symphony
surving hour-by-hour
- Mar 12, 2022
- 779
There's no real point to this thread. I'm just sharing a story from a period of time while I was in residential therapy last year. Feel free to comment with feedback or share your own stories or whatever. Or not. I don't really care.
So I was in residential for a total of 6-7 months, but for various reasons I jumped from facility to facility. I was at the center where this story took place for a bit under 2 months. They didn't put people on a full-on one-to-one status like they sometimes do in hospitals, but if a patient was a concern they could be placed on a line-of-sight status. I was on this status for a few days around the middle of my stay and continuously for the last few weeks of my stay. It was rare for anyone to be on line-of-sight for longer than a few days at a time, so this drew some notice.
It is exactly what it sounds like. A staff member has to be able to watch you at all times, no matter what you're doing. So as part of this, you couldn't sleep in your bedroom, you had to sleep on a couch in the living room. There was a bit of a stigma around this too, because every patient would notice when you suddenly started sleeping on the couch, they would know exactly what was up, and they would form judgements about it. Even I would do that when other patients found themselves in the same situation. I'd usually want to go to sleep earlier in the evening but other patients would be up and about, watching TV in the living room until 11 pm. So after I had dinner and got my meds, I'd take a staff member with me to my room to change into my PJs, haul out my blanket and stuffed animals to the living room, try to get comfortable, and try to sleep despite the noise, being surrounded by people moving about, and having the lights on overhead all night long. Day after day.
I couldn't go to the bathroom unsupervised either. I had to ask for permission and a staff member had to come with me. Often there would not be a staff member of my same sex readily available, so I could choose to wait an hour or so, or just bite the bullet and let someone of the opposite sex watch me change and shower and sit on the toilet. Not fun. But honestly, I got used to it, and the staff tended to seem pretty uncomfortable about the whole thing too. To their credit, most of the techs were great and did what they could to help me feel comfortable.
I had to ask to leave the living room for any reason, whether to go outside to the courtyard, to go along on the supervised walks they held every morning, or even to attend group if group was held across the street or in a different room or in any way not in the living room. If a tech wasn't available to drop everything they were doing and accompany me, I couldn't go.
Sometimes when we had art therapy groups, the art therapists would pass out scissors for patients to use while supervised. Well, while on this status, I wasn't allowed to touch the scissors no matter how closely I was being watched. If I wanted something cut for my art project, I had to ask staff to do it for me.
Every week there was a day-long outing where the staff would take the patients somewhere fun. Of course I couldn't go on these either. But this wasn't even unique to being on status for me. I was never allowed to go on any outings, even when I wasn't being watched. Few patients stayed back, so it was lonely and there wasn't much to do. Then everyone would come back and over dinner, it's all anyone would be talking about.
I also did TMS while at this facility. When it was time for my appointment, a staff member would drive me to the clinic and then drive me back afterwards. Well, when I was on the line-of-sight status, that staff member would have to literally come in with me to my appointment rather than just waiting in the lobby or picking me up afterwards. It was super duper awkward and we just ended up sitting there in silence for about 45 minutes or so while I got TMS.
What did I do to justify all this, you ask? "Naughty Sym, you weren't self-harming again, were you?" Actually, no, I stayed clean for my entire stay there. I was on line-of-sight for weeks at a time because I confessed to having passive thoughts about suicide with no plan or intent. That's it.
I paged through my journal to see if I discussed anything regarding the line-of-sight status. I only mentioned it briefly in passing. It seems that my entries range from measured optimism to severe prolonged distress that just jumps off the page. The most heartwarming parts of the journal are those documenting kindness shown to me by the staff or other patients. I tend to forget those. But I'm always grateful when others see my pain and try to be there for me even if they can't "fix it".
Anyways. That's my story. Thanks for reading another pointless post of mine.
So I was in residential for a total of 6-7 months, but for various reasons I jumped from facility to facility. I was at the center where this story took place for a bit under 2 months. They didn't put people on a full-on one-to-one status like they sometimes do in hospitals, but if a patient was a concern they could be placed on a line-of-sight status. I was on this status for a few days around the middle of my stay and continuously for the last few weeks of my stay. It was rare for anyone to be on line-of-sight for longer than a few days at a time, so this drew some notice.
It is exactly what it sounds like. A staff member has to be able to watch you at all times, no matter what you're doing. So as part of this, you couldn't sleep in your bedroom, you had to sleep on a couch in the living room. There was a bit of a stigma around this too, because every patient would notice when you suddenly started sleeping on the couch, they would know exactly what was up, and they would form judgements about it. Even I would do that when other patients found themselves in the same situation. I'd usually want to go to sleep earlier in the evening but other patients would be up and about, watching TV in the living room until 11 pm. So after I had dinner and got my meds, I'd take a staff member with me to my room to change into my PJs, haul out my blanket and stuffed animals to the living room, try to get comfortable, and try to sleep despite the noise, being surrounded by people moving about, and having the lights on overhead all night long. Day after day.
I couldn't go to the bathroom unsupervised either. I had to ask for permission and a staff member had to come with me. Often there would not be a staff member of my same sex readily available, so I could choose to wait an hour or so, or just bite the bullet and let someone of the opposite sex watch me change and shower and sit on the toilet. Not fun. But honestly, I got used to it, and the staff tended to seem pretty uncomfortable about the whole thing too. To their credit, most of the techs were great and did what they could to help me feel comfortable.
I had to ask to leave the living room for any reason, whether to go outside to the courtyard, to go along on the supervised walks they held every morning, or even to attend group if group was held across the street or in a different room or in any way not in the living room. If a tech wasn't available to drop everything they were doing and accompany me, I couldn't go.
Sometimes when we had art therapy groups, the art therapists would pass out scissors for patients to use while supervised. Well, while on this status, I wasn't allowed to touch the scissors no matter how closely I was being watched. If I wanted something cut for my art project, I had to ask staff to do it for me.
Every week there was a day-long outing where the staff would take the patients somewhere fun. Of course I couldn't go on these either. But this wasn't even unique to being on status for me. I was never allowed to go on any outings, even when I wasn't being watched. Few patients stayed back, so it was lonely and there wasn't much to do. Then everyone would come back and over dinner, it's all anyone would be talking about.
I also did TMS while at this facility. When it was time for my appointment, a staff member would drive me to the clinic and then drive me back afterwards. Well, when I was on the line-of-sight status, that staff member would have to literally come in with me to my appointment rather than just waiting in the lobby or picking me up afterwards. It was super duper awkward and we just ended up sitting there in silence for about 45 minutes or so while I got TMS.
What did I do to justify all this, you ask? "Naughty Sym, you weren't self-harming again, were you?" Actually, no, I stayed clean for my entire stay there. I was on line-of-sight for weeks at a time because I confessed to having passive thoughts about suicide with no plan or intent. That's it.
I paged through my journal to see if I discussed anything regarding the line-of-sight status. I only mentioned it briefly in passing. It seems that my entries range from measured optimism to severe prolonged distress that just jumps off the page. The most heartwarming parts of the journal are those documenting kindness shown to me by the staff or other patients. I tend to forget those. But I'm always grateful when others see my pain and try to be there for me even if they can't "fix it".
Anyways. That's my story. Thanks for reading another pointless post of mine.
I want to add that looking back on this is bittersweet. I got this support more often while I was in hospitals or residential long-term. It's probably pretty sad that such a small moment of connection would mean so much to me. That just reflects my desperation and loneliness more than anything else. But now, my pain is much more invisible. I'm not surrounded by professionals 24/7 like I was last year. I don't receive spontaneous offers of support and connection anymore. Even when I attend therapy, I'm just one more fucked-up individual to be ushered in and out of those doors. There's no one to pull me aside and check in during a panic attack. No one to seek to gain insight into my experience and offer sincere encouragement. No one to cajole me into going out to the lake at night with my friends to try to get me out of my head. No one to sneak me an extra piece of chocolate or gift me a personalized trinket or stress toy they thought I'd appreciate in particular. I feel like I sound so spoiled writing this, but I tend to feel so isolated in my suffering and sometimes the little things really can be all that meaningful.
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