My Journey In The Loony Bin: One Year Later
What do Steven Tyler, James Taylor, Sylvia Plath, Ray Charles, and I all have in common? We were all patients at the famous mental hospital called McLean.
My Journey In The Loony Bin: One Year Later
May 23, 2016. One year ago, I made the hardest decision of my life. I was admitted as a patient at a residential treatment facility specializing in helping individuals who struggle with OCD. Not the kind of OCD that you’re probably thinking of. The type of OCD I am talking about is the kind where individuals are prisoners to their own rooms, they spend hours every day performing ritualistic behaviors that lower the anxiety in the short term, but in the long term, it ends up being worse. Individuals must apply to the program, and the waiting list is long, usually around 3 months. I was a student, daughter, friend, neighbor, and sister. I was stuck in my room for hours at a time, too scared and depressed to leave. Friends gave up on me, and I don’t blame them, being friends with someone with a debilitating illness is tough. It consists of constant hugs, text messages, and phone calls, and not everyone is able to provide support.
At 10:00 am I arrived at McLean Hospital in Belmont, Massachusetts. The campus is gorgeous and only 20 minutes from Boston. In addition to the OCDI, there were many other units, STU (Short term unit), a school for teenagers, schizophrenia unit, and a detox unit. My unit was not locked, which meant that I could come and go as I wished, as long as I was back for curfew. I lived in a house with 7 other patients. The house was equipped with bathrooms, a kitchen pantry, washer and dryer, and a TV. There were 4 bedrooms in addition to the offices of our therapists. On the other OCDI unit, it was more of a hospital like setting, because it was attached to other units. However, they still had access to a kitchen, and showers, washing machines, etc.
I don’t think I went one day without crying while I was a patient at the OCDI for 12 weeks. Every morning started with setting a goal, and we had a busy schedule of mandatory groups and symptom specific assigned groups. I attended Intrusive thoughts group, mindfulness, emotion regulation, habit reversal, social skills group, Cognitive therapy, and many more. I met with my therapist 2 to 3 times a week, my social worker/family therapist once a week, and my psychiatrist once a week. Counselors would make us lunch and dinner, and we would eat family style around a dining room table. In between groups we laughed, cried, colored in our coloring books, played Mario Kart, board games, went on walks, and did just about everything normal people do. However, there was one difference. The people I met at the OCDI were different from my friends at home. I did not feel judged for my intrusive thoughts or for picking at my skin and pulling out my hair. We all had a mutual understanding of each other’s illness, and we could help one another just by being present.
The main part of the day was ERP, or exposure and response prevention. We had to expose ourselves to our greatest fears, to eventually be able to tolerate them. For example, I had to make my room a mess, and was not able to clean it. I had to write scripts, or imaginary exposures for scenarios that I could not create in real life. I had to purposefully color outside the lines and hang those pictures up around the house to deal with my perfectionism. The weekends were reserved for family visits and outings. We could choose to go anymore in Boston, and explore it by ourselves or with a group. We laughed and called ourselves the loonies from the loony bin. To the busy people of Boston, we looked like a misfit group of friends ranging from 18 to 50. To us, we all felt like pieces of a puzzle that finally fit together.
I am now laying on my bed, exactly one year after I was admitted. I no longer count to 10 when I am anxious, pull my hair, or constantly ask for reassurance. I am proud to say that I am continuing to work on my treatment by going to therapy twice a week, and seeing my psychiatrist once a month. I keep in contact with my friends from the hospital almost every day. Since returning from the hospital, my GPA rose from a 2.5 to a 4.0. I can focus in class on the material we are learning rather than what is going on inside my head.
On July 6, I will be headed to San Francisco to attend the 24th International OCD Foundation Conference. While attending, I will see some of my friends, therapists, and counselors from the hospital. I am beyond proud of myself for what I have accomplished, because it took strength and dedication to get to where I am at. Numerous medications later, thousands of dollars in therapy, and hours spent doing exposures, I am finally able to be happy. I would like to thank all my friends that I met in treatment, my therapists, psychiatrists, social worker, family, and my friends who have stood by me over this past year. You guys are the reason that I am fortunate enough to have another chance at life, and I can promise you that I will not let you down.
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