My only knowledge of psych wards growing up was from movies. One Flew Over the Cuckoo Nest, Perks of Being a Wallflower, Girl Interrupted, etc. I never knew anyone who had personally been admitted, or at least no one honest about it. My high school in Hartford, CT was across the street from a mental health hospital. It was never really spoken about but it was always in the background. A shadow over the campus. I, for one, only thought about it occasionally which was always negative. “Are they dangerous?” “What if someone escapes?” “Why are they there?”. That last question is what I often thought about. “Why are they there?”.
I graduated from high school without meeting someone who had been to the hospital. Surprisingly, the town next to my college had a mental hospital across from a mall. For the second time in my life, the psych ward was in the background, ever watching and, although I didn’t know it then, waiting for me.
I used to think psych wards were for dangerous people, possibly criminals. That was until I found myself in a psych ward myself when I was 25. And it wouldn’t be the last time. In 2016, my therapist of a few months dumped me. Something I was blindsided by. She said that she didn’t have the tools to support my needs. It was devastating. That same night I bought anti-freeze and intended to drink it. Thankfully, I instead walked myself to the hospital. I was admitted and spent a week there. One of the worst weeks of my life.
Everyone was miserable in the hospital. And when I say everyone, I mean everyone. The patients, nurses, doctors, visitors, everyone. It reminded me of this quote from Jack Nicholson’s character in the film One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest,
“Jesus, I mean, you guys do nothing but complain about how you can’t stand it in this place here and you don’t have the guts just to walk out? What do you think you are, for Chrissake, crazy or somethin’? Well, you’re not! You’re not! You’re no crazier than the average asshole out walkin’ around on the streets and that’s it.”
As I mentioned before, this wouldn’t be my last time in a psych ward. My current therapist, who I love but don’t tell him that, has taken me to the hospital on multiple occasions when we first started to work together. I was still in a period of my life where I needed more help than a single therapist could give me. Thankfully, he didn’t use that as a reason to dump me. He stuck with me.
My second time spending a week in the hospital was a total change from my first time. They couldn’t find an open bed for me in the city, so they transported me to the hospital in White Plains, NY; the one across from the mall. My college was just 10 minutes away. It was surreal being placed in the hospital I had passed so many times. In the ambulance, I was preparing myself for the worst like last time.
When I was admitted, however, I was pleasantly surprised. The staff was understanding and nice and the patients were also, for the most part, supportive and gentle.
We were allowed outside time in groups where we could get fresh air, an emotional support dog came to visit, the groups were well organized and informative, and the activities and TV room were never locked. It was more like a place to get better than a place of punishment.
I felt, for the first time, I could relax. Although no one wanted to be in the hospital, I felt supported. My parents visited me here and also had the same thoughts. They noticed the change and my anxiety was not as present. One of the people I was within the hospital wrote me a letter when I left. Something she wrote stayed with me.
“Kellie, the nights here are the hardest for me. I sleep maybe 2-4 hours total. But, I have a star I look for in the morning…She doesn’t always see her shine, but it’s there. It‘s warm and loving. It makes each day hopeful.”
That last sentence stays with me. “It makes each day hopeful.” I’m happy that I was able to meet and give someone hope. That’s what the hospital stay did for me. It gave me hope. And I believe that’s what people need in the hospital. Hope. If you find yourself in the psych ward, chances are you lost some of that along the way. Hospitals are supposed to be there to help you bring it back. I know not all psych wards are the same but I will tell you that there are good ones out there that do what they were meant to do. Bring back your hope.
~ Kellie Wood
Kellie is a writer based in Astoria, NY. She has a BFA in dramatic writing from SUNY Purchase. She placed third in the 2016 national Mark Twain Royal Nonesuch contest and was a semifinalist in 2022 for Creative Screenwriting for her screenplay “Tomboy”. She was also awarded a certificate by Oliver Ellsworth Elementary School in 1998 for her great behavior.
Kellie strongly believes in the quote “A day without laughter is a day wasted”. She finds humor in her writing believing that comedy can connect people and help them become more empathetic. She lives with both depression and anxiety and finds writing about them and her experience therapeutic. In her free time she enjoys going to the movies, hanging out with friends, and building Legos. She’s also in therapy, so don’t worry.
