The After Life: My Life After The Psych Ward *TRIGGER WARNING*

I always read articles about what it’s like being in a psych ward or what lead up to someone being admitted; rarely do I hear about what happens after they’re discharged. After recently being discharged from a psych ward I decided I wanted to share my story.
The first hours after being discharged from the hospital are some of the most overwhelming. After living in what felt like to me a bubble, it was time to deal with all of my problems again.
The phone. First was turning back on my phone. I only spent five days in the ward, there were patients there that had been there for over forty five days, but my phone had exploded with missed messages and calls from both loved ones and work. Sifting through all the messages to was hard to endure, sometimes even painful to listen to the voicemails of people concerned about you. I cringed with guilt as I listened to my boss pleading for me to call her back. I knew I had a lot of phone calls to make, some happier than others. The difficult part was making the phone calls to the people who had no idea where I had been the past five days. I wasn’t brave enough to give full details to everyone I talked to but I tried to be as open and honest as possible. Then there were the good phone calls to make, the “I made it out alive!” Phone calls that were easy and endearing.
The babysitting. Secondly there’s the babysitting that happens, both intentionally and unintentionally. After seeing people for the first time after being out you can feel their hesitation on what to ask you. You can feel them walking on eggshells. It hurts to know you make people feel this way but at the same time I’m grateful for it. The ones who walk on eggshells generally don’t ask the prying, embarrassing questions. On the other hand they’re usually the ones carefully watching you while pretending they aren’t, which feels almost unbearable. Sometimes it makes me feel like a ticking time bomb. It makes me happy that I have people who are very obvious about their intentions. The ones who come by just to hang out, help with household chores, play with your kids, or just let you rest.
The doctor’s appointments. If you thought you saw a lot of different doctors and nurses while on the ward, being out isn’t any different. I had to meet with a new therapist, along with seeing my old psychiatrist and general physician; giving all three the same schpeel over and over again. Even though this is one of the most crucial parts of recovery I also found it to be the most annoying. I just spent the last five days surrounded by doctors, getting poked and prodded, just to do it all over again. The good news is that the longer I’m out of the ward, the more time grows in between visits.
The questions. Did you take your meds? Did you drink today? Did you want to drink? Did you sleep? How long? How well? Did you take your meds? Did you eat? How much? Did you take your meds? What did the doctor say? What did your therapist say? Did you take your meds today? They go on and on and I have to remind myself the questions come from a place of love even though they feel accusatory at times.
The first shower. If you had the same experience I had, then the showers on the ward were tepid at best. It was like the water wanted to get hot but just couldn’t get there. Then it came out in a drizzle, barely enough pressure to rinse the baby shampoo out of your hair. The first shower out of the ward is nearly orgasmic. The hot water, the soapy shampoo, the feel of the water beating down on you makes for a truly divine experience after being deprived for a few days.
The love and support. Lastly there’s the outpouring of love and support I experienced. I’m one of the lucky ones. I had a home to go to. I have an amazing support network of loved ones close and far away. I can make a phone call to have someone come over to “babysit” me. I can make a phone call just vent and to work on some of my issues. Not everyone has that. Some people are just sent off to group homes or back to troubled waters. I’m fortunate enough not to have a safe environment to go home to, like I said I’m damn lucky.

Anovi June is trying to live life to fullest while managing her bipolar disorder. She lives at home with her husband, two kids, and two cats. She enjoys cooking, writing, and riding bikes.