When God Shows Up in the Psych Ward (Part Two)
She shot to her feet and asked me to follow her out of the
room because she couldn’t leave me unattended. I was ushered to the dining room
with other patients so we would be out of harm’s way as staff ran toward the agitated
man.
I had to remind myself that I was a patient this time, and
that I didn’t have to go help like in the past. I had flashbacks to getting
hit, hair being pulled, and stomach being kicked, but reminded myself that I’m
here now and I’m safe. I sat down in a chair and I finally started breathing
again.
A social worker came into the room to check on us. “How are
you all doing?”
“Fine.”
“Eh, it’s all good.”
The woman who complimented me on my beanie the first night
looked over at me and said, “I think Ashley’s having a hard time.”
Everyone looked at me as the floodgates opened and I started
crying.
“It’s okay. You’re safe. It’s scary, huh? Loud noises can be
very triggering.”
I looked up at the male patient who spoke. He looked
genuinely concerned. I nodded. I hate loud noises. I’m incredibly jumpy. I
scare easily. Most people know this about me. But they got it, here, on a
different level. No judgment. No laughter. I didn’t have to joke about it.
There was an unspoken understanding.
After talking to the social worker, taking deep breaths, and
getting outside for a walk with a counselor and that male patient, and another
male patient, my heart settled down and I could breathe easier.
* * *
I was one of four female patients. The only female under the
age of 50, too, which is probably why I had one male patient follow me
everywhere my first full day. He told me his girlfriend didn’t mind if he was
talking to me. I didn’t know how to tell him we weren’t “talking”. Thankfully,
another male patient that I call my knight in shining wheelchair came rolling
into every room as well. I don’t know if he did it intentionally or not, but he
made me feel safer – like someone was watching out for me. A counselor talked
to me and told me she had noticed that this guy was following me around, and that I
could say “no” to him – that I should say “no” to him – set some
boundaries. But she also spoke to him, apparently, because the next day he
apologized to me, and left me alone.
I went to all of the groups as scheduled, which my
psychiatrist said was really great. I took every opportunity they gave me to go
for a walk. I ate the meals, and didn’t care that it didn’t taste that great.
It was weird every time one of the nurses or counselors
pointed out that I was an RN. I would always feel confused. To go from being a
patient at a psych hospital, to being a mental health counselor, to a
registered nurse, and back to patient in a psych ward, I was having major role
confusion. But it felt good to talk to some of the nurses about my experience,
because they told me that it was good I was starting to take care of myself. It
sort of poked a hole in the inflating bubble of shame that I started to
experience any time someone mentioned that I was a nurse.
They also reminded me that if I had diabetes and was having diabetic
ketoacidosis that I’d go to the hospital – and it makes sense to come to the
hospital for a little extra support when depression sent me into crisis mode.
* * *
Overall, I felt safe and accepted by the patients and staff.
Which is huge when you’re in a crisis situation. You just want to be safe. And
once you feel safe, the knot in your stomach can loosen, the breath you’ve been
holding can be released, and the racing thoughts can slow down just a little.
It was in this safe place that I started reaching out to God
again. I’ve been trying. It’s been a battle to get into God’s Word. It’s been
challenging to pray. I’ve really been reminded that there’s an enemy who
doesn’t want me to be in a life-giving relationship with Jesus, and that he
will do anything to crush me and fill my mind with lies.
I felt trapped and suffocated when I was in the
high ceiling, beautiful, huge, ornate hotel in the mountains of New Hampshire.
But in the psych ward of a little community hospital with a bunch of other
individuals fighting their personal battles, I felt as though I could relax a
little and breathe again. It made no sense to me.
* * *
My mom and three beautiful and kind women from my church
family came to visit. There wasn’t one day that I didn’t have at least one
visitor. It was amazing to feel so supported by individuals – that they
would take time out of their days to come to see me in the hospital. It gave me
something to look forward to. And in spending time in God’s Word again, both in
my room and in the dining room, I started to be more hopeful. I started wanting
to bless those around me again.
And so, I looked for ways to help my roommate – who spent
most of her day in bed. I’d bring her ginger ale, I’d ask how she was doing,
I’d open the curtains for her during the day, and when she asked if she could
sleep with her light on, I told her absolutely.
As for my knight in shining wheelchair, I would allow him the
ability to try everything as much as he could, so he’d have some sort of
independence. But as soon as I saw him struggling for more than a couple of
seconds, I’d offer assistance – bringing a pitcher of coffee closer to him,
opening the door for him, getting him his tray of food.
I heard an older gentleman ask staff for a Bible and they
said the chaplain could bring him one on Monday. I felt the desire to help him
out, so I had my Mom bring in an extra copy of the Bible that we had at home.
When I handed it to him – his family who was visiting surrounding him – he
looked at me in disbelief. “You’re really giving this to me?” And when I was
getting discharged he came over to me and asked me if I wanted my Bible back,
and I said, “No, that’s for you. That’s yours now.” He thanked me with tears in
his eyes.
Another male patient, who was always trying to get people to
smile and had such a positive energy around him, saw me reading and copying
down Scripture. He came over to me and asked me what I was reading. I told him
that I was reading Romans. He smiled and nodded saying, “Yeah, I love Romans.
And James. And Hebrews. Good stuff. You know, you’re inspiring me to start
studying again.” I just smiled and told him that Isaiah was my favorite book
because of all of the promises. The next morning he came up to me and said, “I
did it! I studied the Word this morning!” I smiled at him.
I don’t tell these stories to say “look how good I am” but
simply to testify to the healing power of serving others. Depression can drive
my focus inward and it gets to the point where all I think about is how I feel
and a bunch of negative thoughts about myself. I remembered that the Lord used
serving others and being an encouragement to others as a way to get out of
depression six years ago when I became a Christian, and so I asked for His help
to do the same this time. And it’s oddly like medicine. He show up every time. I always go back to Isaiah 58:10,11. “If you pour yourself out
for the hungry and satisfy the desire of the afflicted, then shall your light
rise in the darkness and your gloom be as the noonday. And the LORD will guide
you continually and satisfy your desire in scorched places and make your bones
strong; and you shall be like a watered garden, like a spring of water, whose
waters do not fail.”
* * *
I met my friend with the long hair and face tattoos on my
second day. We both were in the activity room with the therapy dog – a small
dog dressed up in a Stitch costume. He and I connected in an unspoken way. He
made me feel safe and cared for. On my last day, as my meeting with the
psychiatrist, social worker, and my mom drew closer, I was picking at my quesadilla,
not hungry. If you know me – this is an
anomaly. I’m always hungry. My friend was sitting across from me and he looked
concerned, “You’re not really eating. Is everything okay?” I started crying and
told him that I was nervous to go home. He told me that I’m a lot stronger than
I think I am, and that I’m going to be fine. He listened to me as I told him I
felt bad for sharing my story with everyone the day before during group after
everyone else shared theirs. I’m not homeless, I have a supportive network, I
have two college degrees, and I’m a licensed nurse. I told him I felt
embarrassed to share. Like I was a skinny person at a weight loss support
group. He told me that we all broken and that we all are in need of help at
times – that it doesn’t matter what my story is – I needed extra help to be
safe and I sought it out. He said that I had inspired him. He said he was proud
of me to be taking the steps towards healing at such a young age. He told me
that if I didn’t feel ready to go home, to tell my psychiatrist – that they
wouldn’t push me out if I thought I wasn’t going to be safe. I thanked him, and
headed to the meeting.
I knew as I walked to the room that I would be going home. I
was nervous, but I felt God tell me that He was going with me. If He came with
me to the psych ward, He’d go home with me as well. There’s no place I can go
where He won’t be.
My psychiatrist told me that they got me a place in a
partial hospitalization program. It would be Monday through Friday 9:30 to 2.
It would be for a couple of weeks. It would provide group therapy and structure
to my day. I thought that that sounded like a good plan. I didn’t want to go
back to just sitting around at home with nothing to do. And there would be
accountability. People would know if I didn’t show up. She asked me if I was
okay with the plan, and though I had a lump in my throat and tears streaming
down my face, I nodded.
I packed my bags and said goodbye to my friends. I wished
them all luck. And with my mom leading the way, I walked back out into the
world.
* * *
The Lord has been so gracious to show me His love through
those patients and staff. Jesus came for the sick and the sinners. He came for
the broken individuals who recognize their need of a Savior. He didn’t look at
the lepers with disgust and refuse to touch them. He drew near. He healed. He
loved. He loved so much that He willingly gave up His life.
Asking for help isn’t bad. It’s the only thing that saves
us. Without the help of Christ, we have no hope. So ask Him, friend. Ask Him to
save you. Ask Him to help you. Ask Him to show you His love. Only He can meet
us in the darkest of times and bring hope to our hearts in a way that lasts for
eternity.
Yes, living in this world will bring trials and tribulation,
and there are battles to be fought along the way. But Christ won the ultimate
victory on the cross. And so, please friend – don’t give up. Keep fighting. And
remember that ultimately, God is the One who fights for you. His grace
sustains. His love carries you. He goes before you. He redeems the broken
places. He has, He is, and He will. Forevermore. He is always good – and I will
repeat it until I believe it: He is good to me.
And in your brokenness, know that He is with you. He isn’t
mad at you. He knew you were broken from the very start. That’s why He sent
Christ. And Jesus willingly entered into the suffering of this world, and
endured a suffering none of us can begin to imagine, all because He loved us.
And so, as I take my baby steps towards healing, I will keep
clinging to the One who came to save me. For He is all I need. And yet He
continues to pour out grace upon grace. To each person who has reached out –
thank you. You are God’s grace to me.
You are not alone, friend. Don’t give up.
“And the Pharisees
and their scribes grumbled at his disciples, saying, ‘Why do you eat and drink
with tax collectors and sinners?’ And Jesus answered them, ‘Those who are well
have no need of a physician, but those who are sick. I have not come to call
the righteous but sinners to repentance.” ~ Luke 5:30-32
"So we do not
lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being
renewed day by day. For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an
eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things
that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen
are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal.” ~ 2 Corinthians
4:16-18
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