Surviving Meth: A Candid Account of My Mental Hospital Experience [2]

I heard through the grapevine that a friend of a friend of a friend of mine had also been in a mental hospital, albeit a different unit and hospital. Her experience was vastly different. Unfortunately, I can’t compare with other psych wards since I was admitted to the same unit and hospital for the second time. FYI, I’m not planning to go back for another experience. I’m clean now, and I have been for several years.

[Previous post]

Looking back, I spent a few days crying and going back to sleep unless they woke me up for:

1. The Medicare person checking if I wanted to use my Medicare for this stay-cation. I was super high on the meds they gave me during that conversation, but I vaguely remember her asking if I wanted to use my mental health plan while staying in the Manning Unit. I replied with a firm “no” and pleaded to end the show and send me home immediately.
2. Medication time: They started oral administration of Olanzapine around this time. Before giving me the medicine, they explained what it is, how it works, and what it does. I didn’t care much and took it anyway, but I’m guessing it was Olanzapine because they prescribed it to me and encouraged me to continue it after discharge.
3. Meal times, activity times

When I finally sobered up, though I still thought it was part of the show, I noticed the people there were incredibly amusing to stay with. Unfortunately, I forgot all their names, and there’s no way to keep in contact since exchanging contact details was forbidden – maybe to prevent relapsing together outside the hospital. Manning Unit consists of patients of all genders, aged between 25-50, mostly going through psychosis episodes(whether it’s drug related or not), thinking they are gods or something similar, much like how I believed I was the main character of a very famous show. Their way of thinking is different, unique, and refreshing. I wish I could hang out with them from waking up until falling asleep forever. We only had an hour of phone time at 4 pm, but no one really craved that time of day. We only used the phone to order Ubers, and Uber drivers always had a tough time finding Manning Unit because it’s so hidden. Boring activities like composing music or face painting made my stomach hurt from laughing too much. I really enjoyed my time there and forgot about meth after a few days of sleep and crying tantrums: “finish the show and send me home already.” Hospital food couldn’t be tastier than that. I always asked for more from the kitchen lady, sometimes checking if other cellmates were being anorexic. There were three meal times, two tea and snacks. I don’t know how—providing individual ward, entertainment, infrastructures, food, snacks, tea, coffee(but decaf only), and many more, but I can only appreciate the Australian government for providing all of this for free.

Time flew; two weeks really went by in a flash. I had interviews, counseling sessions with a few psychologists and psychiatrists, again, all for free. In the end, we came to the conclusion that I see countless meaningless events and incidents in day-to-day life, trying to connect dots and forming strong false beliefs – all drug-induced. A normal brain wouldn’t do that. I also had to see a substance use counselor. He was drinking coke, and I accused him of not being able to quit sugar. I was recommended to visit him at St. Vincent Hospital, but I never went.

All my cellmates got released one by one, and finally, my turn came. I was released too, with a lifetime subscription of Olanzapine. But seriously, it’s all free and, therefore, brainless. Think about it. Do you believe that a drug addict, especially an ice addict, can overcome their addiction with antipsychotic meds like Olanzapine? What antipsychotic meds do to your brain is stop you from thinking. They’re supposed to halt overthinking, but in reality, they just cut everything off, shut you down, and send you to bed.

I couldn’t get back to normal life after I was discharged, because I slept for 20 hours a day on Olanzapine. The remaining 4 hours were spent eating lollies and other junk food. I struggled to grasp things with my hands and had wobbly legs; my body, in general, felt powerless. My eyes became blurry both with and without contact lenses due to high glucose levels on Olanzapine. Most importantly, I started producing breast milk. My breasts had been tender since my admission to the psych ward, and I didn’t pay much attention. It became unbearable at one point, so I tried massaging, and something came out from my nipple. At first, I couldn’t believe it. It wasn’t just a drop or a leak; it was a fully loaded super soaker. I could shoot a glass Coke bottle and knock it down if I aimed correctly. I squeezed all night long, and it never stopped dripping. However, I no longer thought I was the main character of a famous show or that I was being watched all the time. And… it wasn’t that fun. I relapsed.