My week in a fancy psych ward

I completed 7 full days. I asked – in great trauma and distress – on the 7th day to be released to go home as I was the most suicidal and out of control I’ve been in years and it was due to the treatment I received in hospital.

First let’s do the pros and cons, shall we?


The food was really nice. It was awesome to get a “menu” (I’ll try to attach photos) and all the options were really nice. We weren’t limited to “one choice” so if you really wanted to, you could have 6 meals delivered to you each time. The food was cooked well, presented nicely and it was awesome to get “room service” 3 times a day and sit on my bed or at my desk and eat peacefully. Mindfully. I loved the experience.

Breakfast arrived daily with the menu for tomorrow’s meals which was a lot of fun to choose from
All really tasty and well prepared from a great menu with loads of variety. Good job 👏
Dessert was always really nice 😋

I found I didn’t eat as much as I do at home and it surprised me to find I didn’t eat ANY of the snacks I’d brought with me for my entire stay. Turns out, 3 square meals a day does wonders for binging and over-eating. I wouldn’t have guessed that.

Although “group therapy” was a complete waste of time for 70% of the week, for the other 30%, I actually learnt some really important life lessons. I learnt more about communicating effectively, how to get my point across without losing my temper and how to acknowledge the feelings of others WITHOUT backing down on my values. I also learnt that being a Christian is high on my values but very rarely carried out in real life. That was eye-opening and something I really need to change. I’m so sorry Jesus. I brought everything I thought I needed to hospital with me, but I left you behind. Some Christian I am, huh? Disgraceful.

I met some really great people in the other patients. We were all struggling with some really traumatic things, but we made time to support each other and that was a really lovely surprise. I’m so blessed to have made meaningful connections with really lovely people.

It was nice to have a “hotel style” hospital room which was tastefully decorated with my own bathroom. The peace it gave me having my own space was really lovely. I really appreciated that. Again, pictures to follow. I’d love to share “suite 76” with you. It was definitely nicer when Alun brought in pillows from home (goodbye horrible inflatable pillows) and my own comfy duvet instead of having to use thin, static-ey hospital blankets that were downright awful.

Suite 76 🧡 xx


“Group Therapy” was too much!!! I had to race through breakfast, shower, change and RUN to be at 9:00am group on time every morning. For a facility that is built for REST, there wasn’t any time for it! Dealing with having to “actively participate” in stupid groups when you’ve not slept the night before is too much for so damn early in the morning. If group therapy was held from 11am instead of 9am for instance, at least patients get time to SLEEP, eat breakfast and LEISURELY get ready of a morning. I’m a morning person but 9am is too early to expect me to learn and grow mentally and emotionally. It’s too early. Too much. Too soon. Too full on.

“Behavioural Activation” on the daily timetable is code for “frustrating, stupid games” and was listed on our busy schedules almost 3 times a day 😳 that’s taking the p*ss, surely. The co ordinators leading the groups weren’t talking to each other, so after one frustrating session of “Guys! Let’s play scattergories!” (Booooooooo), we’d file wearily into our next group, only to be met with a different coordinator and a Gleeful invitation to “Play scattergories! Woohoo!”

Are you f**king kidding me?

We’d tell the coordinator we’d just done that and he/she would look so bereft, we’d all play it again (!!!) just to cheer them up. Then lunch break – which also had to be rushed – then afternoon group therapy which was MORE F**KING SCATERGORIES.

Every. Single. Day.

We’d get the odd HELPFUL class thrown into the mix of mind-numbing games which was a welcome change…but in my week at the Psych Ward, these HELPFUL classes were few and far between. It was like the coordinators were just there to waste time. Theirs and ours. It was sooo frustrating!!!

“Groups” were MANDATORY so any sense of agency, independence or respect for individual needs was thrown out the window. When I’d not slept for 5 days (!!!) and was finally nodding off at 8am the next morning (it had started raining heavily outside, I love the sound of rain and was nestling happily into my blankets when breakfast and my Day Nurse arrived). I pleaded with my Nurse to skip groups in favour of a much needed rest. She was angry about it. “You need to show active participation in your healing, Janet”. Err…I am? I’ve attended every group all bloody week and am losing my f**king mind not sleeping – so now that I CAN, I’d like to grab that opportunity with both hands, really. She frowned at me as if I’d drawn on the wall with crayon “I’ll have to tell your Psych” she threatened. I don’t care!!! Tell him I haven’t slept all week and will grab the chance now it’s here. Sighing loudly, she eventually relented “Ok Janet, you can miss ONE class (it was colouring in FFS), but you MUST attend the rest of the day’s sessions.

Yeah. Because God forbid I miss COLOURING and more f**king scattergories, hey?

I didn’t like the guilt she placed on me or the manipulation to attend classes or she’d “tell on me” to my Psych. Pfft.

Not cool, guys. Not cool.

Which leads me to my psychiatrist. Dr C. He would only see me ONCE a week (the hospital website promises DAILY psych appointments) and only for 20 minutes wherein HE did all the talking. Absolutely heart breaking because I’d done MY part and attended all groups but he wasn’t doing HIS part. There was no support, no counselling, no f**king HELP, just a check to see if I was taking my meds and a merry shove out the door. It all happened so quickly, it made me wonder if I had been seen to at all. Disgraceful.

On every shift, a Nurse would be allocated to a set of 2-5 patients. So 3 times a day, a new Nurse would knock on my door, introduce themselves and say “I’m here to counsel and support you at ANY time, Janet. Just ring your buzzer when you want to talk and I’ll be here”

Oh. Ok. That’s actually really lovely.

Except when I DID ring the buzzer, I got belittled and shut down every single time.

First, the interrogation “Why did you ring the bell?!?”

Err…you told me to?

Then the annoyed sigh “Well? What do you want?”

This made me cry instantly. I don’t like conflict and was BROKEN so that’s why I was a patient in HOSPITAL. Why was I having to explain myself?

I’d force out my answer “I um…I’m grieving the loss of my Dad/hurting over my family/trying not to kill myself”

Which was always met with some sort of pre-recorded bullsh*t: “why Don’t you practice mindfulness?” (What the f**k does that even MEAN???) “Why don’t you do some colouring in?” “Why don’t you have a little nap?” “Have you tried being POSITIVE instead of suicidal, Janet?”

Excuse me…What???!!!

After many, many attempts to get help during my week in the Psych Ward, rising fear and anxiety and a strong urge to in fact KILL MYSELF so they’d know I was serious when I begged “please help me” and that “just being a bit more positive” wasn’t going to solve everything in my life…I asked to leave.

Oh wow. That’s when everything kicked off.

Doctors arrived suddenly in droves “Please don’t leave…what can we do to make you stay?”

Just LISTEN TO ME. Can you do that?

“Oh…uhh…about that…” and one by one, Doctors would leave. As if I’d asked them to chop a limb off for me.

Senior staff arrived “We are so sorry you’ve had such a bad week. Please try another few weeks as you are not well enough to leave and we worry for your safety”

Ok good. Because my plan is to hang myself. Can you – or ANYONE in this place make time to JUST LISTEN TO ME?

“Ohhhh…err…what we think is…umm…we could offer you some sedatives”

I don’t want them. I want someone to HEAR, SEE and RESPOND APPROPRIATELY to me.

“Oh…Janet, the thing is…”

“We aren’t quite sure…”

“Err…would you like to do some breathing exercises?”

No. I really wouldn’t. I just want someone to TALK to who isn’t going to belittle me or shut me down.

“How about some meditation?”

How about some f**king HELP???

“Err…we’ll get a Doctor in to see you”

And this frustrating merry-go-round went around and around for 2 hours. By the end of it, NOONE HAD HELPED me. I was RAGING.

Doctor: How about attending more groups?

Me: I f**king hate groups.

Doctor 2: How about we exempt you from groups?

Me: To do what instead?

Doctor 3: Oh. Umm…

I was quickly losing the will to live. Seriously guys.

Me: Can I at LEAST get another psychiatrist who will actually see me more than once every 7 f**king days for more than 20 minutes?

“Err no…the other Psychiatrists are booked out until some time next year”

Of course they are. They’re the ones who are providing GOOD mental health care to their patients.

“Right. Can I just go home, then? Please?”

Defeated group of Doctors, Nurses, coordinators, registrars and Psychs: “Yes”

So there you go.

How much is a sturdy rope?

10 responses to “My week in a fancy psych ward”

  1. Hey Janet… I was in and out of psych wards for years… for me’ they provided a safe place where I wouldn’t hurt myself, but only Christ can bring real healing to the heart by drawing near to Him and asking Him to share Himself with you.

    You’ll never find what you’re looking for anywhere else. Jesus is what your heart needs. ❤

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Also, you are a wonderful writer and I love reading your descriptive blogs.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Oh my heart. What a beautiful thing to say. You’ve made me smile for the first time today. Thank you so much 💖


    2. Yes agreed. I need to draw closer to Him. I’m finding comfort in Psalm 23 at the moment and hoping He will heal my heart ❤


  2. Dear Janet,
    I have read your blog over the past several weeks. I’ve kept quiet because it raised a lot of emotions in me that I felt would not be helpful to you. I couldn’t bring myself to like an article outlining your pain.
    I’m so glad you are trying to seek help. I’m sorry it’s hard at the moment.
    Your plea to simply be listened to reached across the ocean. I hear you sister. I will listen on one condition: that it will help you.
    I have some experience with this state, and the urge to talk about it and analyse it endlessly. These kind of conversations can be helpful or they can simply reinforce how you feel and leave you feeling more bereft than before when the conversation inevitably has to end each time.
    On a very small scale, it’s a bit like when you’re reading the Bible and you hit a passage that makes you screech to a halt… you blink and your mind goes off in spirals wondering what on earth this means?! Surely I can’t mean X or Z?!
    For a long time this would derail my Bible reading. Eventually I learnt to take a deep breath, make a note of it, aaaaand move on. Sometimes the answer was on the next page, some times it was in a conversation a month later, more often I still don’t understand! But I’m working on it. 😊
    Suicidal depression is a tricky beast. It traps you within yourself, leaving you bouncing off the walls of your mind. Reaching out and talking to a friend can break the chains, or it can make those walls transparent and just force a friend to watch you pace your cell.
    Making the decision to reach beyond those walls and reconnect to the outside every day, or if that’s too long – for five minutes, is something only you can do and it’s so hard at first. By reconnect, I mean take active part, listen and be listened to, care and be cared for.
    It can seem impossible! Your own mountain to climb! Until suddenly you realise it’s little easier and eventually it becomes a habit.
    So sister, if it will help you, I will listen. But I’m not going to standby and watch you self-destruct. I will challenge you to succeed, to figure out what you really want to be.
    I don’t doubt your pain. Not at all. I really don’t want to make that worse. Soooooo… it’s up to you.
    No matter what, I’ll pray for you.
    Big hugs sister.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I read your reply with tears in my eyes. Thank you for reaching out to me. I also appreciate your candor and I think what you’re saying is “I will listen to you, but I won’t continue to if you are ranting about harmful things, stuck in a harmful loop or just want an audience while you self destruct” is that right? I’m only asking to further understand you. I hope that doesn’t come across as confronting or rude, I am actually so blessed to hear from you. I can tell you have a lot of compassion and intelligence and I’m thankful for that.

      You are right about reading God’s word. Some things are confusing but in HIS time, we are lead to a deeper understanding. I know at the moment, the verse (is it Isaiah?) about God walking through deep waters with us really strikes me. He doesn’t shield us from pain (my preference), He walks beside us THROUGH pain. I am thankful for that, too.

      Liked by 2 people

      1. Spot on. 😊
        You’re not rude. You’re right to clarify. I don’t offer this lightly, I’m not a counsellor so I’m being brutally honest up front to ensure I don’t make things worse, yeah?
        Want to talk?
        Fair warning, I have an overactive sense of humour, bottom line… we will laugh a whole lot. 😊

        Liked by 1 person

      2. Laughter is good medicine

        Liked by 1 person

  3. It is. 😊
    Well… the offer is there. I’ll leave it with you to mull on, maybe even sleep on! Lol

    Liked by 1 person

  4. I feel kinda little and inexperienced doing this, because I can’t even imagine what you’re going through, but my advice would just to hold on to Jesus, also your writing is totally beautiful and captivating. It actually stole my attention.
    Keep it up. Keep fighting


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