Yesterday, 09:50 PM
I had long since been approved for disability. My psychotic symptoms were a part of my existence as familiar to me as how I would react to the foods I consume. I could recognize the beginning and know what was soon on it's way.
With this level of understanding came with it a high level of functioning. Knowing the experiences would soon manifest as well as their duration allowed me to remain in control of my wits to the point wear it didn't produce the tiresome effects of masking.
Unfortunately, the mercilessness of schizophrenia can, in the darkest moments, make a psych ward visit the best option available.
It began as a standard intake session. Questions asked. My answers were typed. Then schiz threw me a curve ball. Each time the doctor typed my reply to her inquiry, audible and articulate words would emerge from the key board. Threats. Death Threats. Statements suggesting the doctor was lying to me. I couldn't complete the intake procedure.
I clearly explained what was taking place as clearly as I typed it now. I told the doctor that I required immediate treatment. She refused, kept typing, and caused life threatening statements to chip away at my sanity. I gave a calm final warning that I required medication. She typed more death threats and I retaliated with an act of violence. I was placed in a low functioning unit as a result.
The behavior of the other patients only worsened my condition. The unit itself was funded by those who had no respect for basic needs. There were ways in which it was worse than television drama. I didn't belong there, I couldn't have been more civil upon requesting my needed meds. My placement in that unit was not a medical treatment. It was a punishment.
With this level of understanding came with it a high level of functioning. Knowing the experiences would soon manifest as well as their duration allowed me to remain in control of my wits to the point wear it didn't produce the tiresome effects of masking.
Unfortunately, the mercilessness of schizophrenia can, in the darkest moments, make a psych ward visit the best option available.
It began as a standard intake session. Questions asked. My answers were typed. Then schiz threw me a curve ball. Each time the doctor typed my reply to her inquiry, audible and articulate words would emerge from the key board. Threats. Death Threats. Statements suggesting the doctor was lying to me. I couldn't complete the intake procedure.
I clearly explained what was taking place as clearly as I typed it now. I told the doctor that I required immediate treatment. She refused, kept typing, and caused life threatening statements to chip away at my sanity. I gave a calm final warning that I required medication. She typed more death threats and I retaliated with an act of violence. I was placed in a low functioning unit as a result.
The behavior of the other patients only worsened my condition. The unit itself was funded by those who had no respect for basic needs. There were ways in which it was worse than television drama. I didn't belong there, I couldn't have been more civil upon requesting my needed meds. My placement in that unit was not a medical treatment. It was a punishment.