The Hospital

This is vulnerable please be nice <3

All of the experiences I’ve described below are my own and will differ from the experiences of others; every state, county, and hospital system is different, and I am NOT a mental health professional. If you feel unsafe, call or text 988 (crisis hotline), call 911, or go to your nearest emergency room.

I, Lizzy Blair (formerly Davis), have been hospitalized due to a crisis of mental health and subsequently sent to a psychiatric ward for multiple days without permission to leave until a psychiatrist would sign off on my regimen for medication and the stability of my mind. Twice.

Hospital gown, elopement bracelet, grippy socks, ankle monitor, Trazidone. The whole nine yards. The second time, I even rode in the back of a police car (I wasn’t causing a scene, but I also wasn’t in a state of mind to drive to the ER myself).

Yes, me, world! This is my real, lived, necessary experience; not a fluke, and no longer even a one-time thing.

Last weekend, I sat at a bar with Dana, one of the people in my life that I’ve been luckiest to know (I’m not sure how I’ve won the friendship lottery so many times, but I really have. Every single day, Dana is a tether for me to what is good and joyful and honest and worth surviving for.) They asked whether I planned to write anything soon, and I told them the truth: I don’t feel like I have anything to write about these days that anyone wants to hear.

I like to speak about the wilderness of OCD as if I stand in the clearing, not in the thick, scratchy, dark, unpredictable, absolute middle of it. True vulnerability, like so many things, is something that I admire and value when it comes from others, but something that I fear would be unhelpful or even damaging coming from me. I don’t usually feel embarrassed by what I’m going through, but I worry that the people close to me will. Or that people who have expressed their gratitude for my writing or art will be disappointed to find that, even after all the learning and hard work I’ve done in the last year, I found myself right back where I was last fall: freezing my ass off under a hospital blanket in a bed that was not my own, helpless and at the mercy of a psychiatrist who couldn’t possibly understand what’s happening to me within just a few days of observation.

I worry even now that I should let the experience marinate for more than the three weeks that have passed since I was hospitalized before I write and publish an essay about it; maybe something wiser and more profound would arise. But instead, I’m returning to what is most valuable about vulnerability: the fact that I did it and lived to tell the tale, which means that you can, too.

We’ve come a long way when it comes to mental health awareness, but if you are someone who lives with a serious mental health condition every day, you know that there’s a sort of threshold of symptoms that are “acceptable”. Needing an SSRI, going to therapy, and engaging in self-care are all (thank God!) largely accepted practices, but when you can’t brush your teeth or respond to texts, shame still lingers. Hospitalization falls into that second camp, at least for me. When someone is in the hospital with a broken leg, you can send flowers or bring a casserole over once they’re home. When someone is in the hospital with a broken mind, what can you do? What do you say? How do you assure the patient that the brokenness will heal?

But, with warmth and kindness as my therapist would say, who gives a shit when your safety is on the line? Everyone faces different challenges with work, finances, and family support, but your mind has the power to put you in real, physical danger, and it should be treated seriously. If you ever feel like you can’t keep yourself safe, you can go to the emergency room or call 911. They won’t be mad. And if anyone in your life is mad, they’ll get over it.

I am here to tell you that, more than anything else, the psych ward is boring. I think if I had known what to expect the first time I was hospitalized, it wouldn’t have been so hard. It’s not fun, per se, but it isn’t anything much worse than boring. Have someone bring you some comfortable clothes and a book, if you can. The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes was my lifeline this last time a couple weeks ago. They feed you a lot; it’s hospital food, yes, but you won’t go hungry. The two I’ve been to had TVs. You might not get to pick the channel, but something about having truly nothing else to do can make Cake Boss pretty fascinating. Don’t be afraid to ask for things like toiletries, paper to journal on, or even extra blankets. You have to ask for almost everything anyway, so it’s not like it will catch the staff off guard. The worst they can say is no. Use your time with psychiatrists and/or therapists wisely, and go to any groups they offer, even if they’re (guess what) boring. Eat and sleep and sit by a window and try to make a couple friends, or at least have a few real conversations a day. Oh, and write phone numbers on your arm or a sticky note before you go; they usually have a phone to make calls, which can help pass the time and make you feel less alone. Then, once you get out, take a hot shower, put on your favorite outfit, go to your favorite restaurant with your partner or best friend or mom or whoever, and yap their ear off. Tell them about every little thing that happened, including anything funny or weird, or talk about something else entirely. Just use your voice.

While I was there, a tech invited us to help him make one of those Christmas garlands from rings of construction paper. He told us it was a competition to see who could finish theirs first. (Which like… it’s a garland? So there is kind of no “end”?) He had to cut all of the strips of paper and tear the pieces of tape, which was stressful for him since we were racing each other, and it was funny. Not super outrageous or hilarious, but funny. And it was good to laugh in that moment. He joked that we should make one out of our elopement bracelets.

I hope that you never need to, but if you or someone you know is in a crisis, get the help that is appropriate. That could be hospitalization. It could be reaching out to a crisis line, or scheduling a more immediate call with your therapist, or reaching out to your psychiatrist. Whatever it is, don’t let shame be the reason you don’t do it.