4, 2012 00:36 |
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Krakkles posted:Did you actually sign papers committing yourself? That's rather the opposite of involuntary commitment, actually. If you were admitted under the Baker Act, you were involuntarily committed, and you did not sign papers to that effect. Actually, there is such a thing as a voluntary Baker Act.
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| # ? Sep 4, 2012 00:36 |
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silversiren posted:In Florida, it is quite a regular thing to Baker Act people just because you can. My mother has told me stories about people she knew with abusive husbands or ex boyfriends that would call the police and say the person was going to hurt themselves, just to get them thrown into a facility. Weird. We could just not get this dude in the hospital. He was very good at talking to the police. Of course, hearing your stories, I'm not sure how much it would have helped.
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| # ? Sep 4, 2012 00:39 |
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This actually happened to a friend of mine in Florida just over a year ago. She suffers from epilepsy and is on medication and has constant doctor's appointments, and at this time, she'd just given birth to her daughter. Her druggie ex-husband, after having beaten her while pregnant and been arrested, decided that once the baby was home that my friend must be suffering from post-partum depression or something and had her Baker Acted. In reality, she was just tired of the ex husband's bullshit whilst high on drugs and didn't want him helping or handling the baby too much. She said that after her first day in, the doctors and nurses realized that she was perfectly fine, and she pretty much just waited it out until her 72 hours was up.
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| # ? Sep 4, 2012 00:52 |
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I'm sorry you had to go through that, OP. I was hospitalized for suicidal thoughts/depression when I was 14 and it was awful. Like you said, they didn't really address the problem and I was housed with people who had a multitude of issues besides depression (like homicidal rage). Group therapy did nothing because they didn't just address one issue, or even anyone's really. The whole experience was traumatizing. I hope you're doing better now, and I do think it was a good that you knew you needed immediate help and tried to get it.
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| # ? Sep 4, 2012 01:01 |
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I stayed isolated away from everyone else because the majority of the people there were addicts coming cold turkey off of hard drugs. They were now methadone junkies, zombies flying through a dream land and just biding their time until they could get out and catch their next hit. Most of the entries in my journal talk about how scared I felt. I was terrified the whole time. There were signs up everywhere in the unit saying that it was a "safe" place, or a place to relax, but the entire time I felt on edge, constantly on alert, and scared out of my mind. I would relay these feelings to the nurses who would just smile and cheerily tell me, "Oh honey, there is no reason to be scared! You're perfectly safe in here! If someone says something you don't like, you can just walk away!" but the problem with that is that in here, you can't get away. You can certainly go to your room but they would stand guard at your door, waiting for you to come out, or pace the hallways and follow you. At one point during the late evening on my second day, a new resident, another heroin addict, began to follow me into my room. I turned around and he stopped and stared, looked down, and skittered off. quote:I want to scream and yell and rage and make a scene, the way retail customers do when they don't get their way, but in here, all that will succeed in doing is throwing me deeper into the machine. I also suppose that since I am on the subject of junkies and addicts, I can tell the story of the sexy pajamas. My mom and boyfriend came to visit me the very first day and my mom brought me some clothes, so I could finally change out of the vomit-scented gown. Since I wasn't allowed to have my bra, I wore a heavy jacket (that they made me cut the drawstring out of) so as to cover my breasts, loose pajama pants, and a tshirt. They had told me I was not allowed to wear my own socks because I could "slip and fall" and gave me a pair of horrible hospital socks that were so big I kept tripping over them. gently caress your socks, I put my own socks back on. One character that was incarcerated with me was a man who was coming down off of heroin. He was coming down hard. Crashing, in flames, fireballs, debris everywhere.. it was bad. I have never been around people like this so I was, of course, terrified. He would march around the unit, half stomping, half dragging himself, with eyes that were as dead as anything, and scratching at his face furiously. I was in my room trying to sleep when dinner was called, so I made my way out of my room and towards the dining area. There was Mr. Heroin, standing directly in my way, giving me no room to get around him. He looked me up and down and said, "God, your pajamas are so sexy." and winked and smiled at me. At this point, I turned back around, went into my room, and went into the bathroom, leaning against the door until second call for dinner. At second call, I hesitantly exited my room once again and found he wasn't blocking my way. But when I entered in the dining room, he locked eyes with me and said, "Come and sit on daddy's lap, sugar." I kept myself in the very corner of the dining area. At least the view on the outside was beautiful.
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| # ? Sep 4, 2012 01:06 |
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CravingSolace posted:I'm sorry you had to go through that, OP. I was hospitalized for suicidal thoughts/depression when I was 14 and it was awful. Like you said, they didn't really address the problem and I was housed with people who had a multitude of issues besides depression (like homicidal rage). Group therapy did nothing because they didn't just address one issue, or even anyone's really. The whole experience was traumatizing. I hope you're doing better now, and I do think it was a good that you knew you needed immediate help and tried to get it. I am also sorry that you had to go through this experience. As I said, this is not even something I would wish upon my greatest enemy. It teaches people like you and I that it is not okay to share our feelings, lest we get hurt. If anything, I feel worse coming out, a sort of a PTSD if you will, where I will be wary of doctors for a very very very long time. It is no surprise that the health care system in the United States is screwed up. There needs to be some sort of system in place for people that are depressed that keeps them in a coddling, supporting environment, not a cold and unfeeling tank. The group therapy I went through (there were only three sessions and they could hardly be considered "therapy") consisted of nothing more than a very haggard looking woman walking in with her bible, saying a bible verse and a step from the 12-steps of AA/NA, then asking us to reflect upon ourselves. Here is a bonus picture of the bruise I got after they took blood from me: 
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| # ? Sep 4, 2012 01:10 |
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I was twice committed involuntarily to psych wards because of my drug addiction. Don't worry, I wasn't a scary heroin addict. I definitely agree that psych wards are loving horrible and they do not help people in the least. In my experience, all they do is drug you up until you're too numb to feel anything and then say you're cured and you can go home. And the only "therapy" I received while in there was art therapy where you could DRAW YOUR FEELINGS. Oh yeah, that's so helpful. I consistently refer to my stints in psych wards as a babysitting service that my parents sent me to so I wasn't out on the streets getting high. Which didn't work because as soon as I got out, I resumed my addiction. The hospital you were in sounds pretty lovely since apparently these addicts were not receiving any detox treatment and were just left to their withdrawals. That seems pretty hosed up. **** Oh yeah I do have one horror story from when I was in there. This is the second time I was in a psych ward and this one was more strict than the first one. They kept our bathroom doors locked and if we had to use the bathroom we had to ask a nurse to unlock it for us. Anyway, they wanted me to do a drug test so a nurse unlocked my bathroom and gave me a cup to pee into. She refused to let me close the door all the way, and she was standing just outside waiting for me to finish.  Are you done yet? Just one minute.10 seconds later Are you done in there? Jeez what's taking so long. I'm almost done, give me a second! *opens the door* ARE YOU loving KIDDING ME GET OUT OF HERE!When they took my hourly blood pressure not long after that it was extremely high because I was fuming at this horrible nurse walking in on me on the toilet after telling her TWICE that I would be out with her precious cup of urine in a minute.
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| # ? Sep 4, 2012 04:26 |
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AnonymousNarcotics posted:I was twice committed involuntarily to psych wards because of my drug addiction. Don't worry, I wasn't a scary heroin addict. I definitely agree that psych wards are loving horrible and they do not help people in the least. In my experience, all they do is drug you up until you're too numb to feel anything and then say you're cured and you can go home. And the only "therapy" I received while in there was art therapy where you could DRAW YOUR FEELINGS. Oh yeah, that's so helpful. I consistently refer to my stints in psych wards as a babysitting service that my parents sent me to so I wasn't out on the streets getting high. Which didn't work because as soon as I got out, I resumed my addiction. I'm not sure if locking an addict up in a psych ward is better than throwing them in prison. I disagree that people with drug problems should be in prisons because prisons do not help people, they punish. ...but at the same time, programs like the ones you and I found ourselves in are literally no help at all. We didn't have any kind of "draw your feelings" feely-good bullshit but they did have coloring pages from childrens' coloring books printed out for people to color. But we couldn't have the crayons or markers or colored pencils until it was activity time, and being a holiday weekend, there were no scheduled activity times. Yay for being treated like children! I was very thankful that a few of the staff there recognized that I was not there because I had a drug problem or wanted to kill other people, and they commended my ability to be eloquent and articulate, thus they respected me and helped me out in the end. AnonymousNarcotics also posted:Oh yeah I do have one horror story from when I was in there. This is the second time I was in a psych ward and this one was more strict than the first one. They kept our bathroom doors locked and if we had to use the bathroom we had to ask a nurse to unlock it for us. Anyway, they wanted me to do a drug test so a nurse unlocked my bathroom and gave me a cup to pee into. She refused to let me close the door all the way, and she was standing just outside waiting for me to finish. Heh, that reminds me of the story of Dr. "Prick". I did not have to give urine when I got there, I think because they had gotten some out of me at the other hospital. But I had two experiences with Dr. Prick. The first was my initial medical consultation, asking me things like what kind of medications I was on and what other problems I was having. I told him that I had recently been diagnosed with insulin resistance and was on a special diet for it. He asked me how I had been diagnosed, and I told him that a doctor had ordered a full blood panel as well as a glucose tolerance test. Then he proceeded to tell me that insulin resistance was not real or documented, and that I was just diabetic and there probably wasn't any way they could respect my dietary needs. (I later spoke with a dietitian after begging and begging, and as soon as I told her what the other doctor had said, she crooked her head and gave me this look, then said, "He said that? That's stupid. Insulin resistance is quite common. We can try our best to get the food that you need." In the end, though, it didn't really matter because she'd gotten to me too late. In 2 days I lost 6lbs because I could not eat the food they were giving me.) That was my first experience with him. The second came about when I had to remind the nurses that I had been diagnosed with a UTI the day before I had been admitted and was given an antibiotic that I needed to be taking twice a day. The doctor, luckily, was there again to check up on some of the junkies, and I managed to squeeze myself into his office to discuss getting an order for the bactrim (antibiotic I was prescribed). He questioned me again, "How do you know you have a UTI?" Well I was just at the doctor on Thursday, they did a urine test and said that I had a bit of an infection and diagnosed it as a UTI... "But are you having any symptoms? Abnormal urine doesn't mean anything." Uhm, yes, it burns when I pee and my back around my kidneys is hurting very badly. "Well.. I'm going to need another urine sample before I can order this for you." What the gently caress? I get a cup from one of the nurses and had to wait about an hour before I could muster up any piss. When I finally was able to go, I pissed all over the cup, filled it up as much as I possibly could, found the doctor, and handed it back to him without the lid screwed on.
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| # ? Sep 4, 2012 05:06 |
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jkyuusai posted:Actually, there is such a thing as a voluntary Baker Act. Most states have similar rules. Basically, the way it works is that if you tell a hospital psychiatrist that you're thinking about hurting yourself, you have two choices. You can either voluntarily admit yourself for observation, or they will involuntarily admit you for observation. Once they have the idea that you are a threat to yourself or others, you're not getting back out to go along your merry way, and it's your choice if you walk yourself in or a big orderly carries you. The former will usually prompt the facility to put it down as a voluntary admission, which can be important. When I lived in Nebraska, my ex had an episode, we went to the ER, and she ended up voluntarily going in in lieu of being committed. She went quietly because she realized that an involuntary admission would look bad on her record (and would affect her ability to work with kids, which she was trying to finish her degree to do).
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| # ? Sep 4, 2012 10:25 |
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kazmeyer posted:Most states have similar rules. Basically, the way it works is that if you tell a hospital psychiatrist that you're thinking about hurting yourself, you have two choices. You can either voluntarily admit yourself for observation, or they will involuntarily admit you for observation. Once they have the idea that you are a threat to yourself or others, you're not getting back out to go along your merry way, and it's your choice if you walk yourself in or a big orderly carries you. The former will usually prompt the facility to put it down as a voluntary admission, which can be important. This is the part that I did not realize until after I was out. I'd always played with the idea of doing some sort of social work or be a child therapist or something like that, but I feel like that dream's been shot down because of all of this. They did as me, as an interview, what my plan was when I got out of there. I told them it was to see my regular psychologist as often as I possibly could (finances!) and look into being a social worker or someone who could help keep people out of places that like. I understand the nurses and doctors were just doing the bare minimal of their jobs, and it must be hard to deal with a strung out dead-eyed zombie junkie coming up every 10 minutes or so to ask you some incoherent question. But, I thought that showing them that I was quite intelligent (despite landing myself in there), I was eloquent, and had the ability to clearly communicate what I wanted or needed without sounding like a whining child. There were three staff in particular that stood out to be as being help up at an angelic level. The first was Jan (named changed, we might be taking up a law suit against the center). Jan was a tall, not particularly handsome, but somewhat wirey looking man that was probably somewhere in his late 30s or early 40s. One night after I snuck away from the mess that was in the dining area, I had some time to myself in front of the TV and found Regular Show. The nurse came and sat down in a chair next to me and was watching the show with me, and I told him it was awesome that he liked it too. We started talking more, and he came right out and said, "You don't belong in here. I could tell the second you came in here. You aren't meant to be around these people. And it's OK to cry about that." From that point on, Jan was who I sought out whenever I needed something. The unit was always kept very cold, so I would go and ask the nurses at the nurses' stations for some more blankets. I was met with blank stares and they would just look right back down at their computers and continuing doing whatever they were doing on them. I sulked back into my room and Jan came jogging after me, "No one told you where to find the blankets?" Well I could clearly see that there was a unlocked cabinet with blankets and towels and the such inside, but I didn't know if it was something I was allowed to just go into. I hoarded as many blankets as I could. And speaking of hoarding, we were only allowed to have waters/tea/"nourishment" at designated meal times. The only water fountain to speak of did not work at it looked like someone had clogged it up and then pissed in it. So I hoarded cups of water, tea, and ice. By the end of my stint, I ended up throwing away at least 10 cups that were halfway full with tea or water. Even with all this, I still felt completely dehydrated the entire time, but I feared complaining because I did not want to lead around a saline bag on an IV pole.
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| # ? Sep 4, 2012 15:48 |
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kazmeyer posted:When I lived in Nebraska, my ex had an episode, we went to the ER, and she ended up voluntarily going in in lieu of being committed. She went quietly because she realized that an involuntary admission would look bad on her record (and would affect her ability to work with kids, which she was trying to finish her degree to do). Is this legal? I thought there were some HIPAA laws in place to prevent your medical records from ever seeing the light of day without your signature.
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| # ? Sep 4, 2012 18:52 |
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I was Baker Acted by my parents after doing a bunch of drugs when I was super depressed a few years ago. I know you mentioned that there's a mandatory 72 hours holding but that's not always the case. I got Baker Acted at night and the next morning I had the psychiatrist let me loose because I obviously wasn't as hosed up in the head as most people who were there. Those places are disgusting and depressing.
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| # ? Sep 4, 2012 19:00 |
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Brady posted:I was Baker Acted by my parents after doing a bunch of drugs when I was super depressed a few years ago. I know you mentioned that there's a mandatory 72 hours holding but that's not always the case. I got Baker Acted at night and the next morning I had the psychiatrist let me loose because I obviously wasn't as hosed up in the head as most people who were there. Those places are disgusting and depressing. It ended up being right at about 72 hours, but only because it was a holiday weekend and there was one psychiatrist for the whole chain of hospitals. There are about 4 campuses, so it took him awhile to get around to the facility I was staying in. It was the first full day, someone had told me he was in the hospital, but he was in the unit downstairs, and it probably wouldn't be until late/early morning until he came up to our unit, or until I was going to be able to be seen. The next day, I woke up and asked if the doctor was still there. I was told that he had left at 4am that day and was probably not going to be back until around the same time tomorrow. I was pretty furious. That meant he was on the unit but someone had refused to wake me up. I demanded that the next time he was in, I wanted the drat doctor himself to come in and wake me up. And he did. It was around 1-2:30 (there weren't a lot of clocks) and the second he took me into his office, he could immediately tell that I did not belong there. He began discharge orders and gave me a prescription for ativan since what I was taking didn't seem to be working. He had asked me how I felt during my stay, and I told him that I felt scared, isolated, and out of place, since I was depressed and not an addict. He himself said, "These people scare me. They give me the creeps and I don't like being here either. You're the first coherent person I've spoken to. You're getting out of here in a few hours." It was maybe 3am at this time and the nurses said that the paperwork that doctor had given them for discharge orders would "take a while to get completed" and "you don't really want to wake anyone up at 3 am to come get you, right?". So while I had freedom right there in front of me, it was still locked behind a plexiglass door. I chose sleep over sitting up and crying some more, and I was lucky to make it out before the next group meeting, which was nothing more than a very terribly done A.A/N.A. meeting. But to add insult to injury, one of the nurses had to follow me and my family out. Not out of the facility, not out to the main hospital, not out to the sidewalk. No, she followed us out all the way out to our drat car, waiting until we had all gotten in and buckled ourselves up before she walked back towards the prison. "Adios, motherfucker." was really all I could say at that point.
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| # ? Sep 4, 2012 19:13 |
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If you could do it again, what would you do differently? You seem displeased with the entire experience, but it sounds like you really needed some help at the time. Would a simple phone call to your therapist prevented the entire thing? What would have happened if you'd refused to sign the paperwork? AnonymousNarcotics posted:Is this legal? I thought there were some HIPAA laws in place to prevent your medical records from ever seeing the light of day without your signature.
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| # ? Sep 4, 2012 19:36 |
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Bioshuffle posted:If you could do it again, what would you do differently? You seem displeased with the entire experience, but it sounds like you really needed some help at the time. Would a simple phone call to your therapist prevented the entire thing? What would have happened if you'd refused to sign the paperwork? If I could do it again, I certainly wouldn't do it. I was displeased because it wasn't any kind of treatment and it didn't help in the least and I felt worse coming out of it. If I could have called my therapist, I would not have made the decision to go to the hospital. I suspect that if I had not signed the paperwork, they would have still committed me.
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| # ? Sep 4, 2012 20:28 |
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Hey silversiren, I see your name a lot lurking E/N and just wanted to offer my condolences for what must have been a horrific experience. I can definitely relate, as I was hospitalized involuntarily in my mid teens, and was met with a similarly apathetic staff, lazy group therapists, and surrounded by people that make you wonder how on earth you were grouped up with them in the first place (like a convicted child molester and convicted arsonist in my case!). I've known a couple of people who have gone through similar situations and we all really sort of tell the same story. The cracks suicidally depressed people fall into in our country's health care system are absolutely terrifying. It sounds like it didn't really have the same effect on you when you got out, but to this day I can still remind myself in bad times that at least I'm not back in that hellhole. 
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| # ? Sep 4, 2012 21:39 |
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silversiren posted:If I could do it again, I certainly wouldn't do it. I was displeased because it wasn't any kind of treatment and it didn't help in the least and I felt worse coming out of it. If I could have called my therapist, I would not have made the decision to go to the hospital. It's really awful that wards don't try at all to differentiate between really loving crazy addicts/people who might harm others and people who are only dangerous to themselves. I've had friends committed to facilities way way too intense for them, and it is a horrible experience just visiting.
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| # ? Sep 5, 2012 01:27 |
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How much did you see your doctor there? I was recently voluntarily committed to a Mental Hospital as well and over the entire week I spent there I saw this guy not even 20 minutes in total. Literally the first day I was there he woke me up, asked what pills I was taking and said "Stop taking those, I think you're Bipolar." Nevermind that i've been going to my therapist and psychiatrist for about half a year at this point and they both completely disagree with that. We had similar doors though, they were huge. Used 48 screws to attach it to one side of the hinge. So crazy.
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| # ? Sep 5, 2012 01:31 |
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Chairon posted:How much did you see your doctor there? I was recently voluntarily committed to a Mental Hospital as well and over the entire week I spent there I saw this guy not even 20 minutes in total. Literally the first day I was there he woke me up, asked what pills I was taking and said "Stop taking those, I think you're Bipolar." Nevermind that i've been going to my therapist and psychiatrist for about half a year at this point and they both completely disagree with that. We were lined up to see the medical doctor the first time. We were in and out in about 5 minutes or so, and my above story about my fake insulin-resistance and my UTI struggle are my only interactions with this man. (I also had to get a doctor's order for loving TYLENOL, to take for my hip because it was hurting so bad from some sort of joint problem). Seeing the psychiatrist was basically a luck thing. The medical doctor was of basically no help and as much as I appreciate the psychiatrist getting me out, it's just stupid to wake someone up in the middle of the night and think they're going to get a good mental evaluation. Luckily, I "missed" taking my meds that night* so I was able to wake with a start and be as alert as possible. *I say I missed them because it was one of the only times, for me, that I was able to get away from the nurse with my medication. I did not take it that night because, although it is the same medication I always take, they were giving me large doses of it to keep me numb and sleepy It's funny I mention getting away from my nurse to take my medication. It didn't happen often because they stood there and stared at you until you took whatever was in your cup. I even surprised a nurse once because I asked her what the medications where in my cup. She was literally taken aback, and kind of stuttered and stumbled over her words in describing everything. But that brings me to my original point. As I mentioned, most of the other people in there were there for detox. They were addicts, junkies, in no nice meaning of the word. My first evening there, my mom and I both witnessed a couple of girls exchanging their medication in the hallway. I am almost certain that is not allowed. These same girls also had once dropped their pills in front of my door and began to yell, "quick! Pick those up before the suicidal chick gets them!" with much giggling insuing.
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| # ? Sep 5, 2012 01:51 |
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semicolonsrock posted:It's really awful that wards don't try at all to differentiate between really loving crazy addicts/people who might harm others and people who are only dangerous to themselves. I've had friends committed to facilities way way too intense for them, and it is a horrible experience just visiting. It's a horrible experience and a horrible thing to do to people who are in situations where they are depressed and anxious. It just makes it 1000x worse for them when they get out, especially if they received no help to speak of while in there. Even now, I have been out fully for one day, and there is a sort of creeping PTSD feeling that I'm getting. I don't want to be left alone, I don't want to be in a dark room, I don't even want to go to the bathroom alone. I have this restlessness that I'm trying to understand; I suppose it's from finally having the freedom to do whatever but not everyone feels like going out at all hours of the night. I want to relax SO BAD but part of me is screaming "No! No! You don't know what is going to happen! You need to get OUT and enjoy life RIGHT NOW!" I'm going to my regular therapist tomorrow to see what I can do about this feeling.
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| # ? Sep 5, 2012 01:57 |
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Ugh, I really feel for you having to go through that. I waited less than 24 hours to see the psychiatrist when I went, and even then I was asking every chance I got. I can't imagine waiting as long as you did. I already said it once, but those places really are insanely depressing.
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| # ? Sep 5, 2012 07:23 |
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Brady posted:Ugh, I really feel for you having to go through that. I waited less than 24 hours to see the psychiatrist when I went, and even then I was asking every chance I got. I can't imagine waiting as long as you did. I already said it once, but those places really are insanely depressing. The place is inherently abusive. I come from an abusive situation and I believe my stay has only made things worse.. It's not even like prison, because in prison at least you get to go outside. We were treated like 5 year old criminals. loving coloring books? VCR? Video tapes with children's movies? I'm glad that I made it aware quickly, at least to a few nurses, that I was not insane, I was not violent, I was not a drunk, and I was not an addict. I was able to eloquently articulate my needs and question things that I did not think were right. It made them see me as a normal adult -- which I am! -- and not just some big bunch of insurance money shuffling around the hallways.
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| # ? Sep 5, 2012 17:13 |
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Years ago one of my friends was really depressed after his girlfriend dumped him, and he made a halfassed suicide attempt, probably just for the attention. He got tossed into a mental ward for like a week and he was beyond miserable. There are a couple stories I remember: One was this huge orderly waking him up in the middle of the night to administer an injection. My friend was still groggy from the meds and the guy just flipped him over, yanked down his shorts and stabbed him in the rear end with a syringe. He said it was the most helpless feeling he has ever had in his life. But the best was his roommate, a dude he called Hercules. Guy talked to himself and would mutter things related to Greek/Roman mythology like "Pluto down in the Underworld...he didnt think I was strong enough, he didnt think I was fast enough" And he would rip enormous farts in his sleep that sounded like a door slamming but he just kept snoozing away. He was so annoying to room with, liked to steal stuff, and they would always put the new people with him until they earned some seniority among the patients.
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| # ? Sep 6, 2012 02:57 |
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Lakedaimon posted:Years ago one of my friends was really depressed after his girlfriend dumped him, and he made a halfassed suicide attempt, probably just for the attention. He got tossed into a mental ward for like a week and he was beyond miserable. There are a couple stories I remember: I didn't experience any unwarranted injections but after describing my fear to a nurse she said, "Don't worry! If anyone is going to hurt you around here it's going to be us when we jab a needle in your butt!" Thanks for the reassurance, lady! Lakedaimon also posted:But the best was his roommate, a dude he called Hercules. Guy talked to himself and would mutter things related to Greek/Roman mythology like "Pluto down in the Underworld...he didnt think I was strong enough, he didnt think I was fast enough" And he would rip enormous farts in his sleep that sounded like a door slamming but he just kept snoozing away. He was so annoying to room with, liked to steal stuff, and they would always put the new people with him until they earned some seniority among the patients. This was one of my few blessings, was that I had a private room. I am not sure how I managed it. Maybe because I was so depressed and talked about getting myself into a car accident? They must have thought I was violent.
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| # ? Sep 6, 2012 05:12 |
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I voluntarily committed myself to a psychiatric and addiction treatment ward about half a year ago after I had a minor mental breakdown due to a combination of stress and clinical depression (I'm 21 now). I thought that voluntarily committing myself meant that I could leave at any time, but I guess that was just me being a dumbass, because I was forced to stay there for over a week against my will despite being perfectly rational, non-violent, and non-suicidal. Now, when I say I was there against my will I don't mean I was banging on the walls screaming at the doctors to let me out. I basically just kept periodically asking when I could leave only to be told that I had to stay until the psychiatrists cleared me. Towards the end I started to get minorly pissed off but mostly I just resigned myself to my situation and tried to make the best of it. All told, it actually wasn't that horrible of an experience. I guess I got lucky. I mean, mostly my stay there was incredibly boring and I could never get to sleep because of annoying snoring roommates, not to mention all the huge weirdos wandering the hallways, but it wasn't exactly a hellhole or anything. The "normal" people there tended to clump together while the real crazies roamed around in their own little world. I was very quickly recognized as a "normal" person, so I mostly just hung out with all the minor addicts and depressives. Most of them were fairly cool people. The most annoying thing was having to go to worthless "group" meetings five times a day, where you had to set goals for yourself and engage in some half-baked therapeutic exercises. Some people seemed to actually respond well to these things, but I think it was mostly just the fact that they could talk about their issues with other people and not get judged for it. I was pretty cynical about the whole thing so I mostly acted the part of the class clown, but most people seemed to like me so I guess they didn't mind. But yeah, most days were spent watching cable TV in between groups, reading some books my family brought in for me, and eating terrible left-over hospital food. The weirdest person I met was this short, fat, middle-aged troll of a woman who thought Criss Angel was her husband and that she had a child with him named Epic Elijah. She would go on at length about this to anyone within earshot and often had imaginary conversations on the phone with him wherein she needled him for custody of her child. I gather that she really did have a kid who was being kept from her due to her mental illness, but why she felt the need to build this into a dysfunctional fantasy relationship with a hacky television magician I have no idea. All I know is that if Criss Angel really was her baby daddy, he must have been hammered when he did the deed.
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| # ? Sep 6, 2012 11:48 |
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Billy Idle posted:I voluntarily committed myself to a psychiatric and addiction treatment ward about half a year ago after I had a minor mental breakdown due to a combination of stress and clinical depression (I'm 21 now). I thought that voluntarily committing myself meant that I could leave at any time, but I guess that was just me being a dumbass, because I was forced to stay there for over a week against my will despite being perfectly rational, non-violent, and non-suicidal. I'm not sure where you are but here in California if you voluntarily admit yourself you are allowed to leave after your 72 hours(Thats a 5150) but if you do it's called an AMA, against medical advice. What this means is you will not get any medications until you can make an appointment with a doctor on the outside; I also heard that your insurance will not cover the stay. Just for reference, mine was $725 a day but thankfully I do have insurance. This is all assuming they didn't get you a 5250 though, which happens after your 5150 and they can hold you for another week. Then it keeps going and going like that pretty much.
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| # ? Sep 7, 2012 04:01 |
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| # ? Jun 19, 2013 19:35 |
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To clarify, 5150 is the California involuntary 72 hour hold for danger to self, danger to others, or grave disability. 5250 is a 14 day hold that can be undertaken after a 5150 expires. A 5250 hold is confirmed by a hearing soon after it is placed to establish that the danger to self/others or grave disability exists. Neither of these waive your right to refuse psychiatric medications. Neither of them are voluntary inpatient treatment, though someone who enters voluntarily can be held on 5150 if they are acutely suicidal but wish to leave, for example.
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| # ? Sep 7, 2012 05:36 |
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