By Rose //
During Secondary 3, I had a mental breakdown. I struggled at school, and eventually dropped out. At home, I tried to hurt myself and had suicidal tendencies, frightening my parents and sister. I was eventually admitted to the children’s ward at IMH. Child psychiatrists analysed and diagnosed me with schizophrenia. I turned 16 that year and I’m now 39. My life has been a long journey, and I yet I can say with confidence that where there’s pain and suffering, there’s also ease and comfort.
I remember how scary my first experience was as a patient at IMH. I was admitted on an April night, and I was tied up within half hour of entering the ward. This happened, I was told, because I wasn’t sleeping and was roaming around the rooms on the ward. Next morning a nurse told me that I had to change into hospital clothes. I did not want to, yet I accepted. The clothes were uncomfortable, like a uniform. Indeed, I felt like a student entering a new school in the middle of exams, surrounded by other patients whom I didn’t know or recognise. The experience was extremely nerve-wracking. And added to the fact that they were strangers, many of my fellow-patients exhibited various symptoms of mental illness, which I found unnerving at that time.
The children’s ward I was on was just like any other hospital ward. There was no air-conditioning but it was as clean as a ward could be and very well-maintained. It had locked windows which made me uneasy, but sunshine often entered the ward during the daytime, and I felt that was a good thing.
After a few days, I became accustomed to living and being treated on the psychiatric ward. We were allowed to watch a shared TV. We also had art therapy and occupational therapy. For the art therapy we entered a lovely room and did artwork or colouring together. I looked forward to these periods.
We could also have visitors every day. Our meals were simple and healthy, and I didn’t find them too bad. I struggled, however, with the behaviour of a few other patients who were very ‘high’ and sometimes disturbed me. I was used to making a quiet, peaceful world of my own, and when someone interrupted me or asked me for something, I became agitated and upset. Yet I kept quiet about these interruptions, and did not complain to the nurses or other professionals.
My first stay on the ward was a learning experience for me. I learned that that others had their moments, too, and that this wasn’t a problem.
If they were not having a good day, it was not because of anything I had done. They were patients just as I was. I learned not to be too selfish and dwell on my own ‘miseries’, and that other people mattered.
After a week on the ward I really wanted to go home. Getting discharged was a difficult and sensitive process, because discharge resulted not simply from our own requests but from the doctors’ assessment of us and the approval they gave. If we didn’t request to be discharged, they might suggest it themselves, when they felt the time was right.
In my case, I was very homesick. I was missing my radio and CDs, my diary, and my girly accessories, as well as my mom’s food. I missed being at home. I was still a teen, and I was secretly anxious about and scared of being away from home in any circumstances, let alone on a psychiatric ward,
I was 16 then, and I’m now 39, and I’ve returned to the ward at times over the years. On my last admission to the hospital, I formed a relationship with a female patient. We became instant friends on the ward, although unfortunately we haven’t been in contact after discharge.
We instantly connected, and joked and laughed a lot, surprised that we agreed so much on so many topics. She taught me integrity. She was my number one cheerleader and motivation expert who encouraged me to do something with my life. She didn’t realise it, but her quirky and honest comments encouraged me, and made me resolve to be more than I am. I became more confident in myself and, after having been a patient for more than 20 years, this was a very good feeling to have. Natural confidence began exuding from me. I felt important. In return, I could also motivate her. I remember telling her that one fine day, everything would fall into place, and her life would be just so. I hope she remembers that I said this now. I also made other friends on the ward.
An important thing to bear in mind is that other patients are hugely varied. All of them are more than the symptoms or behaviours that they show. Everyone is unique, and everyone has their own weaknesses and strengths. As we relate to others, we can respect them for who they are, remember that we are not them and they are not us.
Whilst we are ‘inside’, of course, there is a looming, negative sense of stigma that comes both from the world around us and from inside us. In the world outside, this sense of stigma comes from a lack of understanding, a lack of education in psych illnesses, and long-standing perceptions from individuals who never had a friend, or a relation with such illnesses. It may also emerge from people being self-protective, and worrying that contact with someone with a psychiatric illness might harm them in some way.
It’s not, however, something that cannot end. I believe stigma can end one day, and it may not be that long from now.
Indeed, the most touching and heartfelt thing I noticed on a ward that challenged stigma is the friendships or acquaintances made between individuals. Interactions might involve sarcasm, jokes, advice, or casual chit-chat. We don’t necessarily have a good time on the ward, but through our friendships we refuse to let what brings us down in our lives at present take over, and learn and see beyond our problems.
Personally, I find the resilience and inner strength of each patient very inspiring. Seeing this drives me to be stronger and more enduring of the challenges I face in life. The women, I met and talked to are extremely interesting, some very intelligent and others very fluent and expressive. I was very touched when I mentioned my problems to others on the ward, they would listen and give me advice. If I can picture this process in terms of an image, I think of a hand that is wounded and bleeding nonetheless reaching out and pulling another hand up a cliff.
Even though we are hurt or injured or sick, this doesn’t mean we cease to care for others. anymore. On the ward, I saw true care offered, often almost unconsciously. Some acts of care are small, and not obvious, but they are nonetheless there.
In my own act of caring, I’d urge others to remember to never miss your medication, and to discuss with your nurse or doctor about your medicine concerns. Stay strong. You are precious, and you matter. You are worthy of everything blessed and good. Stay true to yourself, and stand up for yourself when the situation calls for it.
Rose was diagnosed with schizophrenia at 15. On the road to healing, Rose learnt that the biggest thing in life is love, and support from family. She loves reading about fashion, botanicals, and psychology.
Read more of our Tapestry Stories here.
Featured Image Credit: Chen Menqiu, via Wikipedia Commons
.jpeg){kind=link}