One week and one day ago I was released from the mental hospital.
Before I went, I thought of the hospital like a punishment. Sort of like, "you don't have good enough control over your mental health, so we're going to throw you in a straight jacket and lock you up permanently."
Girl, Interrupted was the extent of my mental hospital knowledge.
It really wasn't as bad as I thought it'd be. I was admitted to a partial hospitalization program (PHP), which meant that I'd do intensive therapy for the course of a work day, but then be able to go home and sleep in my own bed.
For the sake of this blog, we'll call my institution "Golden Fields."
It's a relatively long story as to how I ended up at Golden, so I'll make it brief.
Before I went, I thought of the hospital like a punishment. Sort of like, "you don't have good enough control over your mental health, so we're going to throw you in a straight jacket and lock you up permanently."
Girl, Interrupted was the extent of my mental hospital knowledge.
It really wasn't as bad as I thought it'd be. I was admitted to a partial hospitalization program (PHP), which meant that I'd do intensive therapy for the course of a work day, but then be able to go home and sleep in my own bed.
For the sake of this blog, we'll call my institution "Golden Fields."
It's a relatively long story as to how I ended up at Golden, so I'll make it brief.
Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder
Of all the reasons I was at Golden, this was the most obvious. Last spring, I was attacked by a very-drunk old friend (like, 14-drinks-in-drunk). I was walking him to his car trying to convince him to grab an Uber when he grabbed me, threw me into his back seat, and proceeded to both sodomize and vaginally rape me.
RSS Feed
