Any Aspie artists out there? Do you know of any? Are you one

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I'd rather die than go to another Psychiatric ward. I've been in three. They are not suitable environments to facilitate recovery; they are simply dumping grounds for people too dangerous to themselves or other people to live out in the world. The only hospital stay that helped me was my stay at St. George's eating disorder unit. The food was good.

I went once twice to visit my sister when she had episodes of paranoid schizophrenia. I found the local crazies there to be quite interesting. One guy would approach me and tell me of the end of the world and the bible, another lady was receiving ECT for bulemia/anorexia. While there, I also watched my sister become dissociated from her meds. I wouldn't suggest this for anyone. Most of the practitioners there don't care about the ailing. They just want them to take their meds and shut-up. If you think you should go to one of these to get diagnosed; DON'T!! Join a choir or help the needy. It'll make you feel better.

It wasn't a great place, that is for sure.

Admitted after an attempt. Stayed for 3 weeks. They treat you pretty bad in there.

The other patients are pretty nice usually. In our free time we played board games and watched TV together, we hung out. At other times we were forced into group, and saw the shrinks. Mine were awful, the nasty things they said to me...

When one of us got angry, they pumped us with drugs and put the jacket on and threw us into a rubber room.

The staff was pretty crappy. You couldn't stay in your room alone (not a nice thing for an aspie). They wanted you to interact with the other patients.

My experience was pretty darn awful.

Well the psychologist said I was 'unmarriable' because me and my husband at the time weren't getting along. So how did he come to that conclusion?

And that I was bi-polar. I told him I wasn't bi-polar because I did have high moods and low moods. He was arguing with me about it. I blew him off.

The other one was a psychiatrist and he was no cake walk. He was lackadaisical and couldn't be bothered with any of the patients.

OK, so maybe I am unmarriable, but he never said why. It was b'cause he didn't know, he was talking out of his butt. I may be unmarriable because I'm AS, but of course to him I was just a crazy lady.

I went due to a single incident too. And it could b'cause you were young and your parents could sue the tar out of them. When you are an adult, they can treat you any way they want b'cause no one cares (that is what they think).

I hear lots of stories about the ward. I have a friend who used to work in a PW as a nurses aid, and the things she told me they did to the patients (not her, but the other workers) would make your skin crawl. It is a shame that some people think they have the power to inflict pain and suffering on another. Not like we were not in enough pain to start with.

It was a very good thing for me, I posted about it in another thread. I had an accident that hurt my spine really bad, I didn't want to take pain meds, because I am stubborn in my belief that the body can heal itself. But after 5 month of pain and sleepless nights and spent in bed (I could not walk, either), so after such a nightmare, I decided one day that I was going to "check out" (I got my inspiration from TV for how to do it), but with my last sparkle of self-preservation and wisdom that I had left,I told my doctor first about my plan (crazy plan, because it came from exhaustion). My doctor called my lawyer and my lawyer, that I respect a lot, told me very cold to get myself to the ER right-a-way (probably a one minute conversation where I did not have a say). I executed without giving him no BS. I went and I voluntary admitted myself (not very pleasant to have handcuffs in ER, not sexy like it would be in your own bedroom...for example ).
It was a very very good thing to do and I slept for days, because that was exactly what I needed, to rest. I was treated with outmost compassion and respect and I meet a lot of nice people (patients and nurses and excellent doctors). I called that experience my "spa" trip. Spa for poor people, but still a spa. I don't care for people that would judge me for this, believe me, there are enough of those a**holes, they will always be, the dumb people that KNOW everything about life and somebody elase's business, instead of taking care of THEIR messed up life ), let see them going through what I went through and making it...
I say, if you get crazy ideas, go get help and be grateful that you made it. I know I was lucky to be in a good place, sorry for the people that had a bad experience. Mine was a life changing experience, I thank G-d I made it. And I am still stubborn and medicine (pain pills, whatever other meds...) free.

It's probably a common place for those with Asperger's/autism who were missed when younger to end up when one reaches breaking point (one can only keep the facade of normal up for so long), and the slew of comorbids come out (anxiety/depression).

My two stays weren't bad at all, well, everyone spoke too much for me, that was the worst part apart from being away from home.

Yes, I have been in the mental hospital before. 3 times to be exact, almost 4 if you include the one time I went in this year but they didn't have any beds. Each of the 3 times I went in for a week due to suicidal thoughts and cutting. I was also very paranoid about the government being after me. But that is what the government does! They go after people! The stay was the most boring time in my life. Luckily the ones that I went in let me be in my room by myself. The staff were nice to me, believe it or not but the bad thing is they did call me delusional. Same with the psychiatrist. The problem with the 2nd time I went in I had this doctor that wanted me to be kicked out of the house into the cold nasty streets. I'm not ready to move out. Two of the three times that I went in took place last year (2006). The only things that I like there is the schedule and I also like talking to the other patients. That is it. I hope to God that I never have to go back into the mental hospital.

Yes, I've been in for depression. I'd rather be abducted by, and experimented upon, by
Aliens than to ever go back there!

Yeah, it was at a low point for me, I was unecessarily stressed about change. I walked in there a bit shaken, I had thought about suicide. I had to know three things before I went in there. 1 That wouldn't be forced to take meds, that I had a choice. 2 That my parents wouldn't have to pay for it, insurance would. 3 That I could leave when I wanted to. The social worker I talked to said I didn't have anything to worry about, I could choose not to take meds, my parents wouldn't have to pay, and I could leave any time. So I was admitted.

The first meeting with the "doctor" he tells me I may have to go on meds, and I tell him what the social worker said. He pretty much says that he isn't accountable for what was said. So I say I want out. He immediately starts threatening me that my parents will have to pay 4000$ if I leave early. Well, all 3 of my fears were realized in a single conversation, and I'd been lied to about all 3. It ended up I was able to get out without my parents paying... but the way they treat the people in there. As I was leaving, I told the nurse that if I got suicidal again, I would come back, or at least find help. And rather than say something encouraging, she gives me a nasty look and says I probably won't be able to come back, due to me leaving early this first time.

So... in short, they lie and don't care. If you're having issues, I would recommend anything but going into that environment.

They do treat you pretty bad.
It was one of the worst experiences of my life.

Horrible horrible horrible, I got admitted because of my dumb assed counseler who I hate to death by now called the police at 1 in the morning. She did this risk assesment, me being aspie and stupid fell into a trap, got arrested and put in psych ward jail. They came at 2am in the morning, handcuffed me, took me away on a stretcher. Now recollecting the memories, it was a trap, a darn trap. How can you not be emotional at 2am in the morning when the police come after you I mean come on even if I wasnt depressed. So that night I had to wait 3 f**** hours for a bed, dammit I wish they wouldve just realized me and said theres no room. It was the worst night of my life.

I was there on a 72 hour hold which was ugg restricting, disgusting, confinding. I mean being in a psych jail for being stupid is the punishment of a lifetime. The staff was ok, the people there kinda scard me, the food was horrible except deserts, we wernt allowed to leave, and I was really bored the whole time. So I slept a lot. According to them, you shouldnt sleep off your depression. I didnt really get it cause people would feel depressed even though nothing happened the entire day. The only reason in my mind to feel depressed is the fact that Im stuck in there. It was the worst 72 hours of my life

Then later going to another psychologist, she said to me once that people, they're are things that they do to people that dont follow society, jail or hospitalization. Im thinkin so sticking me in the hospital basically makes me feel like a worthless piece of crap. What am I, equivalent to a prisoner? So its a sensitive subject for me when someone agrees and says you should go to the hospital, cause to me there saying is "Lindsey you are a danger to society so we have to keep you a live by sending you to the hospital so we can torture you even more. Hospitalization is a dumping ground for people which others choose to dump there because they are trying to exile them from society. I mean come on they dont wanna deal with us to they choose the dump us cause what else, they cant send us to prison cause technically we never commited a crime.

I went once,
wow, it's really sad you guys were treated so poorly in yours,
I went shortly; and the people were nice to me, but then again I went due to a single episode, and that was while I was at school, They thought I was schitzophrenic (Excuse my horrid spelling!) The girl who sat in front of me got disturbed that I was muttering under my breath, she thought I was contemplating killing someone, I kinda have to mutter, becasue I can't realy think in words (as many of you know).
I didn't like the place, it was eerie, but at the same time, I didn't mind it.

i was in one for a week last year for trying to commit suicide. it was terrible, upon arriving i had to strip down to my underware and wear this flimsy little gown, i couldnt wear shoes and was given respirdal immiadiately, then i had a allergic reaction to it and flipped the f**k out on everyone. after that i was given another medication and slept for three days. the rest of the time i just drank orange juice and watched the news until i was released, i'll never go back!

I've been in a three mental hospitals. The first time was unmitigated hell, the other two not so bad.

well i could tell how i got in this family home in first day i was arived they forcet me in my room and lockked the door i tryet to get out but i coulnd do much else then shout"let me out" after about 10 mins i finally startet to calm down i goet to sit in my bed there goet a first day on second day i got a melddown and reason was simbly that i dosent wantted to be there ,they draged me in my room while i was trying to figth back, they holdet me in bed so that i couldnt move, then they gived me a tranqualizer
Then they pulled the bed linens up around me, like a human burrito, tight, and altogether, picked me up by the bed linens and carried me to the seclusion room where there was an iron bed frame with a thin mattress covered in a fresh white sheet. and then, hands all around, held face down, shoes and socks off, ankles buckled in thick leather straps. Then my arms pulled behind my back, also strapped, and a thick nylon web over my torso, buckled down.

In a way it was restained. There was absolutely no way to fight, so I didn’t bother. i was restained rest off day they released me at next morning that was my first 2 days!


my lastets restain sidsuation was like 1 month ago they just restained me in my bed and leaved me there I worked my hand out of one strapped and moved just enough to relieve the pain. It worked for a while, until one worker noticed and put my hand back through....i know..though place but only if u act treadning like

I think I am probably a borderline aspie (is that PDD-NS?). Or is it just that at age 48 I have finally matured and don't feel so awkward and feel less aspie than when I was a teenager?

I was a Private in the Army Reserve Infantry. I always wanted to be an officer in the regular army, but was not accepted (twice). I liked being in the Army Reserve, everyone was very friendly, although I didn't make any friends that lasted outside the army environment. After a while in a rifle platoon, I was talked into transferring to the band (I played an instrument) which had very strong commeraderie, but again nothing that extended (for me) outside the Army environment.

I joined the infantry reserves on leaving school (age 17). It was something of an obsession at the time. I remember the tests (IQ, psych, medical and interview) as stressful. Everyone seemed to keep asking if I had a girlfriend and what she thought of me joining the military. If felt uncomfortable at those type of questions. It would be another 4 years before my first kiss and 7 years to my first girlfriend. I was nervous the first night at the unit, but EVERYONE in my platoon came up to me and introduced themselves and gave me a warm handshake. Afterwards I went back to the mess for a drink (which was good, at age 17 I was underage, but as a soldier in a mess I was legally served beer), it seemed the whole company likewise wanted to say hello.

This impressed me very much. I had never experienced such friendliness, EVER. It impressed on me how good it is to go up to people in any new situation and say hello and shake their hand, which I still do.

The Army was not stressful. It was lots of fun. As a "digger" ("grunt"), we paraded 1 night per week, had a bivouac 1 weekend per month, and an annual camp of 2 weeks. There didn't seem to be a lot of free time for "chit chat". There was a focus to most things, like training lectures (in doors or in the field), or else we were in small groups or when we went "tactical" on annual camp, there was lots of time alone. We never had any dormatory accommodation like you see in movies. I would have hated that.

The most stressful part of being in the army would be times (usually long trips in the back of a truck) when guys would talk about sex and girlfriends. Never having had a GF I dreaded someone asking me to talk.

In the band, we just practised, played at Army functions, and drank a lot of beer. One of my favourite gigs was playing solo at Field Force Command's formal dinners. You would be treated like an honoured guest, because the band was in high demand and these extra gigs were voluntary. On annual camp we would "do all the rides and shoots", but not have to do much other "green stuff".

I always felt like a valued member of the team.

Ana54 asked me to post stuff I remember. I'm going to post "snippets" because memories come back to me randomly, not all at once.

I'm not writing names here. I got into trouble for that before.

This happened during my stay in S******* Psychiatric Intensive Care Unit (a.k.a secure ward) in Greater London... I was severely schizophrenic and agitated at the time and had been moved from a general adolescent psych ward in London because of an assault that I made on a staff member... Had voices etc telling/forcing me to do things that I honestly to god did not want to do. I was in the kitchen, standing next to someone who was making toast, and I tried to stab a nurse with the knife that she was using. Thankfully I was "stopped" before the knife could get anywhere near her, and even if it had, its a psych ward knife, i.e. as blunt as kiddie scissors in nursery. Obviously, I was pretty scared then, and I tried to get away, but I had the alarm going off and everything, I was dragged out of the room by two nurses, and I distinctly remember yelling at them to let me go. They said they were taking me to the seclusion room, and that hit me like a bullet. I resisted and screamed at them with all my might, and I had the screaming in my head too... It was rather noisy and traumatic to say the least. I was thrown down on a matress on the floor and restrained by brute force for quite a few hours. I had my arm twisted back painfully several times, which was illegal at the time, because I was 16 (i.e. under 18 - different rights, even when on section). The only reason I stopped in the end was after being stabbed in the back with an intramuscular. If it wasn't for that, I would have probably fainted from physical overexertion. I had bruises on my arms and legs from them.

I was in Vietnam. Most of the things that happened to me were not what the popular conception of a war is. A book is hard. Who would edit? (no, don't ask me). As to being in a mental ward, well, sometimes, I suppose it's interesting (I've never been on one as an inmate), but again, it's mostly an internal experience. You're going through something heavy, but from the outside it's very difficult to see, and from the inside, it's usually (I'd imagine) hard to get an interesting perspective.

Having said all that, I'd contribute if someone else wanted to edit. But for me, anyway, Vietnam was not a positive experience. It didn't bother me, even though I was right in the middle of it, and sometimes I wonder why not, but most of it was being hot and uncomfortable, and terrified, and doing unspeakable things to other people, which I don't think very many of us who "served" are very proud of. Some of us were drafted, and that was an experience in itself. I wasn't. But I didn't go over there to serve my country. I went over there because I thought it would be fun. Which is kinda sick, now that I look back at it, but what can I say, I was 20, and I was kinda sick. I'm much older now, and a lot saner, I hope.

Beentheredonethat

In 1980 I was working for a bank in the center of Plymouth, UK. The pay
was poor but most employees ignored this because we could get cheap
loans for houses and cars which made up for the poor salary. What we
couldn't ignore though was the incredible amount of stress we were all
under and the complete a**hole that we had for a manager. When you go into
the bank to cash a check it all looks calm but what you don't realize
is that each person on a cashiers position also has another job in the
back office, and whilst they are giving you your change the work is
piling up on a desk behind.

As for the manager we had, he was a unique fellow. Let's call him
'John'. John was a tall thin man in his late fifties who had hit the top of
the career ladder and knew that he was going no further. He was a
banker of the old school, all his documents and memos were hand written in
beautiful copperplate handwriting and he always wore an immaculate three
piece suite coupled with a bowler hat when outside. Unfortunately
John's management skills were pretty close to zero and he regularly had
blazing arguments with his staff in full view of the customers. John
latched on to me early, as a young man with various social issues he knew
that I was an easy target and I quite often felt the sharp end of his
tongue.

As part of my 'career' with the bank I was expected to study for (and
pass) the banking exams. The first part of the exams were easy, in 1978
I'd finished a degree in Chemistry so the early banking stuff was a
walk in the park compared to that! Then I started part two of the courses
and they really turned up the heat, this was degree level accounting
and economics and for someone like me with only average math skills I
found it to be very hard work. On the day of the Part II exam we sat in
the hall and the lecturers told us to turn our papers over. One girl
behind me burst into tears, a guy to my left kept on swearing under his
breath, and for the first five minutes I thought I had been given the
wrong exam paper. I failed, badly, REALLY badly.

Then there was my parents. I don't care how you measure human behavior
my parents were weird. My father was a very religious man, he started
off his working career as a builder but sometime in his life he
discovered religion and like all converts he became REALLY keen. Religion
governed every aspect of his life so that meant that there was no alcohol in
the house, no swearing allowed, not a pack of cards to be seen and if
there was any nudity or swearing during a TV programme the TV would be
turned off for the rest of the evening. The end result of all this was
that I had little or no social skills training to deal with the outside
world, so long as I was either in my room keeping quiet or sat in a
corner somewhere reading a book then there wasn't a problem in their
eyes. If you want a comparison then try and see the movie 'Carrie', I don't
have telekinesis abilities but the upbringing that she received was
painfully realistic.

Girls were a problem. Lack of social skills meant that I had no luck
chatting up girls in nightclubs and after suddenly discovering that there
were girls in 1977 I had had very little luck in the romantic arena. I
therefore turned to computer dating and at first I must admit that I
had a reasonable amount of success. One or two of the relationships
lasted weeks and a couple of them lasted a month or two and in the Summer
of 1980 when I met 'Julie' (not her real name) I really thought that I
had hit the jackpot.

Julie was tall, slim, very pretty, and she was signed up to a couple of
the modelling agencies in the South of England. Apart from the
modelling work she also was a receptionist at a local squash club and she was
everything a guy could want. Friendly, talkative, good natured, and the
sort of girl who makes conversation stop and men hold in their beer
guts whenever she walks into a room. Julie however had one problem.

Julie had the mind of a sewer rat.

Imagine if you can everything that you don't like, everything that
annoys you, everything that puts you on edge. For the first few weeks
everything was rosy but in the back of her mind Julie was storing lists of
these things and slowly she began to change. She'd be late for dates (or
not turn up at all), vacations would be booked and then cancelled by
her at the last minute. She drew me in and then she lied, cheated and
used me in every way she could think of.

So, the story so far:

1) Although I don't know it (yet) I have AS. What I do know is that I
have very poor social skills, I'm no good with girls, I can't stand up
for myself in arguments and I have bouts of depression.

2) I'm under terrible stress at work, both from my manager who is a
major a**hole and from the workload.

3) I've failed my banking exams which means that I'm hundreds of pounds
out of pocket and my 'career' is in trouble.

4) My weird parents have done nothing to prepare me for life in the
real world.

5) I've a girlfriend who is trying to drive me crazy.

So I went crazy. Really crazy. Batshit lock him in a padded cell crazy.

The details here are a bit sketchy because the staff at the mental ward
worked really hard to blank out about two weeks of memories using a
combination of hypnosis and drugs. From what I remember I got on a bus
holding a large kitchen knife and muttering under my breath my little
scheme to gut Julie from top to toe. Obviously the bus driver was a little
concerned about this so he called the police on his radio and I
understand that it took six large police officers to drag me off the bus and
into the back of a police van.

I woke a few days later in a circular ward with high ceilings. There
were bars on the windows and doors and a set of leather straps held my
arms and legs quite securely to the bed. Around me were eleven other beds
but not all of them were occupied and all of the other patients seemed
to be allowed a lot more freedom than me. I knew that I had been
heavily drugged because each time I moved my head there was a buzzing
sensation and the room followed my head round in slow motion. A nurse saw
that I was awake and moving so she sat down by the side of the bed and
held my hand. She explained that I had been sectioned under the UK Mental
Health Act and that I would be here for at least the next three months
while the doctors ran lots of tests.

Five days after I woke up my parents arrived. My father, thinking that
he could order people around as usual, walked into the ward with his
back ramrod straight looking for his son. Then he saw what was involved
and within seconds his face turned ash gray. Turning to my mother he
said, "come on Lillian, we are leaving", and then he headed back out of
the door with my mother in tow like some obedient puppy. Eventually the
hospital managed to get in touch with my parents again and my father
refused to have anything to do with me or the treatment I was having. His
reply was that I was "being chastised by the Lord and my illness was
punishment for my sins". He flatly refused to sign any of the treatment
consent forms and most of them arrived back at the hospital blank apart
from one or more biblical texts written at the top of the first page.

I stayed fastened to the bed for a total of two weeks. Bathroom breaks
and food were not a problem as I was plugged into various drips and
collection bags which at least kept my body alive. This was also how they
administered the drugs and some of them were pretty powerful. Even now
I sometimes suffer from short term memory loss and I'm pretty sure that
these were the reason why this occurs. The first attempt to free me
was spectacular but short lived. On having all my straps undone I landed
a perfect right hook on the nearest orderly and then I made a break for
the open door on the other side of the ward. Seconds later another
orderly brought me down with a perfect rugby tackle and I still remember
the image of the floor tiles getting closer and closer as I fell. My
second attempt at release was somewhat more civilized and for the first
time in two weeks I was able to sit up, get up, and walk around my new
home.

The treatment at the hospital started off gently. There were
conversations with my assigned psychiatrist, Dr Bishay and there were group
therapy meetings where all the patients on the ward sat in a circle and
tried to explain what was going on in their heads. The drugs continued but
now they were in pill form and taken with breakfast and evening meal.
The food was surprisingly good although it was always eaten off paper
plates using plastic spoons. There was no chance of a plastic knife or
fork and metal utensils was unthinkable.

We had one suicide during my ninety day stay on the secure ward. By
accident or design one guy managed to break off part of his bed and expose
a sharp metal bracket beneath. Waiting until night when the lights
were dimmed he then ripped out both his wrists on the bare metal and then
calmly went back to bed and died. The first the nurses knew about it
was when they saw a pool of blood underneath the bed. The next day
workmen came in during our group therapy and ground down the metal brackets,
replacing them with plastic. We all had to say in group therapy how the
guys death had affected us and I just stood up and said I didn't give
a damn.

After three months on the secure ward my legal detention had ended. I
then had a long discussion with Dr Bishay and we agreed that I should
stay at the mental hospital for another six months but on a normal ward.
My new ward was a lot bigger with twenty beds, it was also warmer, had
prettier nurses, and there were no bars on the doors or windows. I was
also back to wearing normal clothes instead of PJ's so in theory I
could have walked out at that point and nobody would have stopped me but
this didn't happen as I wanted to be cured.

Treatment consisted of drugs twice a day, meetings twice a week on a
1-1 basis with Dr Bishay and group therapy on a daily basis. Some of the
ward residents had other stuff such as electro-convulsive therapy but
since my parents had refused to sign treatment papers they couldn't do
this in my case. As a substitute they used hypnotherapy as I had already
found this to be of use when giving up smoking the year before, I wish
I could tell you the details of this treatment but I honestly do not
remember.

Eventually after a total of six months at the hospital (three secure
and three none secure) I could feel that I was getting better. I was also
bored out of my mind as I have a reasonably intelligent head on my
shoulders and I had nothing to do. I raised this point a few times during
my meetings with Dr Bishay and I also made it known that I had some
interest in psychiatry and psychology. If nothing else I wanted to know
why I had gone crazy so that I could stop it happening again. One one
memorable day he finally gave up, looked me in the eye, and said "Ed, come
with me".

He took me through the ward and into the corridor, then up a flight of
stairs. On the floor above he walked with me into the medical library
and then after walking to the Psychology section sat me down at a desk.
"Ed", he said, "it's now just after 10am and I will return for you at
noon, please be here". I sat there for a few seconds, somewhat surprised
at the trust he had placed in me, and then promised to be good. There
were a few odd looks from the other doctors and medical students who
were there but I can only presume that they trusted Dr Bishay as much as
I did. At one point a second or third year medical student asked me if
I wanted any help but I knew my way round a library so I just sat down
and got to work.

During the last three months of my treatment at the hospital I spent
hours at that library. The pattern was always the same, Dr Bishay would
collect me from the ward at about 10am and then rescue me from my
studies at lunchtime. We would then discuss what I had been reading over
lunch in the main hospital canteen. This meant of course that I now had
real knives and forks available but I don't think he was too worried. My
studies were extensive, I did some light reading on neurology and the
structure of the brain and I also studied the types of depression and
it's causes. With some help from the other students in the library I also
read into human behavior and how it can be moulded by the society
around it.

The hospital staff were also a great help at this point. We went
outside the hospital in groups of four or five in the care of a psychiatric
social worker. Hours were spent in bars, clubs, shopping malls and all
the other places where humanity congregate just watching people and how
they behave and interact. All the time there were questions from the
social workers, "what do you think he's saying to her", "name three ways
she can show she likes him in public", "do yo think that man and woman
are friends or business partners", it went on and on. They were using
an old military technique which is still in place to train raw recruits
even now, first you break a man then you mould him into something
useful. We had already been broken in various ways and now they were putting
our minds back together.

One day Dr Bishay arranged to see Julie. I'm quite sure that he only
did this to satisfy his own curiosity, to find out why she had broken me
in this way, and the results of his meeting were most interesting. He
arranged an appointment for her to come in and see him at his offices
and she never turned up, this quite annoyed him but as I explained some
years later this was normal behavior. The next day she telephoned his
secretary and told her that she had forgotten the appointment so a second
meeting was arranged, this time he confirmed it in writing just to
make sure. Julie arrived on the day (but thirty minutes late) and sat down
in front of the good doctor. The discussion by all accounts was good
natured and friendly until he asked the most important question of all,
"why did you destroy Edward Almos"? Her answer was stunning in its
simplicity, she knew that my mind was a little bit on the fragile side so
she set out to drive me crazy because it was fun, she was bored with me
and driving me out of my mind was the source of some amusement.

In his career to this point Dr Bishay had met many people with
disturbed minds. Through his work on the secure wards he had seen psychopaths,
sociopaths, serial killers and people who would turn your blood cold.
The last line of his notes during the meeting with Julie therefore must
reveal something of her true nature, he wrote "this is the most evil
woman I have ever met".

I know what happened during the meeting between Dr Bishay and Julie
because he showed me his interview notes on my last day at the hospital.
There was a long talk between us that strayed in and out of medical
matters and we both agreed that my time to leave the hospital had come. My
treatment had not ended though, through the hospital I attended weekly
group therapy meetings run by a local priest for a further nine months,
meaning that my total treatment lasted a year and a half. My treatment
finally ended in the Spring of 1982 and I now feel a much stronger
person thanks to the good work done by the hospital.

So, thanks to:

Dr Namir Bishay
Dr Dennis Lilley
Nurse Anne Sherring
Nurse Fiona White
Father Martin Collins



Postscript
==========

I finally obtained revenge in the Summer of 1983. I found out through a
third party that Julie had quit her job, sold her car and apartment,
shipped all her worldly goods out of the country by sea and she was
about to fly out to the USA to become a nanny. After creating a fake
letterhead on a computer I faxed the US Customs and told them that a known
drug courier named XXXXX XXXXX was on the way to them and that she would
be carrying narcotics. On arrival in the USA she was detained, strip
searched, body cavity searched, held in a cell for 72 hours in case
anything had been swallowed, and then put back on the next plane to the UK.
Her passport was also marked as an undesirable alien which meant that
she could never enter the USA ever again. On arrival in the UK she had
no car, no job, nowhere to stay and just a light suitcase full of
clothes, she was effectively ruined. All of this was eventually sorted out
with the American authorities but by that time the job in the USA had
gone. Revenge, as they say, is a dish best served cold.

I was in a mental ward (voluntary) and met an accountant that had seen God. He was super nice and there was a machine with unlimited Dr. Pepper.

I'd go back if they let me!

Dear beentheredonethat,
I have one Aspie friend that posts here that joined the US Marines because he thought they were the Merchant Marines and no body told him different at the recruiting office.
my first husband was drafted out of Georgia from a chain gang in 1965 for becoming far too friendly with the far to willing Governor's daughter. He was in the 101st Airborne Rangers and was by his own admission "a maniac." (Needless to say, he didn't have a 'good' Vietnam experience either.) He was AWOL for 18 months and when finally found was so strung out on heroin they shipped him back to his mother in the states where he drank straight tequila for 6 months just to kick the withdrawal hell. He settled in Berkeley, CA and in 1969, I met him and we started our own self employed commodities business. We sold the best damn commodities in town!
Unfortunately, he never overcame being the maniac he became in Nam.

Merle

This might be a story from the past, but I just can't help but knowing it will be happening all over again from the recent war, and for the precisely the same reason.

Rafe
I know your meaning about young people and children not being prepared to hear the real stories. Even in the mental institution it becomes no bedtime story real quick. I got pregnant in the mental hospital and spent most of my time retching from the smell of schizophrenia that had just penetrated the walls in there. At the time I had no idea I could say 'no' to sexual encounters, and even if I could have kept men away physically, I craved any attention and I had been programed to think every man was my potential soul mate that was poised to whisk me away to lifelong love, affection and marriage. Why wouldn't I welcome him into my willing arms?
Such story lines are probably quaint in this day and age and the lessons I learned might be obsolete now that single parenting is considered a noble undertaking, rather than a moral and ethical dilemma that destroyed any social standing what so ever.

Merle

On Wednesday, September 20, 2000, my best friend @ the time was very mad @ me. I was talking about suicide, NOT truly meaning I wanted to kill myself. On Friday, September 22, 2000, I was admitted to CARITAS Peace Center in Louisville, KY, USA. They took all my stuff and manhandled me into the seclusion room even though I was making no threats. I was put on unit restriction just for signing to a Deaf boy on the unit with me. There was only an interpreter available first shift, so he wasn't even getting his right to accessible communication. My mother didn't believe me at first that it was a psychiatric hospital, but I showed her the rules and I showed her around the next day. That Saturday, September 30, 2000, my parents pulled me out of there against medical advice. My father forcibly gained access to the things of mine that had been confiscated and we returned to his house in Cincinnati, OH, USA. My mother didn't want me in the psychiatric hospital, let alone a place where I wasn't allowed to sign. Prohibition of signing is illegal in the USA. It is a violation of my human rights. But the staff of CARITAS Peace Center sure don't give a damn! Even though my mom demands that I communicate verbally with her, she would NEVER want me in a place that "doesn't allow" signing or that violates other human rights I have.

Did you want me to post my "story" here? Its quite long, sorry. This might get a bit distressing.


It started in 2004, with withdrawing behaviour, and problems making friends. I was sent to a
therapist for that. It didn't help, and in late 2004, I started having moderate
hallucinations. I held out until 2005, when I became very withdrawn, turned into a rather
hardcore grunger, and spent break/lunch times picking holes in my skin with my nails. I
stopped eating enough. The hallucinations became worse around December 2004. When I was in
Muscat accompanying my Dad on his business trip, I got a room to myself. I spent two hours
cowering in the corner of my room, because I was convinced that the television was trying to
kill me. I cut myself on that "holiday", and by the time that I came back to school, the
voices were so bad (and a visual hallucination had joined in; she was terrifying, and forced
me to do things I didn't want to do) that I ended up taking a sharpened bread knife and I
slashed my arm severely, but I didn't get any treatment for it. March 2005, my school nurse
sent me to A&E because I was seen crying and yelling at someone that wasn't there. I was
almost completely catatonic throughout that A&E visit. Several junior doctors interviewed me.
They tried to get me to have treatment for the old scars, but instead I ran off into the
corridor and up some stairs, trying to get away. Security found me and practically
rugby-tackled me to the ground. I was brought back into the "quiet room" and then sent (at
1am) to a paediatric ward to await treatment. The next day I was seen by two doctors, and then
I voluntarily went to an adolescent ward in a psychiatric hospital in London. I stayed there
for three weeks, and came out not too badly. The symptoms did not fully go away, but I was
generally ok. I went voluntarily in early August, but only for a panic attack, and it wasn't
very "eventful". I left three weeks later. But 30th October 2005 was the worst. I tried to
overdose, and my psychiatrist took me to hospital. I wasn't resisting, because the symptoms
were so bad that I was completely out of it. I cannot remember the details well, but I do know
that I attempted to trash the living room in a rage (initiated by the voices and the woman in
my hallucination), and was grabbed by two nurses and they tried to drag me into the "quiet
room" (a.k.a. "room where many physical restraints occur"). Obviously, I resisted, managed to
get away somehow, and almost threw a chair at a nurse in this
hallucination-fuelled-paranoid-rage. I was then seized by them again, and this time physically
dragged into the room. In that room, they pinned me face-down on top of a matress on the floor
and grabbed my arms. I kicked like hell with my legs, which they then pinned down. I resisted
for three hours, only to end up being injected with lorazepam in my back. I stayed there for
another six hours to regain proper movement in my body. Although I did try to get up not too
long after I was "calmed down", and then all said "no no no, don't do that" and pushed me back
down again. I just wanted water. I spent the night being watched by two nurses and not
sleeping at all. The next day, I had an appointment with the doctor. During that appointment,
her voice was fading away slowly, and I was distracted by the "hallucination woman" in a black
dress. The voices came back to accompany her, but this time they came back badly. They were
shouting me to strangle the doctor. I kept saying "no!", and the doctor and the two
supervising nurses were asking me what was wrong, but I didn't reply. The voices got the
better of me, and I got my hands around my neck, not wanting to do it, but being *forced* to
do it by the voices. I was restrained for six and a half hours with two injections. Then I was
sectioned (section 2), and sent to a secure ward, which was horrible. The NHS were waiting for
public funding for me to go a private hospital (which had an adolescent psychiatric secure
ward), so for two weeks I stayed in a Surrey hospital, in an *adult* secure ward. The bathroom
was almost untouchable, I was bedroom-ed next door to a suspected sex offender, and I had my
arm twisted back several times during restraints (I looked this up: it is not allowed to use
pain as a de-escalating device during restaints of under-18s). I stayed there for two weeks,
and then two weeks (to complete my section) at the private ward. The private ward was ok,
although I wasn't allowed to go outside. At all. I was recovering by then, and was sent back
to London, where I stayed as an inpatient for another month, and then outpatient for two
months. I got better, but not 100% better. Since then, I have been having almost daily
hallucinations, but most of the time, they're not too bad:
- Stroking a cat that's not there.
- Talking to someone that's not there for a few seconds.
- People calling out my name repeatedly.
Etc etc. I do get flare-ups where the voices and hallucinations get very bad, and was nearly
sectioned early last September. But most of the time, I am just the eccentric loner girl, with
hallucinations... I am currently trying to fight them without raising my medication, but it is
very, very difficult.


If anyone wants to talk about schizophrenia, then I am happy to talk.

Such restraints happened well into the double figures during those hellish 4 weeks (after my section ended, I was a little bit better due to a very intensive medication regime and I agreed to stay voluntarily).
Once I was restrained for 6.5 hours by brute force. The order of medication goes lorazepam pill (I refused, and its pretty hard to make someone swallow a pill when they refuse), liquid diazepam (spat it out, every little bit. Difficult when you're lying on your stomach and having your head manhandled) and then the dreaded intramuscular lorazepam of a much higher dosage than the pill. I remember them telling me that they were going to use it, and I remember actually getting free for a second before they were going to inject me with it. But I had one nurse sit on my legs with her full (heavy) body weight, another two nurses holding down my arms by my sides, a nurse trying to stop me from trying to break my nose, and one last one holding my back so that they could jab me in the back with it. Six nurses. Too many; it just made the whole situation more terrifying.
Have you ever heard of out-of-body experiences? I had a couple of those during that restraint. They were very bizarre; I could see behind myself (I was on my front, my head facing away from the door) and quite far into the corridor.
I remember about twenty minutes after the i.m. lorazepam, when I appeared to be very sedated. I was lying there, and they were cautiously letting me go. Suddenly I felt this random rush of energy and I got up to run away, but I was practically thrown on the matress again, and they didn't let me go for ages after that.

I was nursed on 2-1 (two nurses to one patient) for four weeks. Going to the loo would be door half-open and nurse standing in the doorway, not looking, but hearing.

But to be honest, I do wonder what it was like from the nurses' point of view...

A month and a bit, completely voluntary; everyone there spoke too much.

Yeah, and they were NOT fun times.

I was confined to a mental ward for an initial ninety day period whilst they figured out a) why I was depressed & suicidal and b) why I thought that getting on a bus carrying a carving knife muttering under my breath that I was going to kill my girlfriend was a good idea.

Now THAT'S a nervous breakdown folks ! !

After ninety days I was moved off a secure ward and they spent the next six months putting my mind back together. No ECT as my parents wouldn't sign the consent form but they did everything else.

Ed Almos

I've been in the mental hospital 3 times in my life. All three times I was in there for only a week at a time. Two of those times were last year and the other time was a long time ago (11 years ago) when I was 13 years young. It was extremely boring there each time. My severe depression put me in there each time. I almost went in there this year because I went crazy. I was hurting myself all the time and almost committed suicide. But they didn't have any beds available oh thank God for that. I didn't want to go back to the hospital again. All I do when I'm there is fiddle with my thumbs and read books. The hospital didn't really help. All they do was put me on medicines and talk to me 5 minutes every day in therapy. The main thing the medicines do is make me fat. It only helps a little bit. There are a lot of groups in the hospital including art therapy. That was one of my favorite groups. I like to draw. So, that is my experience with mental hospitals. Knowing my luck I will go back before the year is over.

I learned how to do all of this except for drinking black coffee when I was sent to North Dakota State Hospital in Jamestown, ND (Wards AD 400 and AD 300) twice. Once when I was 11, and the second time from ages 12 to14, though the the tobacco use only really caught on during the second time.

The first time that I was there, I got to understand what 'Schizophrenia' was when one of the older kids told me to say something to a relatively quite kid who seemed ok. --It took a bunch of the adult staff to pry him off of me and hold him down on one of the picnic tables at the camp the state hospital owned at Spiritwood lake.

THe first time that I was there, I also learned that Thorazine not only makes it absolutely impossible for you to get angry, but also in sufficient makes it quite hard for you to breathe, and makes you gulp air. --My parents objected to medication, therefore I was subsequently taken off of it.

Walking the corridors of the place, (All of the buildings at NDSH were/are connected by a series of tunnels) I also got to see what happens when suicide by shotgun is unsucessful, as well as a girl who was given valium attempt suicide by slashing the viens in her elbow. --The blood went everywhere, and I hid in the staff bathroom until she was dragged out.

So.... the question is, what is a mental hospital like? I have no Idea of what it's like these days, but the one that I was in was essentially like a storage unit for people the State of North Dakota had no idea of what to do with. --Therapy was essentially nonexistant.

I have not bothered to keep track of people from there, and really have no interest. --I really can't say that I had any freinds there, because I didn't.

Anyway, the answer for me is yes. I was in the same private London psych hospital twice. I took my first overdose when I was 14 but in spite of endless overdoses between then and 22 when I was sectioned, they never put me in a psych ward...always a normal ward. They told my mother I just didn't belong in a psych ward and they thought it would make me a lot worse. Even when I cut up my arm so badly I needed 98 stitches, they didn't section me or even keep me in. They just stitched me and sent me home. When my weight was at 70 ibs, I still was at home, lol. I was a mess, to be honest... bad bullying at school and my mother's non stable behaviour towards me, plus the legacy of child sexual abuse and the connected guilt really affected me badly.

Anyway, I was in voluntarily, to give my mother a rest, the first time...2 weeks that was for and it was okay.
But the second time, my mother had come in my room and I was on the window ledge of her top floor apartment, and she decided she couldn't cope with me anymore. I was just in a very bad way, almost verging on delusional. If I wasn't taking sleeping pills so I wouldn't have to live through the days, I was getting into insane rages bought on by things she said or by my own self loathing, and cutting myself with anything that came to hand, regardless of the consequences. It wasn't a calculated 'lets cut to get someone's attention' sort of thing, so much as pure rage and anger and pain.

Anyway, I don't think she realised I would be sectioned. I was put back in the same hospital and they gave me sedation and the next morning, I was woken up to have the sectioning order read to me when I wasn't even alert enough to have a clue what it meant! My mother was very upset and angry as it was taken out of her hands. I kept trying to escape and run off, and finally they confined me to my room. I was stuck in a room for 5 weeks with a nurse guarding the door. I was not allowed out of it at all. They did nothing when I banged my head on the wall, tho occasionally I got a nice nurse who would brush my hair to calm me down. I hated it there. I got rather institutionalised, and in the end, they released me, not because I was better but because they couldn't cope with me lol.

I've never been in a mental hospital, but I have few friends who have. One had a manic episode where she basically became psychotic for 3 days and didn't sleep or anything. She never really told me anything about her experience in there though. Another friend was in there for depression, and he had this delusional roommate who always used to tell him crazy stories. My friend hated it there. And then another friend has been in there a few times- whenever she tried to kill herself she would end up in the mental hospital for a while (although her last visit she checked herself in voluntarily for suicidal thoughts). She also didn't tell me too much about her experience, except that I know there were some really messed up people in there, whom she sometimes had to calm down and take care of when they got agitated.

I've been in short-term hospitalization (for me usually a week or two, once or twice for closer to a month) but never long-term. Some hospitals are nicer than others. The adolescent units were in some ways nicer than the adult units. On adolescent units there are all sorts of people and nobody seems to be terribly nuts. But on adult units there are usually some delusional folks and some people walking around like zombies all day. There are exceptions. Just as some hospitals are more about medicating the patients and getting them out the door, others have a lot of helpful and friendly staff who go above and beyond to make the patients comfortable.

Topeka State Mental Institution, Boysen South, Ward B. Third Wing .

was there for 8 months. Learned to smoke cigarettes with out filters, drink black coffee and play cut throat 500 Rummy at the tender age of 17. Saw a woman after she ate Drano. Craved tomatoes and raw meat. Found out people with psychosis have a different chemical smell. The walls were permeated with the smell of the mental chemistry of schizophrenics. I was always nauseated because to me, the place reeked of it so.

Last year, in 2006 I for the first time read Sylvia Plath's "The Bell Jar" and watched "Girl, Interrupted" and was quite touched with them . I had no idea others had walked my path!


Merle

she looked dead and not happy about how she got there.



and certain cancers have a smell, too. ..



the tomatoes, yes, the raw meat, no. I was pregnant throughout my last few months there, so I was hyper sensitive to smell ( well, everything, actually).

Merle

Oh, they had therapy at Topeka State, alright. Hydro theraphy - barely luke warm water whirling around you in big claw footed tubs that had vinyl sides that zipped up around you with your head popping out. Matron would sit reading a Saturday Evening Post Magazine for hours, while you became shriveled and lulled by the swirling water. And of course, shock treatment was still used for the particularly stubborn cases. They went to Admininstration House for that, though around the back with the bulbous porcelin sinks and gurneys and equiptment made in the 1930's that must have been state of the art, back in the day.

They did take me into a room with a small light on the end of a stick on a tripod. You could tell it was stationary. they put a huge piece of drawing paper and a pencil before me and turned out the light and left the room. I was to draw to follow the beam of light. My drawings went completely off the page! I talked to others and they did the old 'roll your eyes' look because they just logically said the light didn't move and their hand didn't move, either!

I always wondered about that test, and what my reaction meant.

Merle

razors were a type of currency in the hospital. So were ciggerettes.


I SOLD my thorozine I stashed behind my tongue on the ward for ciggies and canteen food.
The first straight jacket I saw was being used on a woman that was admitted and we all thought she was just drunk when she came in - and she was! This was back before it was well known that Nyquil liquid cold medicine was 80proof alcohol and she had been sober through a self help program for over 20 years and had just taken some for a cold one evening - the allergic reaction that is alcoholism kicked in immediately and because alcoholism is a progressive disease ( it keeps getting worse even if you stop drinking for 20 years, only to leap out like an enraged lion when given alcohol again)
Anyway, she was looped that night and in the straight jacket and the next few days still in the jacket because she was so embarrassed she was suicidal - and her health had really suffered. . poor woman!

and the padded cell was right there on the ward. Open if unoccupied and a little chicken wired glass window to see anyone in there that was in there. We were always reminded of it's presence cause it was next to the nurses station and we were encouraged to remember it if we didn't want to take our meds.

I remember the dreamy woman that was my roommate, sweet Melinda. Her particular madness was seducing psychiatrists and orderlies because she LOVED being pregnant. They took away every child she ever bore, and she was very sad about that, and looked forward to being pregnant again. We used to swap suicide ideas like suburban housewives swapped chicken recipes!

Hahaha mental wards... yeah...

Three times, Springfield Hospital, Southwest London.

Joy of joys. It wasn't too bad the first and second times. The first time I was generally "out of it" for the first few days, but then I opened up a bit. There were a couple of schoolteachers, a classroom with some computers, and the rooms weren't too bad (except for the oldest one, which the window had been painted badly so that it had a permanent gap... bad thing in the winter when the -5 Celsius air kept coming in). Although the bath was a bit disgusting sometimes. The first time I spent a lot of time playing Tetris, doing maths, reading, listening to music and, towards the end of my stay, walking around Tooting with my Mum.

The third time... *screams* I came in after literally trying to kill myself in front of quite a few people, and not really meaning to kill myself; I was in the middle of some psychotic episode of some sort. I was taken in my my psychiatrist, voluntarily initially (well, yeah, I JUST DIDN'T PUT UP ANY RESISTANCE lol). But on the third day, after being restrained about 7 times in 2 days, I was sectioned (section 2 - 28 days) I was sent to a secure wards. The worst restraint (and this does not include straps and all that s**t, it just includes varying numbers of nurses grabbing all your limbs and pinning you to the ground) was for 6 1/2 hours, but that's probably because I just wouldn't stop trying to get out of that stupid room. I can't even remember what happened during that anyway... Too traumatic. The secure ward was a s**thole; I didn't have a bath for two weeks because I was worried about the colonies of microorganisms on the sides of the bath. There was nothing to do there (unlike the general adolescent ward) and I was only sent there after I ALLEGEDLY tried to strange a doctor in the adolescent ward. I stayed at the ADULT secure ward for two weeks, having to deal with the guy across the corridor who seemed to have the mindset of a paedophile, and also having my arm twisted back behind my back in all my restraints. I was then moved to an adolescent secure ward, which was privately-funded (the NHS had been looking for funds for me to go there, and yes, it took two weeks for them to find funds lol). That ward was rather nice, and by then, I was much better. Although the only problem about that ward is that I did not get a single breath of fresh air for two weeks there. Which is not as bad as some, but at least most psych wards these days have courtyards! I got to use the gym once, YAY. lol.

Psych wards are sometimes really beneficial, and I have had minor institutionalisation problems before, but sometimes they do quite the opposite (i.e. secure ward in Surrey). But I definitely can say that I have never, in real life, seen a straightjacket, straps, or any other such restraint devices. And I have also never, in real life (this excludes TV!), seen a room with padded walls.

Although one thing that I did get quite acquitanted with is the lorazepam 2mg injection. The lorazepam 1mg pill and the oral diazepam stuff was always so easy to spit out, I found. But then, the nurses realised that too!

w0w that was long... sorry.

Did learn how to smuggle razors though... Except secure ward had metal detectors. Not so easy. Black coffee was banned. Although I learnt how to play obstacle course games in the pitch blackness with another patient, and how to pick locks (very, very useful).

There was a hell of a lot of hierarchy there... If you went to some of the night staff and said that you really could not sleep, they would give you milk (oh for f***'s sake). Other night staff on other nights would dish out sleeping pills like sweets . The nurses generally treated anyone annoying badly and anyone that was so ill that she couldn't know night or day with a lot of pity. Some nurses hugged you, some stayed three metres away from you. Healthcare Assistants... don't remind me! Half of them can't even speak English! d00d. The only way I got out of hospital was by becoming a really fake, nice person, and buying the consultant psychiatrist an expensive fountain pen lol, even though half the time, I was pretending to take my pills, then going to the loo and spitting them out.

I did for approximately half a year, when I was 15, it was a ward for teenagers. It wasn't what I expected it to be, actually I learned some important things, and it was quite refreshing. Well, to start a bit earlier, I grew up in a small town but was tought in a large class. In the ward I lived in a bigger town and the class was small. Both of these were good as I have always loved the anonymity, shopping, culture and events happening in big cities, and I got better grades in the smaller class. (Now, ten years later, I moved to an ever larger city.) It was also the first time I was away from my parents for an extended time, which was good too. Still I rebelled about being there, mostly because it happened at a time in my life where I just wanted to be NT, whatever the price, and the longer I was there the less I could feel like one.


Yes, but not more or fewer than anywhere else. Unfortunately I lost contact to all of them, since I moved to another country.


Nope, no meds at all.


Wouldn't say so, though I'm afraid I teased one of my room mates with phobias a lot - he was bullied by some others too - wish I could say sorry today.


After breakfast, hospital school for some hours - as I said it was a small class of mixed ages, with very nice and understanding teachers. In the afternoon sometimes we did group therapy (which I hated), sometimes single talks to a psychiatrist, sometimes activities in smaller groups, like cooking food, baking cookies etc. (that's where I loved to cook). Oh and I learned it's not a good idea to put french rolls in microwaves for 5 minutes, unless one wants to set of a fire alarm. But there were also lots of free time, when I could read books for myself, watch TV etc.


Well, of course nothing that was a potential risk to anybody, but mostly everything else, I think even obsessive behavior in some of the others wasn't discouraged a lot. During the first weeks I only got to leave accompanied by a nurse or social helper, but later I was allowed to go out alone often, then I would enjoy wandering through the city, shopping, visiting libraries or churches, listening to talks, or riding trains (the latter I wasn't supposed to do, but I'd say "I'll go shopping downtown the afternoon" and ride a train to some other city instead - part of my rebelling I guess).


I didn't tell many... especially nobody in my current relations knows. The school I left pitied me, some of them were sorry and thought they'd bullied me too much.


Lol, it didn't change my life a lot. I guess I got more independent though.


Lol again, what do you think it was, a jail or something? (Probably my opinions about jails are as mislead as what many believe about mental wards.) A friend tried to commit suicide but luckily wasn't successful.


The most eccentric, I guess was a guy who was extremely afraid of (some kind of) radiation. Sometimes the nurses had to force him to the TV room and he'd try to escape all the time. We had a good laugh about that, nice as kids are at that age :S

Conclusion: It was nothing like mental wards in the movies, there were few rules, and the staff was mostly very friendly and helpful. Still, thinking back on it I'm surprised how little was done to help people - so much free time, so few talks to psychiatrists. Sure, we were under supervision and our reactions to social situations were written down, but it felt more as if they were writing a scientific study than diagnosing and training us. I was released without a diagnosis and at least one friend was too. I wonder how that's all they could come up with, when my AS traits are quite obvious today. But then this was 10 years ago, I was not the person I'm today, and knowledge about ASD was more sparse than today.

I was - I reported my mom for some of the physical abuse she was doing, and the cops decide to take her word for that I had caused my own scratches and bruises, and so I was locked up, while that evil beotch got to go free.

The therapists in the ward weren't much better than my mom. There wasn't physical abuse but emotional abuse ran rampant. And I was punished for making friends amongst the other kids. The lady said that since I didn't talk during group therapy I wasn't allowed to talk to anyone outside of group therapy. Of course I didn't pour my heart and soul out in group therapy - for one thing there were 20 + people looking right at me when it was my time to talk, and for another that was everyone who was in the ward. One mistake in group therapy meant no friends at all there. And besides they were all relative strangers. what evidence did I have to know it was safe to talk in front of them? The girl I was punished for playing with knew my inner fears but I decided not to tell anyone else once I was punished for talking to her. When the therapist said I was allowed to talk to anyone she exchanged a "What in the world?" look with me, but then went off to play happily while i was made to sit on the couch. We would have both been about 13 at the time.

Actually the closest I got to that was a partial hospitalisation program because I was way too depressed and irrational at the time. I was in there with this lady who slit her own throat and you could see her wounds, neat to look at too
But anyway, both my sisters have been to them/are in them, and I used to have a friend that went to them frequently.

Well I actually went there in the morning, spent all day there and came back home at night. Sounds sh***y but it gave me something to do and I got to spend time with people who I could relate to.. In a depressive aspect anyway. So it turned out to be a lot better than I thought it would be at first. Once my time there ended I went right back to feeling depressed again lol

Oh, and thanks for pointing out my spelling error

Yes, today it's a lot easier to keep in touch when everyone has an e-mail, but it wasn't common at that time. Got a postal address though, but the girl has most certainly moved out in the meantime and I wouldn't know what to write anyway after such a long time


I can only guess they were hoping that facing his phobia and experiencing nothing bad from it would have some healing effect. It was probably followed up by individual talks or so. Still it seems rather cruel to me.

Hahaha I was only on a very new adolescent ward. I just spent my whole time being restrained LOL. Didn't care for much else, except trying to asphyxiate a psychiatrist, which was what got me sent to the secure ward. But trying to stab a nurse with a blunt knife in a secure ward... NOT clever. Besides, this was only the beginning of last year. I often discussed torture methods with this other girl, and then we found ourselves strangely attracted to a certain nurse, who we named Spud. It was strange there. But that ward was more like a friggin holiday camp inside a building. It was the secure ward where I pretty much stayed in my room most of the time because the very obese woman that kept stripping and the semi-paedophile were people that I didn't want to get involved with.

Stone House Mental Hospital
Some number of years ago when I was much youger.
I had become delusional paranoid and hallucinating. Although voluntarily admitted I have no doubt that had I refused treatment I would have lost it and found myself sectioned (refers to section of mental health act involuntary admission) and that is scary.
It was not one of the better experiences of my life although I probably had more sex with more people than at any other time in my life (2 girlfriends and a boyfriend). I was able to sneak out to visit the local pub, most of the nurses were very nice but there was one b*****d who enjoyed having power and made life difficult.
I was dosed up with Largactol which was not to pleasant (except when washed down with an illicit pint).
My main objective after getting in there was to get out which I did after 6 weeks by getting a job.
I could somewhat enjoy some of the occupational therapy activities (basket weaving etc.). I am one of those perverse types that enjoys group therapy and during these activities we had a relaxation session which was always not long enough for me to space right out
I did meet some interesting people but I would not recomend it.

He was an older man, possibly his late 50's or 60's, that I would occaisionally see in the tunnel going though one of the older buildings. One side of his face was covered with scars from the blast, and he was missing his eye on the side of the face that recieved the blast. --I asked the Psych Tech escorting me about him, she said that he had been there for many years, and that he had attempted to kill himself with a shotgun.

The only time I was committed was in 2005. My mom blackmailed me through Probate Court. Me and Grandma Strait (her mom) both know something has come over my mom in the past 2 years. She has become more controlling than ever. I can't stand that side of her! In the end of it all (around May 2005), I proved her wrong, but she did NOT go to jail for perjury. That *SUCKS*! I am so glad that former President Reagan NEVER signed that mental health bill. I've read horror stories about psychiatric hospitals for many years. Plus my own two parents have told me plenty of horror stories before I owned my own computer and paid for my own internet connection. Since then I've read plenty of horror stories written all over the internet. Luckily Hamilton County, Ohio's Probate Court only keeps Civil Commitment Records for 3 years after the case is closed. However, I was probated @ University Hospital in Cincinnati, OH, and they keep their copy of the records of the hospitalization for 10 years. Keep in mind I've been to their Psychiatric Emergency Services (PES) department plenty of times in the past 2 years (I go there almost every time I have a real bad case of sensory overload cuz it makes me very hostile towards the person who gave it to me). So really until I successfully avoid PES for 10 years straight, University Hospital will still have records to prove Probate Blackmail Oh Five ever happened. Fortunately the Court WON'T have records after May 2, 2008 (YAY !)

The worst experience I ever had in a psychiatric hospital was at CARITAS Peace Center in Louisville, KY in 2000. They called the Code Team on me just cuz I wouldn't let go of my laptop computer. Plus they wouldn't let me sign with the Deaf boy on the unit. They violated my human rights. As soon as my mom came down to Louisville and I showed her the rules and told her the punishments I was on because I signed to that Deaf boy, she started working on pulling me outta there against medical advice. Luckily I was only there altogether 9 days. THE WORST 9 DAYS OF MY LIFE SO FAR ! Since then I have boycotted all departments of the State of Kentucky...ESPECIALLY Mental Health. I will NEVER move to the State of Kentucky. Ohio's laws are strict though. I'm looking for a state with more lax laws but NOT a mental health system that'd treat me anything like Kentucky's mental health system did. Maybe the State of Washington would be better. My previous mental health case managers in 2005 did a lot of research on Seattle and found out how Seattle is so friendly to the Deaf-Blind. Plus I'm doing some research on the laws of the State of Washington myself.

Every time I see someone on the Metro buses around Cincinnati carrying a bag that says, "Louisville Slugger" on it, I have painful flashbacks of CARITAS. My experience there is why I'll NEVER meet new people in Kentucky. I know my mom's good friends in Cold Spring, but going to visit them is the only reason I ever have to let myself go to Kentucky FOR ANYTHING. I'll NEVER become a resident of that state. NEVER!

Plus I gotta be careful listening to the song "Before He Cheats" by Carrie Underwood which came out earlier this year (2007). She mentions a Louisville Slugger baseball bat (she pronounces it "Looeyvill"). Sometimes that can give me painful flashbacks.

Yes, 3 times in close succession. But, as always, I am the Aspergian princess. I was kept separate from others since I cannot psychologically handle others when I am vulnerable. I had a special room alongside the nurse's station each time. I felt restless though. The first few days I was very sleepy anyway and do not remember details. I am quite impassive to others so I would not have noticed if others were less than normal. I still operate like a cyborg - impassive to most others. So, I have no horror stories like some here! I liked my last doctor a lot and I only spoke to him. I did not speak for the first few days each time anyway. Not allowed to get dressed......one of the male nurses took me for walks though. The medication made me sleepy/sick.

Since you asked....I have visited my deeply autistic blood relative in the institution. I have many autistic relatives, BTW. He had a private room. Once only I became frightened from an isolated incident and I screamed and screamed and screamed until I fainted. I woke up later in a private bed but was allowed to leave.

I was in one for severe depression, and I voluntarily checked myself in because I was suicidal, and it wasn't too bad. The only negative thing was this male nurse who asked if you needed anything when leaving the common room to use the bathroom in the room I was in, or getting a drink from the fountain just outside that room. The day was filled with several group therapy sessions, as well as a chance to meet with the psychiatrist. I was there for 3 days, even though the admission was strictly voluntary.

I also did the partial hospitalization program in a completely seperate building from the main hospital which wasn't too bad because you arrived in the morning, had several group therapy sessions, then left in the afternoon. We also got lunch, but also had the option of going to the nearby shopping center for lunch.

The one mental hospital that really scares me is the one not too far from where I was where people stay for much longer than a week, and are often there on a court order. It's a lot like the one in Girl Interrupted with bars on the windows.

Psych ward is extremely boring during the holidays. It also causes much trauma - being AS, havig 5 nurses pinning me to the ground for several hours (literally) was NOT helpful when I was screaming my head off for half the time. As if constantly hallucinating during that time was NOT bad enough, they had to give me tactile sensory overload.

Yes I was after I went missing for three days. I just walked and walked. I was so depressed. Then I went to the hospital. But when I got there I changed my mind after a while and wanted to leave. They wouldn't let me. I stayed for three months and slept a lot because of the depression. They tried many medications including antipsycotics which made me twitch a lot.

As a last resort I had ECT eight times. It worked but only for a few months. I still have memory problems and get very depressed from time to time. I suppose I will always have dysthymia which is low-grade depression.
Sometimes I want to go back to hospital because of the routine and the security of that. But I want to stay well, too.

A friend of a friend of mine was once in a Mental Ward, apparently he tried dislocating his shoulder in order to escape, or he knew how. He was never the most stable person I've ever known.

What I wrote about was my second stay in hospital. The first was worse because everything was exactly the same when I got out and that is never good because how is life meant to improve?

I didn't know what I was doing half the time and was found wandering the other side of the hospital once. I also through a cup at a glass door and smashed it all. I thought I was in a dream. I got put in their version of an isolation room for it. It was a small room with nothing but a mattress on the floor. The door had one of those unbreakable wired glass windows. I was locked in for a while and I was given a tranquilizer. I was told if I didn't take it, I would be given an injection and be tied down, heh. What scares me about this is the fact that I wasn't taking any medication at this time. It was all in my head.

I was then given antipsychotics, big surprise there. I spent three weeks in that hospital. Afterwards I went back to work and everyone knew where I had been.

i was having alot of back pain during the end of my career as a nurse, so there was some pinter cleaning fluid that people said on the internet was legal then however after you take it it turns into ghb. after i took it for a while . i abruptly decided to stop using it --then the "illusions" came [not hallucinations my psychiatrist said]. so it got so bad that i called 911! it took along time for me to convince the ambulance drivers to take me. the rushed me into the xray room and the machines scared me in an extreme way --so i knew later it was from illusions brought on by sudden withdrawal of the chemical i was taking. they found no traces of it at all in my body. in addition my blood pressure went so high that they had to use nirto on me.i also at this point lost my ability to speak at all. they tried to put a tube down my throat and since i was so freaked out i closed down on the nurses finger gently but enough to prevent the tube going down but not to cause injury . so they got me to voluntarily drink the slightly sweetened black charcoal. and since i was familiar with it from work it was no problem so why did they not try that at first???then i was strapped down with a Hannibal lecter type mouth cover then they took me to a hospital room still tied down then they put an iv catheter in and gave me supportive care for about 3 days --i was not aware of time passing i was too "freaked out " by all the illusions i had the tv was going[showing tv shows] while it was off, then when it was on it looked like it kept repeating 4min scenes over and over i laughed so hard at that . i really wanted the straps off so it removed the iv several times to motivate them into taking it off. didn't work . then they eventually took them off after 3 days. then they put me in a hospital room and allowed me to rest on my own finally gave me food and cool water!. then the crisis intervention nurse came in and asked me a few questions to see if i was still out of it. she included was a math problem[i really really suck at subtraction with out being able to solve it on paper]. i failed it--so with the failure of this little test she had me committed to the county ward downstairs . i got the other 9 questions right . this same person told me that caffeine only lasts 15min! this is so not true--what kind of doctor is she if she is ignorant of such a common drug!! any how to get me to go into the ward they lied to me!! !! !! !!they said "you'd like it better than this private hospital room"---i did not know that was a thing people do in a hospital --liars liars!! i will never trust any hospital personnel if i am ever it that kind of situation again! just like police interrogators! !they think its ok to lie to people who are arrested in the interrogation room.i saw it on CSI so it must be true;). so off that detour, they said they had to keep me there because my blood pressure was still too high. i think i was in there a week or 10 days. i saw that they had cameras in every room and they kept the lights on in the room all the time --i normally sleep in a heavily blackened room! no sleep no normal food such boredom! every day! i was going stir crazy ! my mind is voracious for intellectual stimulation. and they did not give me all of my regular meds. uhg! and yes my nose was hypersensitive ---->nasty smells. my regular psychiatrist was really surprised at the poor level of care they gave me now i hate hate hate hospitals and the staff that lies and are so ignorant. bunch of evil clowns!i worked in a veterinary hospital for 15 years and we treat dogs and cats better in some ways, than people in human hospitals. i'll save the other 2 times for later if i dont get kicked off the board ??? i guess im too much of a wild child

I was once, for two weeks, after I tried to commit suicide. It was a state law or something, although I think my mother had something to do with it as well. Lovely experience! The thing I remember the most is that I froze my ass off in there. And I remember the big mean-looking orderly who had to watch me when I shaved. And another thing, my room had a light in the ceiling that stayed on all night. I woke up there after an ambulance delivered me from the hospital. What a weird experience that was, to regain consciousness in a mental institution in the middle of the night. They'd taken my belt and my shoe laces. All I had was the jeans I was wearing when I took all the pills, which were now crapped in, and a flimsy hospital gown. And a pair of Converse sneakers with no laces. It was two days before someone was allowed to bring me a clean pair of jeans. Not that I cared, I was so doped up.
I met a pretty good psychiatrist there who seemed to take an interest in me. He got me out of the crazy ward into the not-so-crazy ward. The only difference was that in the not-so-crazy ward they didn't dope you up so much, and you could go down to have a cigarette whenever you wanted.
Like I said, it was a lovely experience!

Okay, so, 3 psych. wards, 5 times total, all from ages 13-16. About 8 different meds, 6 different psychiatrists.

My first visit was full of insane drama. Someone at school saw my cuts and told the guidance councilor. I got called to the office in the middle of class. Crisis was called, and I bawled my eyes out to the guy and told him that if they told my mom or sent me away that "she'd kill herself". He told me she'd also be 302'd. The first deception of many.

I just remember being really ashamed and embarrassed. I couldn't look my family in the eye when they came to visit.

The variation of kids there was a lot like school, actually. Only with a tad more insanity. There were ones I got along with, ones who wouldn't give me the time of day, ones who gave me dirty looks, and that b**** Joanne who made fun of me. There was just as much neglect to the mental and emotional needs of the kids as there seemed to be everywhere else in the world. I still had trouble finding people to sit with at lunch. I still got picked next to last for team games in gym.

Adults still took my trust and stabbed me in the back with it. I remember the time I needed to talk. "I feel like cutting". I didn't. I was just lonely. Sad. And I just wanted someone to talk to me. "Okay, well, you can sleep in the 'safe room' tonight". Wow. Thanks b****. So all my pencils and pens get taken away (GREAT, since my only outlet there was obsessively documenting everything that happened in my journal). My sheets get taken away, in case I try to fashion a noose or something. I get thrown into the safe room (sheet plastic type walls, no furniture, locked door, camera) with a plastic mattress for the night. Good times. I never did get to talk to anyone.

Group therapy was monotonous. "Coping skills" stick out in my mind. Making lists of positive things to do when we're feeling negatively. The gayest s*** ever. Anger management. Basically more coping skill bs. Drug counciling. Basically a dude at a blackboard going around the room asking everyone to write down reasons to not do drugs.

I couldn't understand a word my psychiatrist said. I don't think I ever spent more than 5 minutes in his office per visit, the whole two weeks of my first stay. He threw around the words bi polar disorder and borderline personality disorder. I never knew if I had an official diagnosis or not. No one told me. This is usually the trend in the psych. ward. He put me on some depicoat, some remeron, zyprexa. I never felt any different with them, except for the racing heart and sometimes drowsiness. They'd check under your tongue to make sure you took your meds though, so there was no choice.

I got tired of the negligence real quick, faked "all better", and got out as soon as I could.

Unfortunately this happened 4 more times.

So I've seen screaming kids held down and shot in the a** with whatever kind of downer. I've called a schizophrenic girl's name while hiding from her sight, until she yelled "STAFF, I'M HEARING VOICES" (for some reason, I can't find it in me to feel bad for this one). I've had the kid across the hallway throw crumpled up love notes into my room. I've screamed bloody murder in the middle of the night, just to confuse the staff. I told little kids that my cuts were from getting attacked by a goldfish. They're vicious, I swear. In the adult ward, I heard a grown woman tell the staff to "go to hell" because they wouldn't let her make a phone call. Had a 45 year old man named Rodney rub lotion on my arms; I was 14 (someone tell me where the staff was when this was happening?!). Took an ink blot test. Wanted to know the results with everything in me, but no one would tell me.

So how did people react to me being institutionalized? I finally developed a relationship with my dad who I hadn't seen in a good 5 years. That was the best thing to come of the whole mess, so it was worth it. A wake up call for him, if you will. My mom was scared and over emotional, and it was really bad for me. She tried hard to over compensate for whatever she felt I was missing out on in life. The rest of my family send me stupid card with inspirational sayings on them. I freaking hate cards. My friends were curious and understanding, nothing more, and that's all I needed.

Was it fun? Did I make friends? Yes, sometimes it was fun. The times I got in trouble were the most fun. Sneaking into my friend Angel's room, trying on each other's clothes and just being... you know, normal 13 year old girls. I met some interesting people. Vanessa, she was 17. Sweetest girl you'd ever meet, had the cutest baby you've ever seen. Was in for holding a knife to her mothers throat. And wow, Heather. The girl who came in talking to herself, seemingly oblivious to everyone else around her. Weird outbursts. Not social with her peers. A week of meds and she was sitting with me at lunch chatting it up... just as normal as can be. I told her what she'd been like before, and she even had a sense of humor about it, laughing and saying "Hey come on! That's how I get without my meds!"

I feel like I got a decent bit of life experience in the psych. wards. I met interesting people, met a few good staff, one decent psychiatrist. Honestly though, I think most of all what I learned is that no one can help me but myself. I learned that most adults are neglectful. Most psychiatrists try to hurry you along when you speak, and they're usually foreign too. I learned that if you tell people about your lowest low, their idea of help will be much more like punishment. Pretty much, I feel I've been conditioned to take care of myself, because no one can really know how to do that but me.

I have been hospitalized 5 or 6 times. The first few were in a psych ward at a local hospital. It wasn't terrible, but not a great experience, either. I was hospitalized twice in private hospitals, and once in a state hospital.
It was definetly a learning experience. I think my favorite place was the state hospital. I stayed there for 3 months. That's quite awhile for a 15 yo. It was there that I was popular for the first time in my life. Yes, I was queen of the crazies. I always had friends, and I was able to be a regular teenager, which I had not experienced before. There were also dangers to this place. I learned real quick not to act out by watching how the other kids got treated when they did. It's hard to sleep when the girl in the seclusion room is screaming all night. You wonder how long she's been in restraints, and if they're even giving her food, and water. When you ask about her wellbeing, the staff just give you a look. I didn't rock, scream, or do anything that may place me in the position of the girl I mentioned. I was interestingly not given meds at this hospital, but I was given tons at others. One wrong move resulted in thorazine in the butt. I've been given so much Risperdal that I couldn't move my finger without exerting every last bit of energy in my body. Different rules apply in these places then on the outside.
I also absolutely hated group therapy. It was so pointless. I did not want to sit in a circle, and share my feelings with a bunch of strangers. I still don't understand what on earth anyone gets from that experience.
All in all I'm glad that I had a chance to experience just how bad life can be if you're seriously misunderstood. I will not ever let anyone treat my boys the way that I was, or dope them up the way that I was. The doctors have already suggested giving them Risperdal. They're 4, and 6. I said absolutely not. After all, I have firsthand experience with it that their medical journals couldn't ever make up for.

I went once. 3 weeks when I was 15. They gave me Zoloft which made me hallucinate. I was on suicide watch for the first few days (standard procedure, I was not suicidal, nor had I attempted anything), which meant no alone time, sleeping on a mattress on the floor in the hallway under the Flourescent lights, which were on and buzzing and flickering all night long. It was awful. They forced you to eat specific portions of specific food, which was torture. You had limited access to your shrink, who was the only person allowed to make changes to your daily required routine (i.e. confirming that I DID NOT have an eating disorder so I didn't have to eat any specific food I didn't want to as long as I ate something).

It was in the hospital that I started learning how to manipulate NTs into thinking I was normal or social. I dunno how to describe it, but I observed a lot there and I noticed how to read their emotions based on the words they said, and I noticed how to evoke emotions in them too. I really shamelessly manipulated them eventually untill they let me out. From then on I dunno I kinda knew how to manipulate teachers and "authority figures". That was the begining of my long road to really living among them with my own secret agenda. It seems so weird and distant now.

I was always undiagnosed, it wasn't till the last year or so that I started looking at aspie tests and reading books on the spectrum that I self-diagnosed. It was always misinterpreted as depression before that.

I was put in a teenage ward for twice, for a couple days the first time and a week the second time. The first time was after a monumental meltdown, when my mom was really afraid I'd try to kill myself. I wouldn't, but I needed to get out of that house anyway before I couldn't control the meltdowns at all anymore so I let her sent me to the psych ward for a few days. It was ridiculous, a county "hospital" which was really just suicide watch. No therapy sessions, and we weren't allowed to talk to each other about why we were there. I remember very little of it except watching TV and sitting in the "game room", which had puzzles and colouring books. That was were we went to talk about our problems where the staff wouldn't bother us.

The second time, I was put in for cutting. It was just a stim, but apparently people assume you're depressed and suicidal if you cut yourself (I can see their point of course, but no one knew yet that I had AS). The place I went to was so nice! It was a real psychiatric hospital, unlike the other place. Great food, group therapy sessions several times a day, art therapy, group exercises in the gym. I made friends, one of whom I went out to lunch with when we got out. We were more than encouraged to talk about our problems; we really had no choice. We ended up knowing more about each other than our own families and closest friends knew about us. My family could visit, and they even made an allowance to let my boyfriend visit. It didn't do much good of course because I'll always be autistic, but it did show me how much cutting scares people. I promised never to do it again, and mostly kept good on my word all these years.

Wow, some of the stories on this thread are so scary and surreal!

I had a pretty decent experience... When I was 17, I went to a psych ward for Major Depressive Disorder & Anorexia, and I stayed for a little over a month. I wasn't diagnosed with AS at the time.

When I arrived, I slept for about 2 days. I vaguely remember waking up to strangers who would be in my room asking me questions, I suppose to learn about my current mental state. When I finally left my room to have a shower, a schizophrenic male walked in on me - we both screamed. It was funny I guess, but after that I got my own private room and bath since I was the only female on the floor.

I remember really enjoying my time there because:

a) I had a very structured day. I woke up at the same time everyday, ate meals & snacks at the same time, had scheduled group meetings and activities, and a scheduled medication time. There were hardly any surprises and I had my own "routine".

b) Even if the others were not on the spectrum, they were still psychologically different from the majority of society and did not judge me or think I was "weird" when it came to my AS traits. They just saw me as another patient. Most of them were too wrapped up in their own problems to pay any attention to me. I had no obligations to "play normal" when I was in there, which was a huge relief to me. I had plenty of alone time and would spend hours in my room zoned out, listening to music.

c) It was never really boring. There was always something interesting going on. Whether it was a movie night or one of the patients in lock-down throwing feces all over the walls and making "Tarzan" noises - there was always something interesting going on.


What I did not like:

a) Nurses and staff treating me like a baby. There was this one nurse in particular that would talk to me really slowly, in condescending voice, as if I couldn't comprehend "big" words. That was seriously annoying and insulting.

b) The surprise blood tests. Occasionally, a nurse would appear on the floor without warning, and tell me that it was time for my blood test. I have had a gabillion painless blood tests in my life, and generally do not fear them, but these people must have had no idea what they were doing because every one I had hurt terribly. The incident that ticked me off the most, was when I woke up at 5 in the morning with a strange man standing over me, sticking a needle in my arm to draw blood. The guy didn't even bother to wake me up or explain what the hell he was doing in my room. That scared me and really bothered me. Sorry, I may be a little crazy, but I deserve to know when someone is going to stick and needle in me and draw my blood.

c) Not knowing that I had been diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder until I was being discharged. Apparently they had diagnosed me with MDD before I was admitted and didn't tell me.

I was commited once when I was 9 and once when I was 16. It was rather tramatic to me at age nine being tworn away from my parents into the hands of strangers and having all kinds of tests done and talking to people who talked down to me. It felt like a dream really it was so surreal. I'm still sort of messed up emotionaly from it and don't like to talk about it.

I was then commited again at 16, and asigned a so called "AS expert" he just said "So you have AS?" and that was it and he let his inten do all the work and the intern dxed me with skitsofrenia. The other kids consisted of drug adicts, a girl with PTSD and anerexia, a boy who couldn't seperate fantasy from reality. We had to go to group therapy everyday several times. Group situations never worked for me and the nurses were manily students. It was like a circus really. I came home worse than I was when I went in.

I spent 80% of my childhood from age 8 to age 17 in mental hospitals. The reason is because I didn't always listen to my mom and because I didn't always do my homework and stuff like that. And she never let me get further than 10 feet away from her my entire life unless I was at school.

The reason she did this is because she had Münchhausen by proxy disorder. Basically she made up all kinds of stuff about me 50% of it was a flat out lie. And she would go to meetings and stuff where there would be 20 professionals sitting around a table praising her about all that she went through to get me help. And they would have these meetings once a month. Basically she did it to get praise and sympathy, she is a sick piece of scum, who ruined my childhood. I now realize that I have Aspergers which means i would be screwed up anyways, but the point is that i would be a lot less messed up.

So yea I have been in a mental hospital before.

I never have...It has been threatened though....

I came to this thread because I found out tonight that my crazy ex-roommate and bandmember Steve was committed to a mental hospital a week ago. He called my boyfriend Flakey tonight.
He has conciderable AS symptoms...as well as bi-polar schitzophrenia issues. He goes in cycles and for a long time now he has been in a bad cycle....really paranoid and angry and stuff.

Now they have him on ALL kinds of meds....but according to Flakey, underneath all the meds he is still really messed up...the mental hospital does nothing good for him but keep him out of people's hair.
His neighbors called the police on him for yelling in his house....that is how he got committed...it is not the first time.

Police is not a great way to get sectioned; it hasn't happened to me, but I've seen it in the ward. The police act as if they're just sick of it.

Have you ever been hospitalised for a mental condition? I have a few times in my life and I have a lot of interesting experiences about it too, which I'll mention in this topic when I feel like it.

(I put it in this section because some of these things include 'mature' stuff)

When I was 3, Childrens Hospital of Buffalo (and yes, I am naming names) suggested to my mother that I be insitutioanlized because she would not be able to deal with me (at that time, she was told that I was Autistic). My mother of course, did not agree with them and apparently, the parent has absolute rights in that regard (or at least did in 1978) because the hospital could do nothing except go along with her.

The hospital did however enroll me in their pre-school class to check up on my progress. I am sure they were looking for evidence so that they could put me into a institution if they felt is was necessary.

Twice. Once in May 1998 and the second time in January 2003. Both times because of outbursts. First was because my sister busted my stapeler and I got furious and pulled her hair. Since my mom is overprotective and favors my sister over anybody else in the house, I got sent to the hospital. Second time was because I was having serious sleep issues. It was making my life living hell. I couldn't sleep at night and it HAD (No buts) to go to school every morning at 6AM by state law. 5:30-6:00 would be the time I would finally fall asleep. I was asleep and my mom threw me out of bed and I revolted by tearing the house upside down and trying to knock myself out with hard objects. They shoved me in the hospital and put me on some dumb medicine that didn't work. I got out and it was mostly the same as it was before until the fall of 2003.

For me, it was by far the stupiest waste of time. The second time it was -30 degrees below zero, the beds in the hospital were boards stuck in the floor and hard as hell (Not real beds. I asked why they had such hard beds and they said "We don't want this to be like a hotel") All they did was make us sit in group time and blab on about a bunch of crap. They gave me a HUGE work sheet packet and told me to finish it in a small amount of time. When I told them I didn't get it done they yelled at me and embarresed me in front of everybody.

I had around four months in an adolescent psychiatric bin (as opposed to /usr/local/bin), due to an unfortunate incident involving a telephone receiver, an Officer in Charge of the Assessment Centre I was staying in and myself in a foul temper. I was 14 at the time and they brought in the suited shrinks and I was signed over to them and put under a programme of what now seems to be vaguely occultist psychobabble nonsense and the liquid cosh.

The time was memorable because there was this section where we had to do 'presentations' in front of the camera, which video-recorded the exercise on old-fashioned open-reel videotape.

That was the last formal psychiatric intervention, after that it was a less formalised 'talking cure' approach that last around four years and turned out to be a total waste of time and money for all parties concerned.

St. Luke's in Racine, WI With the exception of most of the people working there and the beds, it wasn't too bad. The other people in there with me were some of the nicest and understanding people I have ever met. It was the adolecent section. They had school for 90min and the teacher was very nice. The people working there were all females except for one guy who seemed to have problems himself. He acted like he was a German guy in the military but along with the teacher was the only one that didn't act completely rude tords me.

They did'nt just hospitalise me for my condition, but because of the effects of it- ie. major depression and a lot of screaming and shouting about it.

Yes, on two separate occaisons. The first time was when I was 11 years old, from May 21, 1978, to August 27, 1978. I was initially supposed to be there for an Evaluation period of 30 days, due to the fact that I was deemed 'unruly' in school, and 'uncontrollable' by my parents. I was breifly medicated on Thorazine until my dad and my stepmom found out, then I was taken off of it. There were absolutely no attempts to council me, or otherwise give treatment. No Psycololical tests were performed, and I was released in time to return to sixth grade.

The second time, I was there from November 11, 1979, to the morning of April 25, 1981. This second time I was there was due to the fact that my 'unrulyness' had now expanded to running away from my parents. I was here under court orders, due to the fact that I had been placed on probation for a period of two years for running away.

During the initial evaluation the second time, I was given psycholigical testing. One was the stardardised (WAIS???) psych test, as well as a computerised questionnaire that contained over 400 questions. I filled out about 50 questions correctly, the rest of the test was answered randomly.-- Boredom set in, and I wasn't too happy about being institutionalised again. I figured that if they needed information, garbage would suffice. I was also given an EEG during this time as well.

I believe the decision that they came up with in the end was to hold me for 'treaetment', due to the facth that I wasn't enough of a criminal to be placed in the states, (North Dakota) Juvenile correctional facility, and that I wouldn't be accepted in the states other two (Semi-private, Religiously affiliated) youth homes due to the fact that they wouldn't accept kids who ran away. I was also given the psychiatric label of "borderline personality disorder". --I'm sure as a way to classify me as something.

Treatment there essentially consisted of nothing at all, For the most part, I was warehoused. About six months or so into my 'Treatment' I was looked at by a specialist on Juvenile Tic Disorders (Dr. Jack Kerbeshian) who claimed that I had a pronounced Tic. My mom, who was in Maine at the time, found out where I was, and finally scraped up the cash to fly out and see me.

Due to the fact that my father had not followed through with custodial arrangements laid down in a court decision in Maine, My mom hired a lawyer in ND, and took on my father in a custodial dispute. My mom was awarded custody, and after a couple of days of paperwork, The hospital in question released me to my mother, and we went back to Maine.

Yes, on two separate occaisons. The first time was when I was 11 years old, from May 21, 1978, to August 27, 1978. I was initially supposed to be there for an Evaluation period of 30 days, due to the fact that I was deemed 'unruly' in school, and 'uncontrollable' by my parents. I was breifly medicated on Thorazine until my dad and my stepmom found out, then I was taken off of it. There were absolutely no attempts to council me, or otherwise give treatment. No Psycololical tests were performed, and I was released in time to return to sixth grade.

The second time, I was there from November 11, 1979, to the morning of April 25, 1981. This second time I was there was due to the fact that my 'unrulyness' had now expanded to running away from my parents. I was here under court orders, due to the fact that I had been placed on probation for a period of two years for running away.

During the initial evaluation the second time, I was given psycholigical testing. One was the stardardised (WAIS???) psych test, as well as a computerised questionnaire that contained over 400 questions. I filled out about 50 questions correctly, the rest of the test was answered randomly.-- Boredom set in, and I wasn't too happy about being institutionalised again. I figured that if they needed information, garbage would suffice. I was also given an EEG during this time as well.

I believe the decision that they came up with in the end was to hold me for 'treaetment', due to the facth that I wasn't enough of a criminal to be placed in the states, (North Dakota) Juvenile correctional facility, and that I wouldn't be accepted in the states other two (Semi-private, Religiously affiliated) youth homes due to the fact that they wouldn't accept kids who ran away. I was also given the psychiatric label of "borderline personality disorder". --I'm sure as a way to classify me as something.

Treatment there essentially consisted of nothing at all, For the most part, I was warehoused. About six months or so into my 'Treatment' I was looked at by a specialist on Juvenile Tic Disorders (Dr. Jack Kerbeshian) who claimed that I had a pronounced Tic. My mom, who was in Maine at the time, found out where I was, and finally scraped up the cash to fly out and see me.

Due to the fact that my father had not followed through with custodial arrangements laid down in a court decision in Maine, My mom hired a lawyer in ND, and took on my father in a custodial dispute. My mom was awarded custody, and after a couple of days of paperwork, The hospital in question released me to my mother, and we went back to Maine.

I have been in and out of the hopsital countless cause of my co morbid bipolar disorder.

*shudders* 4 months (with leave) in an adolescent psychiatric unit. Not fun. Not pretty. Not helpful.

After the first couple of weeks, if you were up to it, you started going on 'weekend leave', where you got to go home for the weekend or a portion of it. Towards the end I was going home two out of three days...

When I stayed at a childrens hospital back when I was 17, the were two 15 year old kids who had sex in the dining room one day. There was also another friend who sat in the other corner to make sure no nurses came (I don't think they ever did). Later the other person who sat in that corner told me all the graphic details of what went on.

*nods* Hospitals are places to avoid at the best of times. I don't think any of us had sex in the dining room, but one girl was in tears because she got fingered and couldn't work out why she bled, one guy peed in the phone booth, most of the guys slagged on the walls, and one of the guys threatened me with violence a bit towards the end. Just not pretty. Oh and of course there was all the usual sex talk and kissing, getting etc... actually now that I think about it, we had a 13 yr old prostitute in for rehab once... I think rumour was that she slept with one of the older guys. *sigh* Lol, and I once had to sit through group time listening to 'Old MacDonald sitting on a fence, picking his balls with a monkey wrench...'. Did I mention that I don't really miss the place?

I voted no.

But only because hospital is a stupid and disgusting euphemism for what those places really are.

I spent about a total of four years in various forms of institutions though. Some of which referred to themselves as "hospitals", although only in the way that some institutions have also referred to themselves as "state schools" when they bear nothing but the slightest resemblance to schools. I can't give an exact year-count for reasons that have to do with the ways institutions define themselves.

They were trying to keep me forever, and this was relatively recent. Anyone who thinks you can't still be locked up "just" for being autistic is mistaken. If people can still be locked up for being fat or pregnant, they can be locked up for being autistic.

Re: the good stories, Sean, some of them are what you said, and others are people who managed to escape the worst of it. I can remember being locked in a room for a few months while other people were cycled in and out of a place within days, and the people cycled in and out knew nothing about that room or about what was being done to me, I think some of them decided the place was wonderful too. I also think some people feel obligated to "say something positive" about an experience that is billed as a positive one, so they dig around until they find something vaguely positive and play that up. And the people (read: inmates) in a place being wonderful don't make the place wonderful.

I have been admitted to hospitals for suicidal ideation which continues to occur, especially if I have exposure to neurotoxins (gluten/wheat is a major neurotoxin for me).
I live in Massachusetts, where generally we have to fight with people to keep them out of the hospital. They want to go. I have been to a few of these places and I think they are pits. But they make people feel better, for the most part.
I have struggled for most of my life to stay out of the hospital. The thing I hated most was having my therapist trick me into signing myself in, and then the people there telling me I must belong there because I was there. No help or healing took place, but I know that each place is different.

Now I am a crisis clinician and have the job of deciding whether someone should be admitted to a hospital. I try to avoid it where possible. You'd have to have a lot more going on than aspergers to get me to admit you. You'd have to be at risk for harming yourself or someone else. And you'd have to be unable to say how you would be safe. Not only is this my rule, it is a law in this state. We have a lot of parents who get fed up or threaten their kids with hospital admission. We don't listen to that.
Given all the economic uphealvals I don't think those other hospitals will get better. I know that no one asked, but if hospital admisson is a possibility, the best thing to do is find out where there is a good hospital and write a crisis plan saying where you want to go. Then if you are not sent there you can have someone argue that your civil rights were violated.

It's depression I go in for, but guess what it's related to? I only found out about the AS, when they were wondering why the depression was so persistent.

I was hospitalised once for shoving my mother in self defense. She was trying to force me to take a pill I didn't want or need. I had been suspended from school for sticking up for myself again (the PE aide slapped me on the ass) and she saw fit to yell at me when I got home. So I screamed at her and went to my room for a nap (stress makes me very sleepy). She comes up and tries to force me to take an Ativan (I was half asleep). I shoved her away. She had me admitted.

Was almost once due to severe depressive episode where I was at risk for suicide but instead of putting me in the hospital my parents were called down for a few days till I got back to a state where I wasn't at risk for it while I was at university.

Last year, I had a really bad depressive episode with agitation as well and asked to be admitted to hospital for a day or two but they do not admit people here for that kind of thing unless the police cart them off to the hospital. If the person is "well" enough to get themselves to the hospital, they are deemed too "well" to need treatment. This is because of insufficient funding for mental health care.