The Story of Channon Rose: Lessons between the Lines (5 page)

You never forget the first time you are committed to a psychiatric hospital. I was 12 years old. I remember it well. Frightened and terrified are a couple descriptions I would use. The name of the mental hospital was Pinegrove Psychiatric Hospital. I was admitted to the adolescent ward to be exact. I was in shock when I first arrived. Shocked and confused is a better way of putting it. I had never lied to my parents other than the occasional small lies kids often tell, like not eating a cookie before dinner kind of thing. So how did I end up here? Everything happened so fast and I couldn’t understand why nobody believed me. Being taken into a mental hospital is fairly what you might imagine, something you would see in a movie, but nothing can prepare you for the feel of it all. It’s as if it’s not really happening but you keep waking up and realizing that it is real. The blank walls with no pictures, that smell that I just can’t describe properly, the doctors in all white coats, the staff in scrubs, and the eerie quiet, yet random odd noises that creep into your ear. But before I could even comprehend my environment, there are standard procedures for newcomers. They took my shoelaces and my ponytail holder away. They also made me remove the drawstring from my pants that I was wearing at the time. Anything that could be used to hurt yourself or someone else was taken from me. I was given a pamphlet of my rights as a patient there. I had to keep asking myself over and over if this was real. I could not believe I was standing in an asylum. Every second was like a surreal nightmare that refused to end. I hoped that I would wake up. I could not stop crying, and all I wanted to do was go home.

After the initial check in a nurse walked me to my room, and as we walked, I passed by other kids that were much older than me. They all looked really messed up, and they were staring directly at me. It was a very scary feeling. Some kids looked like zombies; their eyes were all glazed over, like there was nothing behind them, those kids didn’t look at you, they looked through you. One of the girls I walked past was openly drooling. I didn’t belong there. I was freaking out. I kept asking questions like “How long am I going to be here? Can I call my mom? Why did you take my shoelaces?” The nurse did not say a word, or answer any of my questions she just ignored me as if I didn’t matter anymore now that I was there. We kept walking down a long hallway until we finally came upon a room. Then she turned and said, “This is your room; a doctor will be by tomorrow to talk to you.” That was it, no conversation, and no answers to my questions. The nurse was cold and distant, just like the room she had given me. Why was this happening to me? I was left in a room with white walls, no color, no art, no pictures, bars on the window, no mirrors in the bathroom, and no plants. There was no life whatsoever in that room. I sat on my bed in this hospital for the mentally ill, crying. I was completely alone, physically and emotionally. It was really cold, and I could not get warm. All I had with me was a tiny plastic toothbrush and a tiny tube of toothpaste, which the staff had given me when they checked me in. The mattress in my room was extremely uncomfortable and covered in thick plastic that made noise every time I turned on it. Everything was foreign, and I was completely on my own. I was homesick, and I missed my parents; I was so upset it made me feel sick to my stomach. I hoped all night my mom would arrive in panic and free me after they found out it was a big mistake. But nobody came to get me that night.

Something died inside of me in that hospital room right then and there. I don’t know if it was my trust in people, or my parents, but I never saw the world the same way again. I cried myself to sleep that night, and a piece of my heart broke off. I would never be the innocent girl I once was. People were going to think I was crazy now. How would I explain this to my friends at school? My heart became hardened. That’s when things started to change for the worse. I woke up the next morning to a room check, which is basically when the nurse comes in to check on you in case of suicide or misbehavior. It makes sense; because once you’re in a place like that eventually it would make you want to kill yourself. At this point I was mentally exhausted. All night I had hoped someone would come and save me but it didn’t happen. I had trouble sleeping, as you can imagine I heard screams throughout the night from other patients down the hall.

That morning I was very hesitant to leave my room. But I grew the courage to walk out of my room and down the empty hallways to an area that was like a living room where most of the other patients were in. When I walked into the room everyone stared at me. I was totally lost, I wasn’t even sure I was allowed to leave my room and I didn’t want to get in more trouble that I already in was at that point. I had no idea what I was doing. It made me extremely uncomfortable. I quietly sat down on a hard maroon couch and kept to myself. I was scared to talk to anyone. I wouldn’t know what to say. I was embarrassed to even be there. I felt like a total outsider that got stuck in there by accident. I had a million thoughts racing through my head. Thoughts like, is one of these crazy kids going to try and attack me? What if no one likes me here? Am I ever going to get out of here? Will I be here forever? After awhile of sitting in silence with these crazy thoughts going through my head a girl came up to me and introduced herself. I was kind of glad someone was attempting to talk to me. Her name was Kirsty and she was also a patient there. She asked me what I was in for as if it was a prison. I told her in a very quiet voice because I didn’t want anyone else to hear that I chased my stepmom around the house with a knife. She thought that was cool and we quickly became friends. She showed me the ropes in the ward about meal times, group therapy, everything I needed to know. Kirsty was in for trying to commit suicide, although she seemed totally normal to me. I was so glad to have met her because without her I would have been a lost sheep in that place. I don’t know why, but I was never briefed on anything when I was first admitted to the mental hospital. They let you just figure it out as you go. Most of the other girls except Kirsty kept to themselves or were too drugged up to talk to. Others just looked like pure crazy and by that I mean their mind is in la la land. It is sad, but trust me, when you have to live in close quarters to those people you really want to stay away from them, they are bad news bears. I met with a psychiatrist that day in an office that was in our ward. It was a square room by the nurses station with nothing but two chairs in it. Nothing else was in the room. Psych wards are known to never have many objects in sight because they are afraid the patients will hurt themselves, or others with them.

He asked how I had slept and then asked that I explain what happened and how I ended up there. I tried to tell him it was a huge mistake and that I did not belong there. I asked when I would be able to go home and if I could call my mom and he basically avoided my questions and told me that visiting hours were only at certain times and phone calls weren’t allowed until day 3. “Day 3!?” I asked. There was no way I was going to stay in there for three days, I could barely take one night in that god awful place. I was screaming on the inside. I felt trapped and my anxiety levels were going through the roof. He wasn’t very friendly and was really starting to piss me off because I needed to get out of there! I was hopeful that once I met with him he would answer my questions and help me so I could go home, but the meeting was not going my way at all. He made me feel like I was not being truthful with him. Not even this doctor that was supposed to be helping me believed anything I said. Once I realized I wasn’t leaving anytime soon and that he thought I was lying I got angry and lost it. I was starting to go crazy, literally. If you’ve never been to a psych ward let me explain what these places are like. You are forcefully thrown into a place similar to jail, but this is much worse than jail. I know because I have been there and will explain more on that later on in my story. They don’t just lock you up and take you as a person out of society. They made me feel less human and if that wasn’t bad enough then they slowly take your mind away as well. Fed up, and mad that this new doctor didn’t believe me, I lost my sh*t. I started screaming, yelling and swearing at him that he needed to let me go and that I didn’t belong there. It was a big mistake on my part. Once again, Misty’s story seemed very valid to the doctor with me losing my temper. But I couldn’t help it. He eventually calmed me down and after only 30 minutes of talking to me, he prescribed medication and had a diagnosis for me. He told me that I had what was called bi-polar disorder.

The doctor prescribed Lithium for me three times a day and Seroquel at night. He said it would keep me calm and help me sleep. I didn’t want to take it, but he insisted. So I did. I didn’t want to feel sad anymore, and he said the sadness would go away. Besides, he was a doctor so I trusted him. The next day, the pills started to take effect and I was a walking zombie, just like everyone else in there. I couldn’t believe what was happening to me. I felt slow and my brain was foggy. I did not feel like myself, and I did not like the way it made me feel. I couldn’t think straight. I lost motivation to do anything. I did not even care anymore if my parents came to visit or not.

Once the medicine was in my system I pretty much blacked out for most of my stay there which is the scariest part. I only recall bits and pieces of what actually happened to me and what they did to me and the other patients there. I had no idea how long I was even there, that’s how bad I was drugged. One day Kirsty told me she had been hiding her meds in her gums. I had to take meds 3 times a day so I decided I would try and hide my lunchtime meds. When it came time and my name was called to take my meds I put them in my mouth and tried to hide the pill in my gums really fast but failed miserably. When they pass out meds in the hospitals they make you take the meds in front of the nurse and they check your mouth to make sure you actually took them. The nurse checked and saw I was trying to hide my meds. I was threatened with the “quiet room,” but I thought it would be like a hospital time out, and at that point, I would rather take a time out than my meds. I told the nurse “You can’t force me to take these drugs if I don’t want them”. She rolled her eyes, and said “Yes you do have to take them and if you don’t we will have a problem”. I responded back with, “F**k you!” I said it so loud I think everyone around heard me say it. The room grew quiet and I looked around at everyone in the room, they were all staring at me in disbelief at what I had just done. I couldn’t believe that I had disrespected someone like that but something inside me had changed during my stay in that hospital. Suddenly, all the girls in the ward started screaming, clapping, banging their plastic green lunch trays on the tables, and throwing their food at the nurse. All hell broke loose because I had refused to take my meds and cussed at the nurse. Wow, this is kind of fun I thought to myself. I jumped on top of the lunchroom table and started dancing because I had just caused these miserable patients to smile and have fun in a place where no one ever smiles. Some of the other patients started dancing on the table with me and it was like a awesome psych patient party. That 2 minutes of fun was about to come to a quick halt. The nurse called in a code, and 15 seconds later three male nurses tackled me down to the ground and were trying to give me a shot in my butt. I kicked and screamed; I had no idea what they were trying to do to me but I was freaking out. No one told me about the shot, what it was for, or even what it was. I thought I was being attacked. All the girls in the ward started yelling “Booty juice! Booty juice!” In a psych ward, when one person goes nuts, everyone does, kind of like a domino effect. It’s quite exciting, when you aren’t the person getting in trouble. The nurses injected me with Klonopin, which is a powerful tranquilizer. The shot works instantly and I went from dancing on a table to kicking and screaming and then Jello-O in their arms.

They carried me off to the quiet room, which is a padded room like what you see in the movies, except not as nice, less bright, and much dirtier. Everything was getting really blurry and I felt as if I was coming in and out of it. The room they put me in smelled like death. I was then restrained to the bed. They had taken my clothes off, put me in a hospital gown and retrained my wrists and ankles in leather cuffs that were connected to a metal bed. I remember coming in and out of it and not even being able to itch my nose or scratch my arm. I kept screaming for someone to help me. I swear I screamed for someone to get me out of their for what felt like hours. I think they forgot about me because no one came to feed me or check on me at least that I can remember. I thought I was going to die in there. I couldn’t move. I screamed for help but no one came. I screamed myself into exhaustion and it was the most torture I had ever endured aside from Misty’s abuse. I think they gave me too big of a shot because I slept and was in and out for what felt like days. I woke up to a nurse helping me walk out of the quiet room to see my mom who had finally come to visit me. I was drooling a lot, could barely keep my eyes open, and couldn’t put a sentence together. I had horrible bruises around my wrists and ankles from trying to get out of my restraints. I looked like an insane person. I looked worse than I did when I first went into the ward. My mother saw me and didn’t even recognize me. When she realized I was her daughter she promptly demanded answers of why I couldn’t walk or talk and why I looked the way I did. She was screaming at the nurses asking, “ What the hell did you do to my daughter?!” The nurse explained, but my mother was livid. She checked me out of the ward the next day, thank God. I was so happy, and I thought to myself I will never go back to a place like that again. Wishful thinking on my part….too bad that wasn’t the case.