15 and a Psych hospital.

Alot of places take visitors phones away so they can’t take pictures of other patients. My mom took this picture of me in a psychiatric hospital, at 15 years old, 5 years ago. I was on a 1:1, that means I was in a arms reach of a staff every second of the day. Yes, that includes the bathroom. The shower curtain had to be open, they had to feel how warm the water was to make sure it wasnt ‘to hot’. Life in a psychiatric hospital isnt what people think of. Its not what the ‘institutions’ we see in the Movies or on the Tv show ‘American Horror Story’. You are on a schedule, you get up and go to bed at a set time. You are given your medications by a nurse. You have groups all through out the day. Its not glorious, but its not the worst place to be either.

Just remember that your there to get help, and that not everything will be easy. That getting healthly is worth it.

Keep it up mental health warriors!!

My Story- Recovery

This is not suppose to be taken as negative, I just wanted to explain what happened in my life, Its been 13 years of battle, and now recovery.
I was born on a April day in 1997, I was a very good and happy child. Then at 7 years old my uncle committed suicide. He was the man I looked up to the most, that’s the first day that I heard voices. I dealt with the pain when I was younger by smaller self harming  behavior, I would hit my head, bite my arms, and scratch myself. That was how I handled a lot of it. Of course I did a lot of detaching from reality because of the pain I was in, and how I didn’t think that anyone really wanted to hear how I was doing.

Everything was fine, until I was in 5th grade[10 years old], I was diagnosed with Dyslexia, and Anxiety. In my story I wont be putting all of my diagnosis in. Then I got depressed at first no one thought much of it, or maybe no one really noticed. I started cutting myself in 6th grade[11 years old] I told a friend because I did want someone to notice, I wasn’t expecting that it would change everything. My friend didn’t go to a teacher, but instead she went to my classmates. Who started bullying me, I went up to the school psychologist who I trusted. The school psychologist was the only person I felt actually wanted to listen to me. I got to her office, before I even told her what I had started to do. She already knew. Then she called my mom, and told her. 6th grade I started to have Eating Disorder behavior. Everyone knew about my cutting, EVERY single teacher. I knew because of that I couldn’t let them know about my restricting, teachers got worried, I was loosing weight, I was already under 90 pounds at 5 foot. I didn’t think that the teachers were noticing at first. Then I did notice, the only way that they showed that they cared was by the 6th grade English teacher. I would go through the lunch line sometimes so everyone would see that I was getting food. I would sit down at the table alone, I would push the food away and set my head on the table with my arms over my head. She would come over a lot and tell me that I couldn’t get up until I ate a certain amount. I really didn’t respond to her a lot, but when I did I would eat a little. Then things got worse and I started to panic after everyone went out to recess after lunch, I would go into the bathroom and pace in a panic as I thought of what to do and break down and cry on the bathroom floor, until I one day purged. No one noticed, and I didn’t tell..

Fast Forward through 7th grade, still struggling but nothing major. 8th grade is when the end of innocence was seen and the beginning of why people thought I was dangerous. I confided in a friend that I had burned my arm, she also had come to me and said she self harmed at one point so I thought I could trust her. Then she told other girls in my school different friend then the one that told in 6th grade then I was in study hall, a couple of girls and boys in my class pushed me down and called me ’emo’ and then pulled up my sleeve and took a picture of my arm and my other arm trying to cover my face. The picture eventually got around the school, and I was a ‘joke’ It wasn’t just people in my grade, it was the whole middle school, and some of the high school. People would go by me making a cutting motion at their wrists. It killed my self-esteem, and I really did think that I didn’t matter and that I should commit suicide. At that point I wasn’t safe at home because of my dad, and I wasn’t safe at school because everyone was hurting me. Sometimes I would go to the school psychologist but she was really busy and over booked, so I didn’t have anyone. The school guidance councilor and me didn’t get along at all, and I didn’t think that it mattered to try to get help at this point. I had tried to talk to everyone I thought of about how I hated school and wanted to kill myself. One day I had, had enough I started bring a knife to school. NO I WAS NEVER GOING TO HURT ANYONE THERE BECAUSE I AM NOT A VIOLENT PERSON. I was using it though to cut myself. The school found out, and they personally got me from my class, I went to the office. I normally was a person that would have told them that I didn’t care, and that I wanted them to leave me alone. They threatened to called the police so I took it out and gave it to them, It was just a box knife but it did the job. I thought they would have tried to get me help, they didn’t do anything but out-of-school suspended me. My mom got me and I went home. I was raped that year too, and everyday I went to school I had to see him there. That summer at the end of June I tried to kill myself, It landed me in the ER. I wanted to get help before this but everyone ignored my pleads for help. Than I was in the psychiatric ward for about 3 months before I came home again, than in and out. I was 13 years old.

Fast forward to 15 almost 16 years old. I tried to overdose this time, I did it because of the voices. They had been getting worse, again no one believed me, I was inappropriately sexually touched my a Emergency doctor before this around my 15th birthday. After I over dosed I was sent to the psychiatric hospital again, probably my 45 time by now. The doctor there, called my mom and told her that I was Schizophrenic. They told her that be prepared that I would probably kill myself by the time I was 19 or 20. That there was around a 82% chance, that the younger you diagnose Schizophrenia the harder to treat. I came home on around 17 medications around the clock. I was awake around 3 or 4 hours out of the day, and that’s how my life pretty much stayed until I was 18. I changed medication and I felt like the fog lifted. I fought after that to get better, not hard at first.

10 1/2 months ago I met my boyfriend he is what drives me when I don’t think anything else will. 4 months ago, I decided that its time to make a change. I found my therapist in February, she has worked with me and never given up. I got into a program called CCS, then I started working hard on PTSD, and on myself. I am on the road to recovery. My voices are caused from a extreme PTSD reaction.

 Remember Its never to late to get the right diagnosis. I know that I’m not schizophrenic and everyone on my team agrees [mental health, and my other doctors] As I fight my mental health battle everyday, I know that I will get better. I know that I’m a fighter. I know that there are girls and boys that are in my situation right now. I wont let them down because I know that they will need help. I know that they might be reading this now, not knowing if there will ever be a light at the end of the tunnel. I promise that there is, that people care. If it doesn’t seem like right now, there will be.

If someone you know is in danger or its you, don’t wait, don’t stop fighting.