I live in the US, for reference.
From the end of 2019 to the beginning of 2020, I stayed in an inpatient hospital for ten days. It was voluntary admission, and I made the choice to stay because I couldn't guarantee that I wasn't going to act on the increasing suicidal thoughts I was having. My depression was the worst it's ever been at that point, I had gained 15 lbs in just a month from comfort eating after a traumatic experience which worsened my already poor mental health with my living situation at college that semester. I was sleeping all day, though not peacefully at all. I was struggling very obviously and to a point where, for literally everyone around me, it couldn't be ignored or unaddressed. My family felt like they had no other option.
Let me start off by saying it was helpful in significant ways. I got a proper diagnosis, after the extremely incompetent psychiatrist at my previous college and the six therapists before (including the ones I was seeing at that point) all failed to catch what I actually had, despite it being very obvious tbh, and were set on either misdiagnosing me or not taking my desire to know what was actually wrong seriously. The psychologist took his time to figure out what was wrong and came to the conclusion easily, which showed how trained and devoted he was. The groups they have do tend to be helpful and a good way to gain better coping mechanisms and know you're not alone. You do make friends there, even if it's just for the time being and you never talk to each other again in life. And these friends know what you're going through because they're there too. You are taken seriously as well; I mean, you can't not be, you're there for a reason. But it's a breath of fresh air after getting dismissed or doubted by everyone else for so long.
Now to the bad and ugly. It's a very degrading experience. When I checked in, and brought nothing with me but the clothes on my back because I didn't know what to expect, I had to take off the things I couldn't have right there. I wear underwear bras exclusively because I'm on the bustier side and they're the only ones that do the job well. Apparently the wires can be used as a weapon (something that never even crossed my mind), so unless I took the wire out and permanently ruined the bra, I had to go braless or wear poorly supporting ones the entire time I was there. Additionally, when you check in, your body was analyzed like you were some specimen under a microscope. Very invasive and uncomfortable. I'm a SA/rape survivor, and the trauma of that was playing into everything more than I gave it credit for, so having strangers look at me like that—even if they were other women and nurses at that—wasn't pleasant. The food is disgusting, but if you don't eat enough at each meal, you'll be forced to stay there longer. You also have to use plastic spoons to cut meat because you're not allowed knives in any capacity (makes sense, but it's a rock bottom moment as a functional adult). If you're someone who takes joy in glamming up through makeup, fashion, etc., you're not going to have a good time. You're basically in pajamas the whole time and you feel and look gross. If you did want to put on some makeup, a visitor would have to bring it and you would have to put it on and take it off with a nurse watching you the whole time. Shame with razors and shaving (though I get that one more). It wasn't worth it for me. The patients got checked in on by nurses literally every ten minutes, and the doors to your rooms had no locks; the bathrooms in your room had Velcro doors they could take down, so you literally had no privacy or time truly for yourself at all. Other patients frequently came into my room, and I wasn't alone in that. You were a complete guinea pig when it came to medications. My doctor had no clue at all what she was doing and it showed. She also tried to push a diagnosis of Bipolar II despite having nothing to show for it other than her own exaggerations and lies to the nurses. She prescribed me a medication I later had an allergic reaction to and didn't actually need, and they take you off of medications completely c**d t**key (I don't know if people here are triggered by that term because some are, so just in case it's censored) which you're literally never supposed to do and you'd think medical professionals would be the first to know this. They then pretended to act dumb when I started reacting to the withdrawal after they changed my meds like nothing and didn't wean me properly in any way off the antidepressant I had been taking for months at that point (a particularly violent one mighty I add), trying to attribute it to "stomach bugs" going around in the hospital and my body being too sensitive to med changes. I wasn't alone in this, other patients reacted poorly to being ripped off drugs too quickly and put on high doses of others too soon. Some staff will treat you poorly and act like you're a burden when you have to make them do their one job, talk shit about others sometimes to your face, and just act in ways that show that they can't handle their jobs and shouldn't be working in a hospital, let alone in a section for mentally ill/suicidal people. When you were ready to go, they forced you to stay even longer which actually became detrimental to you and even the nurses would say so. Despite it being the holidays, which is when suicide rates and hospitalizations spike, there was barely enough staff at my hospital so there weren't as many groups which led to way too much free time when we literally couldn't do anything because it was so restricted. Also, as someone with a lot of trauma caused by men, I asked for all-female nurses when given the choice. This was a promise broken by the fourth day literally. My trauma isn't that bad that I couldn't let my male nurses touch me if they needed to, but what if it was? Not that they cared or had enough staff anyway. Lastly, MANY patients there needed to be in a different section. Mine was considered the lowest level, where you posed the least amount of threat and didn't have to be frequently monitored or restrained, with patients with more "standard" issues. There were at least two guys were beat up the nurses and security in the middle of the night and had to be moved to a higher level. There was a woman who would shout random names at people and be very hostile, to the point where many felt uneasy around her. Another woman pooped in the hallway twice, needed way more help and supervision than what was offered there, and had been there again after only a week and a half since her last stay.
In short, it was helpful in a few ways and I think it needed to happen. However, it's my goal to never end up in a psych ward again. It's very much like Cuckoo's Nest in several aspects. Degrading, wild, suffocating, and a little embarassing. I wouldn't be surprised if I have some smaller trauma from this specifically. My family, who stood out to everyone for visiting me every day, and I agreed that this has to be a last resort thing. If there's something you can do to help yourself before admission, you need to do that.
