I Woke Up in a Mental Hospital on Christmas Morning.

I Woke Up in a Mental Hospital on Christmas Morning.

A Story by Katerina Grev

A completely true story, this all happened to me. I wanted to share my experiences in this hospital

Christmas morning of 2016, I woke up in psychiatric facility for suicidal ideations and suicide attempt. That's right. On a Monday morning while all my peers were laughing and complaining about their classes, an ambulance pulled up in front of my school and pulled me away into the emergency room. When my parents arrived, they were not worried about what had happened, rather they were upset about me being here. I was causing a scene. There was nothing wrong with me. I just like attention. At least, that's what they think. Them thinking that hurt me. I was reaching out for help only to be told I was lying. It made me feel like I was doing the wrong thing by asking for help. Regardless, the next two weeks, I spent in a hospital bed, supervised 24/7, even as I showered, waiting to be put in a ward. The day before Christmas Eve, I was admitted to a psychiatric facility. I remember my initial reaction: terrified. I could not believe that the day before Christmas Eve, I was standing in a hallway, getting ready to say goodbye to a harsh mother as I was going to spend the next week of my life in a mental ward. If you looked at me, you could not guess that. The scars on my wrist are faded and scattered, I made sure to make my cuts look accidental.  I'm not rich but I'm not starving. I have, had a boyfriend. So why do I spend more time on the phone with 800-273-8255 than any of the people that suddenly want to call me their friend? I laughed so much, no one could guess I purposely don't look as I cross the street, hoping and praying that someone will kill me. Because underneath that sarcastic persona I put on, I can't look in the mirror and face myself. Every morning, it gets harder and harder to convince myself to get out of bed. I fall back on brushing my teeth or my hair or taking a shower or even using the bathroom because I can't bring myself to do any of those things. That's depression. It is not beautiful; it is a killer.
Christmas morning of 2016, the first person I half whimpered a pathetic "Merry Christmas" to was my roommate, Hayley. She was admitted on the same day, under similar circumstances. She whispered back a similar greeting as we sat on the corners of our beds looking at each other. "How'd we get here?" I asked, not expecting an answer. We spend so many nights throwing a sock across the room, laughing, gossiping, like we had known each other for so long. We cried together, made plans about getting out of there, and the day she was discharged, we cried. We had both awaited the day to be discharged for so long until we realized we had to give up each other. When we said our goodbyes, the nurses let loose of the no physical contact rule and let us hug for a long time with tears in our eyes. When I was admitted to a ward on Christmas day, I did not know what I was expecting, but I certainly wasn't expecting a best friend.
Christmas morning of 2016, my period came. I was so embarrassed and Hayley accompanied me to asking a nurse for new underwear, which sadly, all they had was boy's boxers and pads. While I normally have extremely painful cramps that leave me unable to walk or move at all, at times even vomiting, I was spared from the pain and only experienced very slight discomforts. I felt so happy, I completely forgot where I was. 
Christmas morning of 2016, Hayley and I hugged and wiped away our tears before heading out of our room and going to the main hall for breakfast. People were up before us, and had already gathered at tables. Feeling like I was back in school, I was mortified since I did not know any of these people and didn't know where to sit. We both chose a quiet corner and sat next to each other, listening to the other patients' gossips. At first, I felt uncomfortable, like I was the outsider during the first day of high school all over again. "What about you guys?" My head shot up and I stared back at the friendly face accompanying the question. The best people I have met were not in church, not in class, not in my neighborhood, they were in the mental ward with me. Quickly, that feeling of awkwardness lifted and I felt accepted. These people did not judge, they understood and were going through similar things. The feeling was new and it was good. I felt so happy, I completely forgot where I was, but even more so, I didn't care. I wasn't ashamed anymore.
Christmas morning of 2016, I woke up in a psychiatric facility for suicidal ideations and suicide attempt. I am not ashamed to say that anymore. There is no shame in asking for help, and getting treated for it. No one shames a cancer patient for getting chemo, and there should be no shame for a mentally ill patient to be getting treatment either. Being in that ward, it was an eye opening experience. I am not alone. You are not alone. We are not alone. Whatever anyone is going through, someone out there understands. The people in that mental hospital with me, they were not crazy, or dangerous, or anything less than human. Hell, one of the girls there had graduated early and was valedictorian in her class. Having a mental illness does not make anyone any less of a person, and never allow society to make you feel like it is. Because the best people I have ever come to know were all wearing hospital wristbands on the Christmas morning that I woke up in a psychiatric facility. 

© 2017 Katerina Grev

Author's Note

Katerina Grev
Let me know what you think! The number is the national suicide hotline.

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Hell girl - you BELONGED and were ACCEPTED - as you are... is nothing stronger than that. You had a chance to catch a breath AND a break... and found a place to get more support when you might need it.

Posted 1 Year Ago

I kind of identify with it. Though I'm now in my mid thirties, I'm not far from you in life. People are people, not matter how damaged. And identifying with people with the same problems....I'd love to read the rest. I love how it ends with not being ashamed. I'd love to read the rest!

Posted 1 Year Ago

Katerina Grev

1 Year Ago

Thank you so much!

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2 Reviews
Added on May 27, 2017
Last Updated on June 9, 2017
Tags: depression, hospital, suicide, ward, love, romance, true story, poem, mental illness


Katerina Grev
Katerina Grev

Brooklyn, NY

Just a short little teenager from New York with a lot of emotional problems. more..