So, I was going to translate the complaint I wrote to the closed section to English. So, here goes. This is long.
16th – 17th of May 2019:
I wanted to kill myself. (this is a year ago so my memory is blurry)
Did not get food.
I complained about back pains, because I have scoliosis, did not get a better mattress even though I know they have them. Did not get painkillers, even though I begged for it, almost crying.
Barely got out of bed in the morning. Nobody cared about my needs or pains.
Before I was written out, the doctor asks me why I was admitted. I answer with saying that I wanted to kill myself. His answer: “That’s a bit drastically”
I feel like I’m not being taken seriously, that he thinks I sound dramatic.
At the same time, he knows nothing of what I struggle with, what I’ve gone through and what I feel.
First time I was sent down from the open section: 15th- 16th of April 2020
Was about to hang myself before my nurse walked in on me.
My contact person/ nurse sits down in the door, holding it open and stares at me while I wait for the doctor.
I confront her and asks if she’d rather sit inside the room with me, because I feel uncomfortable when the door is open and all the other patients can look right in at me.
She reacts by fikling with the chair, to then go ask another nurse behind the wall, mind you, as loudly as I can clearly hear her say: “she wants me to sit with her in her room. Do I have to do that?” The other nurse answers: “No, you dont need to do that. You can just sit there in the door.”
She sits back down in the chair in the door without saying anything to me.
The doctor puts me on a “medication package” which I dont know anything about what it is. He doesn’t ask if it’s ok, he barely explains what it is. When I ask what I’ve gotten before swallowing, the nurse answers sarcastically Wellbutrin and something I don’t remember the name of. Then proceeds to say, again, in a sarcastic tone: “if you don’t agree, you can bring it up with the doctor tomorrow”
They confiscate my pen, and my journal which I use to write down my thoughts and feelings. I almost have to fight with them to at last be allowed to keep my apple pen so I can at least do some drawing when I’m down there.
They say: “If you’re hungry, you have to come out and ask for food.” I answer, saying I have Bulimia, and problems with food and asking for it, and the fact that I have a meal-plan.
I try to communicate that I’m not able to ask for food. She answers with: “Yeah well, that’s not our field of specialty, we’re only suppose to keep you alive, but now you know that if you’re hungry, you can come out and ask for food”
I don’t feel like I’m being cared about at all. My feelings, my needs are not being followed. They show no empathy or competence. I feel again, like a burden on the world.
The only thing I consumed that day was the nutrition drink that they sent with me from upstairs, and supper when I get a much nicer contact/ nurse later that evening. (name cencored)
Thanks for treating me as a fellow human being.
The doctor asks me if I want to go back up to the open section, or if I want to go home. I choose going upstairs again, because I know going home at this point would be a really bad idea.
Second time I was send down from the open section: 10th – 11th of May
Bad self harm incident.
This time, I begged the doctor to not send me down again, since I’ve already had enough bad experiences downstairs, and I’m trying to communicate that sending me down would only make bad worse, because nobody downstairs cares.
The doctor still sends me down against my will.
I manage to sneak with me a piece of glass from the vase that I broke upstairs to self harm with, and a string from my hoodie, where I’d made a hanging knot, in my shorts under my pants.
I have had enough, and I’ve decided that if I again got the choice of going home, or back up, I would chose going home again, to then spend the last 24 hrs with my little sister, to then eat and purge til I physically can’t no more, to then slit my wrists.
The glass piece and the string was just in case I couldn’t wait til I got home.
When I get down, I am as you can imagine very frustrated, and irritated, and devastated because, obviously I didn’t want to.
I’m met with a nice lady called (cencored name). She talks to me like a fellow human being, I feel like I’m being heard and understood.
(Cencored name, male nurse who works partially upstairs and partially downstairs) that I know from before, helped me with carrying down the mattress and my supper.
Me and (the nurse) eats supper, and our conversation helps me get my thoughts on better things, and my mood improves a bit.
Later, changing of the guard(?)
I get a new contact, who proceeds to sit down in my door, holding it open.
I lay with my head against the corner. That isn’t good enough, because she says she has to “see my face” at all times.
When I express that I would prefer to lay that way, because I’ll struggle to sleep being stared directly at all night, she proceeds to move and stand right beside me, OVER me, for a long time.
After a while I ask: “If you have to see my face all the time, why can’t you just go sit in the other chair over there inside my room? I would feel much more comfortable if you sat there rather than hanging over me.”
She sarcastically answers: “Nahh, I’m good standing here”
I again try to convince her to sit down in the chair, because I feel uncomfortable, and stepped on.
She answers again with sarcasm in her voice: “I’ve been sitting down so much today, I think I’ll just continue standing here”
I have trauma from authority figures from childhood, and I have a pretty low threshold to be treated as if I’m less worth. I confront her:
“Why do you talk to me that way? Why do you act this way towards me? I am a human being too, I’m not an animal.”
Instead of taking it to her, and apologize, she turns it around and back on me, to make it sound like there’s me there is something wrong with.
“I apologize that YOU perceives me that way” “Its not intended that YOU should think this way of me”
I feel stepped on, I feel tempered with, I feel disrespected, I feel pushed down against the mud, as if I didn’t already feel that way to begin with.
Change of guard again. This time, a middle-aged man sits down in my door. At this point in time, my mood is already so crappy again. I already from before feel like I’m unwanted in this world, that I’m a burden, a heavy load, that I am sick and tired of struggling with unipolar depression, and bulimia especially, as well as a bunch of other crap.
I have also just got all of this confirmed time after time by the people who was meant to care about me, support me, keep me safe, that my beliefs are true.
This is misuse of power. But wait, it gets better.
At this point in time, I’m so depressed again, that I can’t take it anymore.
I send an sms to my younger sister(14), who’s the most important person in my life. I tell her how much I love her, how beautiful she is, and how lucky everyone who knows her is to have her in their lives.
Then I asks to go to the toilet on my own, to get ready for bed and change to PJ’s on my own. He agrees.
The piece of glass isn’t sharp enough. I get frustrated, angry, stressed out. I try to cut many times, but it never gets deep enough to hit the vein.
Its been a while now, and the night guard/ nurse comes inn because I spent too much time in there.
He reacts with anger, says with strong irritation in his voice: “You have misused my trust. Now you’re not allowed to piss, shit or shower without me having to stare at you. Is that what you want?”
“What have you cut yourself with? Your nails?”
I get stressed over the fact that he’ll discover and confiscate the gladd piece I have, and having tunnel vision/ dissociating I tried one last time to slice my wrist.
He reacts with grabbing both my arms, hold me tight til I let go of the glass and sit down in the bed.
I understand why he did this.
But, I have at later point in time heard from my main nurse upstairs that when force is being used, they’re obligated to give me some sort of written report about it afterwards. This I have neither received or gotten any knowlage about downstairs.
I’m at this point crying, I’m angry, and upset. The night nurse is also angry at me. I ask him why he’s angry at me. He answers with “is it strange that I react with anger?” (yes, it kind of is because you’re very unprofessional in your field of work)
I’m trying to communicate that it was a genuine attempt to end my life. The nurse just brushes it under the carpet and says: “Nah, this was just a call for help”
Thank you. Now I feel like an attention seeker wannabe idiot. That my attempt wasn’t good enough because I’m still alive. That nobody will ever care about me or take me serious as long as I’m still alive. Now I just want to write myself out even more, get my ass home, and finish the job once and for all. I feel fucking awful and nauseous.
I have to turn my head out in the room. I’m not allowed to sleep facing the wall, and I’m not allowed to sit in bed with my knees up because they have to quote: “see my face at all times”
They provoke with coming in again, stand/ hang over me to “see my face.”
Morning after I don’t get breakfast. They say like they did the last time: “If you’re hungry, you have to come out and ask for food” I answer again, saying that I have Bulimia, and get frustrated, and trying to inform them that I find it difficult, but that I have a meal-plan upstairs that I follow.
I’m trying to still follow my meal-plan to continue recovery crap. She seems annoyed and asks: “Ok, whats on your meal-plan then?” “Yeah 3 half slices of bread with…” She interrupts me mid sentence: “Oh, that’s a lot”
I get dumbfounded. I have a fucking eating disorder, and you proceeds to say that? Me: “excuse me..?” She says I should continue. I tell her what’s on my meal-plan. She gives off the impression that I’m demanding a lot.
Again, I feel like a fat pig that doesn’t deserve, and should never have asked for food to begin with.
She spends quite a good time to prepare the breakfast for me. She comes in with the meal at the same time my next meal should have been.
I don’t receive my first or second snack that day, and I don’t get my lunch either. Not even an option.
I’m barely able to take a few bites of my late breakfast because of the lump in my stomach after hearing that she thought it was a lot. Thank you so much. You really know where to rub the salt in the wound to really make it sting, and at the same time, be untouchable because you’re too vague. Fuck you.
Before I get sent back up, I get to talk to the doctor. He too isn’t very polite or nice. He says I was sent down because: “you self harmed and the doctor said it was a bloodbath and the worst incident he’d seen.” (It wasn’t my worst. And I wasn’t send down the last time…)
He then provokes with saying that I also “scratched my wrist” last night.
He too, again, stomping all over me. It was a legit suicide attempt, but he too managed to make me feel totally awful for not having done “better.”
Afterwards, he continues by saying that “I hope you figure out what you want to do with your life forward” As if I fucking chose to be born with Asperger, as if I chose to get chronic depression, social anxiety and fucking Bulimia and what more. I should be ashamed. I don’t belong here, I don’t deserve the help. I’m just a piece of garbage that they sadly has to deal with to get payed.
I also get the feeling that he means I should just “choose to suddenly be all better again without any problem”. So I don’t have to be sent back down again. I’m actually working on it, I’ve been here for 4 months, and this is actually a lot of hard work and it takes time. Its tiresome and my mood is swingy. I can’t just “choose” to not struggle anymore, just like a cancer patience cant “choose” not to have cancer anymore just because its an inconvenience to you.
Why is it like this? When a person is at their absolute lowest in life. They feel like nobody cares about them, nobody loves them, that they’re a burden and a heavy load on everyone, that all they do is wrong, and they just want to die to not have to deal with it anymore. And maybe, maybe this is their last attempt to simply just get help, be heard, and maybe get a life back.
But instead, we’re met with power misusing people, who just confirms all of your beliefs and self doubts and self hate.
And people are wondering why, statistically speaking, there’s 3 times as much suicide attempts during hospitalization than before, which is second highest.
There are ofc nice people downstairs at the closed as well, but why do I get the feeling that at least half of the workers there are just awful people misusing their authority? Why is it that always the worst people end up on places like elementary school, prison, and on closed psychiatric hospital? Well, its simply because then they’re an authority figure, and they can do and say what they want to other people. Its easy to pick on young kids, inmates in prisons, and people with acute psychiatric needs, because people like us aren’t heard, aren’t seen, not taken seriously, in many cases, not able to speak up for ourselves even.
I also want to point out that the 4 months I’ve been upstairs have been completely different. I like EVERYBODY that works upstairs. I feel like they ACTUALLY cares about me. And that actually helps. It does go forward, slowly, but its so devastating that when I need tighter watch because of suicide/ self harm risk, I get sent to a horrible place that just makes my mood 100 times worse than I thought was possible. And again I have to start from scratch and work myself up again.
I could probably have “moved on” and tried not to be sent down there again. I don’t really want that in the first place to be honest anyways. But, I feel like this is so bad that I absolutely should send in a complaint about it. Not only for my own sake, and the wish for justice, but also with thoughts about the other patients that sadly also have been/ has to go there during their life and gets treated the same way.