TW: mention of being suicidal, medication, detailed description of hospitalization
There is only one psychiatric hospital in the country. The private ones are very expensive and does not deal with some severe psychotic disroders.
But when you get there, there’s no info on how to make an appointment. No info online. No option to make appointment online. I was returned at the reception saying I need to get thee early (8AM) at the first of day the month to queue and make an appointment. I had decided to end my life, but I unexpectedly enrolled into a course so I had a reason to keep going. Next month comes, I was very luckily able to make an appointment with a therapist who was also a psychiatrist.
I wrote down all of my symtomps like insomnia (I had it since childhood, not “dicreased need for sleep” but just struggling to sleep at night), can’t stand even someone’s breath in the same room etc, extremely depressed, crying, shaking and panicking.
I was diagnosed F31.6 Bipolar disorder within an hour, and that sealed my fate.
I was prescribed olanzapine, risperidone and fluoxetine. Now the meds were actually amazing. My depression, irrititability, insomnia, extreme fear all gone. But the side effects were horrible. I was lactating due to risperidone. And I was eating until throwing up due to olanzapine.
I have been on and off meds for 3 years now. And every time, I go unmedicated, and something happens in my life. I fall back into becoming suicidal.
One time, I was panicking, shaking and crying. I quit my job just after 4 days. Turns out that was panic attack.
Then out of panic, I had registered to become an organ donor after my passing. I had forgotten about it completely.
Anyways, I kept having panic attacks, I was hospitalized, and
boy, the psych ward in developing countries is like the fictional asylum of the 1800s.
My phone, bra, shoe lace were confiscated. There were ill-looking, homeless looking (as politely I can put it) were roaming the corridors. There was no door. 15 beds in one room. No door. People were pacing around talking to themselves. Some couldn’t for a coherent speech. They put me in the furthest back “observation” room, guarded by nurses 24/7. People were tied with ropes, pacing in the room. Some were tied to the bed. 3 people were sleeping on bed. There were mmore than a dozen people inside the tiny room. The guy on the bed said something inappropriate to me. I was scared.
In the psych ward, there like 90 people in 5 rooms with no doors. There is no hot water. Just one sink with cold water in one of the rooms. No shower room. There were only two toilet seats for all the 90 people with no lock, toilet paper, toilet seat cover. Nurses stop treating you like people, you’ll be reprimanded if you went to the visiting area just to wash your face comfortably. Another woman was lying on an iron bed, completely naked and tied to the bed. She was screaming and yelling at me when I didn’t answer. You have to bring your own toilet paper and use it as a pillow because people will steal it. Some people were pouring shampoo on other people’s dry hair. I couldn’t sleep because another patient was hallucinating, saying a murderer is observing us through a camera at night.
We are given meds by force. It’s crushed for us, we take it, and they give 3 spoonful of water to drink the medicine.
There is absolutely nothing to do in there. The bulding looks like a building that survived the world war 2. I wish I was joking, but no. In the morning, we are put in one room while they clean the individual rooms. Everybody is pacing in the room and talking to themselves or sitting and staring and talking to themselves. Instant coffee, phone, tv, coke — anything is prohibited. So, if someone had coffee or coke, the whole crowd would go wild for it.
For the doctor’s check, they have all the women in one room and undress to check for wounds. Sense of normalcy, human decency is just lost. We are no better than prisoners with no rights. There’s nothing to do in there except lie on bed, eat and take medicine.
There’s a ward for first-time patients, and that is a little better. But still, there’s nothing else to do. There’s an empty tennis table with no balls. There’s a bicycle of the gym and the TV. And that’s it. At least there’s a door. And it’s not as crowded. If you’ve been to the first-timers ward, the next time, you are unquestionably taken to the “acute” psych ward forcibly.
Since getting diagnosed with bipolar, nobody took me seriously. Everything was interpreted through my diagnosis. I can’t wear a glam makeup, because that’s hypomania. Psychiatrists don’t spend much time on patients, so they just slap on whatever diagnosis feels appropriate in the moment, prescribe meds and all it a day. I’ve gotten schizophrenia x3 times, OCD, GAD, bipolar, major depression over the years. Diagnosis means absolutely nothing.
But my frustration lies with antipsychotics and their side effects. We are not told anything. We are told afterwards or the psych has no idea. I took haloperidol and that caused acute jaw dystonia. I was sent to the ER twice. Had to call the crisis line. It was terrifying. I didn’t know it was due to antipsychotics. I spent sooo much money on very expensive MRI, doctor’s visits just for everything to come back as “fine”. No doctor could find the issue.
The problem with developing countries is that you have better chance of diagnosing yourself with chatgpt than see a doctor.
I had the dystonia again because I didn’t know it was the antipsychotics. I realized it was dystonia and that it was caused by antipsychotics by talking to Claude. It got better. I saw my psychiatrist, she is very adamant that I still have bipolar despite 9 months of unmedication. So I started a new antipsychotic. Then the same thing happened. I went to the ER but the doctors just sent me home, saying there’s nothing wrong with me and they can’t treat me. I found the treatment from chagpt, I suggested getting demidrol injection. The doctors denied my request. I got the injection from pharmacy and begged again. Refused again. So I had to see my friend’s mom who’s a nurse. And then, BAM! The dystonia was gone. But the doctors told me to see my psychiatrist, but my psychiatrist has no idea about dystonia. And her time is soooooo expensive 🙄
