Anonymous Story (IX)
"I Pray They Were Treated Better"
Thanks for allowing me to do this, it makes me happy and hopeful that someone other than me will know. I’m so appreciative of what you’re doing, and I hope you know that you’re doing an amazing job.
So, with the story,
For two months, I went to the psych ward in a regular hospital. But before I was moved to the psych ward, I was put in C-PEP. A C-PEP is a holding place for children who are going to go to the psych ward. No one was fed meals there, only small bags of pretzels and school sized cartons of milk and small water bottles. Some people had been there for about five weeks, but I was one of the lucky ones, who got out of C-PEP after just a day. I was put in the psych ward, and was treated okay there by the staff, although they never cared that I wouldn’t eat, and eventually I passed out in the middle of the night, hitting my head hard on a door knob. Only then did they even care about my food.
They never really separated anyone, and I was put in a room with another person. This person woke me up one day and sat on my bed, asking me to be their partner. When I said no, they started taking their clothes off and twerking in front of me. After telling the staff, they told me that that was a ‘normal occurrence’, and that the person had tried to sleep with other people in the hospital as well. (Such a great idea to put that person with me, someone who’s been sexually assaulted).
After two months, I was moved to a children’s psychiatric clinic, or CPC. This place was hell. The first day I was there, they told me that I could see my parents at any time, but they lied. They locked the doors and kept me from seeing my parents for over four months. During those four months, I was not allowed to talk to anyone, receive physical affection, or go outside at all. I became touch-starved, wouldn’t sleep, and started to hallucinate during the day. I started passing out while walking, I started having stronger urges, flashbacks, stronger tics, and more aggressive thoughts of suicide. The staff were always making fun of the kids, talking about how holding kids down was ‘so much fun’ and how people would try to escape 24/7. One little girl almost escaped, but some large staff member tackled her like they were playing football… I don’t know what happened to her.
We were fed crappy food. And we weren’t allowed to look at anyone else except our food when it was time to eat. We weren’t allowed to talk to anyone. I started to hear things that weren’t there, seeing things that others couldn’t see, I started talking to myself, and laughing at the worst of things. I started to act in ways that could damage my health, not caring to bandage my self-created wounds, and not drinking water for days at a time, and it became almost like a game to me, seeing how long I could go before someone noticed I was struggling. I was put into rooms alone with a male psychologist and those days were the worst because every time, I would have panic attacks and they would laugh at me, even with my parents on the phone in the same room. I hated it there –– I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy –– and I pray that the kids there are being treated better, but I know that’s not the case.
The final place I was moved to, the staff were a lot nicer, and they would hug me. It was the first physical affection I had in more than four months. But the kids there were awful. Most of them were only there so they wouldn’t have to go to jail. The staff were attacked almost everyday. There was one person in particular that was extremely violent, and once, he punched a staff member so hard that the staff ended up peeing blood for the next six weeks. This boy ended up asking me out and nibbling on my fingers without consent. When he found out I didn’t like him back, he ripped a desk off of the wall (all desks were bolted to the walls and floors to prevent this type of situation, but he was too strong), and chucked it at someone. There was another person, a young boy, that was a bitch. He would cuss out everyone, calling people the f-slur, the n-slur, and the r-slur. But when they got upset at him, he would run behind a staff member and blame it on the person who was upset. That boy was not a good person, he laughed at other’s pain, and openly wished death upon many people in the building.
God, this is long. I didn’t notice until I looked it over. Thank you again for allowing me to share this, it really lifted a weight off of my chest now that someone else knows.