Day 2 in a Psychiatric Hospital: Adjusting to a New Reality
Part 9 of the Surviving Bipolar Series.
Hi there!
Whether it was God smiling down on us or an effect of global warming, the weather in southeast Tennessee was amazing this week. Wednesday even topped the 80-degree mark (26 C), which is nearly 30 degrees warmer than our normal temperatures.
The warm weather meant we could ditch our coats and sweaters and spend some much needed time in the sun. Oh, dear sun, how much I’ve missed you! 😎
The sudden change reminded me of life with bipolar disorder.
Often, it’s the horrible days that surprise us and bring our life to a screeching halt. But sometimes, it’s a good day. Out of the blue, we wake up feeling refreshed, fully present, and ready to tackle the day. I’m not talking about the start of hypomania, but those days when you can almost believe you don’t have a mental illness.
Those are the best days.
A reader reminded me this week how terrifying a bipolar disorder diagnosis can be in the early days. If you were like me, you didn’t know anyone with bipolar, and the only stories you knew were the worst of the worst. I spent weeks and months grieving the life TK I hoped to have. My mind told me I would never be a part of society again.
But, I was wrong.
It took time, but now I know bipolar disorder is only a piece of who I am, and a tiny piece at that. While it may color much of how I perceive the world, mental illness no longer holds me back.
And it shouldn’t hold you back either.
In the week’s featured post, I continue the Surviving Bipolar series with Part 9 (below). The story highlights parts of my second day in a psychiatric hospital. I got a little carried away writing it. Rather than send you an epic-length newsletter, I will send the second half as Part 10 next week.
Almost every post I write for SpeakingBipolar.com or the Speaking Bipolar Positivity Club has one main theme: you can have a good life with bipolar disorder.
Will it be a harder life than those without a mental illness?
I could lie to you, but that’s not why you’re here.
Many days will be tougher than what your friends and family are facing, but it’s worth the fight. The more you learn about bipolar and how it affects you, the more quality days you will have.
By viewing mental illness as an obstacle you can overcome, you’ll see more opportunities where you can grow and prosper. You’ll still have some dark days, because bipolar never goes away, but you’ll also have beautiful, 80-degree days in late February. 🌞
And who doesn’t want that?
Thank you for being part of the Speaking Bipolar Family!
Until next time, keep fighting.
Scott Ninneman
All the latest news:
I finally posted the next chapter in The Adventures of Brody Bipolar on Kindle Vella. In chapter 25, Brody spends the night taking care of a friend. Catch up with all the chaos in his life by heading to Vella to read it now. Episodes 1-3 are FREE to read. Please like each episode you read.
Scott's Favorite Things
The printable spring mental health workbook.
Featured Post:
Day 2 in a Psychiatric Hospital: Adjusting to a New Reality (Part 9)
When you receive a bipolar disorder diagnosis, it brings its own sort of trauma with it.
Either you know nothing about the condition or the bulk of your knowledge has come from the media. The problem with the latter is that news networks want advertising income, so they only show the worst bipolar stories. Those traumatic tales drive more viewers to their network, and more people means more money.
A bipolar diagnosis may even make you think your life is over. I know, because that’s how I felt.
The Surviving Bipolar Series is about the beginning of my journey with bipolar disorder. If you’re new to the series, you can read it from the beginning by clicking here.
In this episode, I’ll tell you about my second day in a psychiatric hospital.
Day 2 in the Hospital
When we last left off, it was the end of my first day in Happy Valley, my fun name for the hospital I was in. Earlier that day, I received my first bipolar diagnosis. The doomsday section of my brain went into full throttle, and I imagined the rest of my life with me as little more than a drooling vegetable.
I truly thought my life was over. Happily, I was completely wrong, but it took some time for me to figure that out.
Before I go on, you need to understand that time passes differently when you’re in a psych ward. You still have normal meal times, but the rest of your day is so different from everyday life that it’s hard to keep things straight. Try as they may, the staff seems incapable of getting everyone to sleep at the same time. There’s always a group roaming the halls or filling the common rooms. It’s a smaller group during the overnight hours, but someone is always up and usually moving.
My first journal entry on day two reads, “Wow. It feels like I’ve been here for a week already. If it weren’t for this book, I would totally lose track of day and time.”
I’m a busy person, and always have been. Trying to fit too much into my schedule is part of what got me into trouble with bipolar. I thought I could work a day shift, hang out with from friends from dinner time until 10 or so, and then work a second shift during the night. Most days, I was sleeping 2-3 hours, if I slept at all.
I recognize now that part of my constant running was really about me fleeing from myself and the scary things in my mind. I was afraid to face the darkness, so I kept my life overflowing with activities. To abruptly go from days with almost every minute planned out to hospital life sent my mind spinning.
Adjusting to Hospital Life
While the hospital workers scheduled regular activities to keep us busy during the day, there was also a fair amount of time where we were free to do as we pleased.
Some spent the free periods sleeping while others gathered in small groups in the common areas. There was always a group scattered around the two TVs on our level, but I struggled to sit still for very long. I ended up spending most of my time with the smokers. I hate the smell of cigarette smoke, but smoking breaks were the only time they allowed us to go outside.
Knowing there is a locked door between you and the outside world tortures your mind. For my sanity—what little I had left—I took every opportunity to slip outside.
While to outsiders, I often look like a people person, in reality, I’m a painfully shy introvert.
Social anxiety has been part of my life for as long as I can remember, even before I knew what it was. Meeting new people and having to telling them about myself has always triggered an internal panic alarm. In school, I seldom gave presentations, often convincing my mother I was sick on the days I was scheduled to give a talk in front of other students. I gladly took lower grades if it meant I could stay invisible at the back of the classroom.
Being in a hospital didn’t change that.
In fact, on that second day, I wrote, “I experienced true ‘group’ therapy today. It was interesting. I can see it’s a wonderful concept, but also incredibly terrifying. I tried to talk, but found it difficult to find my words in front of so many people.”
They were only about 10 people in my group, but it was too many for me to handle. I didn’t know where to look and so spent most of the time staring at the floor or picking at the bottom of my shoe.
Side note: some people have issues with seeing the bottom of your shoes. The group leader repeatedly told me to put my feet on the floor, but then I’d forget and do it again. I felt bad that I was making someone uncomfortable, but I felt powerless to stop myself.
I was less than 24 hours into my adventure with bipolar disorder, and suddenly a group of people wanted me to talk about it. Then, others wanted to talk about their suicidal feelings and have me share mine. Even though that was the reason I was in the hospital, I wasn’t ready to share my darkest secrets with a circle of strangers.
The other challenge with group therapy was the group changed every day. Patients left and new ones came, making my anxiety stay on high alert for my entire time there.
Being Watched
The hospital staff still thought I was a danger to myself, and rightly so, since just the day before, I had threatened to end things.
At least one member of the staff checked on me every 15 minutes. They carried a clipboard with my name on a page full of small boxes. Each watcher would glance my direction and initial a box on their sheet, marking off another15-minute time slot. Sometimes, I barely noticed them pop their head into a room to verify I was there. Other times, they took a seat right next to me and wrote notes in paper files while I tried to pretend they weren’t there.
None of the staff were chatty, so their close proximity did little more than increase how uncomfortable I was.
As I mentioned in the previous posts, I barely slept in the two weeks before being committed. My first night in the center, I was too angry to sleep, and spent the few hours I was horizontal glaring at the camera in the ceiling. The second night saw little improvement. Although I was in a regular room rather than a suicide-watch cell, I couldn’t get comfortable.
My body twitched as my body tried adjusting to a different bed. The newly christened bipolar brain in my head stayed on high alert, jerking me awake at every sound. There are lots of random noises when you’re in a psychiatric institution, even in the middle of the night.
Then, of course, there were the 15-minute checks. Each one woke me up as the door creaked open and the glaring white light from the hallway filled my room.
There were a few positive parts of that second day. I’ll share more in the next post.
Until next time, keep fighting.
Additional Reading:
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