Bipolar Life
My First Day in a Psychiatric Hospital (8)
Part 8 of the Surviving Bipolar Series.
*TW: Suicide, self-harm
What’s it like to be in a psychiatric hospital? Would I go again if I needed to? Let me tell you a little about my experience.
It was May 1995. My world was spinning out of control until my closest friends took action. An emergency room doctor recommended they take me to a psychiatric hospital. These are my notes on the first day.
This is Part 8 of the Surviving Bipolar Series, a story about the early days of my bipolar journey. Read it from the beginning here.
Anger Ruled as King
I remember being angry.
I was angry at the doctor who signed the commitment order and angry with Patrick and Margaret because I felt like they were turning their back on me and leaving me in mental prison.
And I was angry at myself.
I knew I was out of control, and the thoughts in my head were running so fast that I couldn’t hold on to any of them. My pride was hurt. I was a strong man, and no thoughts or feelings should’ve been holding me down. It would be some time before I understood mental illness. But then, I felt like bipolar was killing me.
