This is not fictional! This actually happened to me! It was the most traumatic single week of my entire life! I don’t know what or who this is for, I’ve just wanted to write a full account of this experience for a long time and now that I have a blog this seems like a good place to do it. Most specific words and orders of things may be wrong, but this is what happened as accurately as I can recall.<\/p>\n
Content warnings for this story include: moderate talk about suicide, a lot of talk about self harm and depression, malicious medical malpractice and general horrific abuses of power by a doctor, psych wards, extreme transphobia, sanism + demonization of\u00a0 stigmatized mental illnesses, ableism, harassment\/death threats, and misuse\/overdose of prescription medication.\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n If that hasn’t scared you away (which to be honest, there is probably no one reading this anyways, and if there was they probably were scared off as soon as they found out its not fictional.) then let’s begin.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n September 2022. I am admitted to the ER for a dangerous self harm relapse. I am very dazed and confused and can barely remember why I’m there in the first place, but after they stitch me up they have a social worker ask me some questions to determine if I am suicidal. My dad came with me to the hospital, but he is asked to leave when the social worker enters. She immediately starts with assumption this was a suicide attempt, and tells me about how other patients she’s seen who failed suicide were “not very bright” due to them choosing to overdose on medication that can’t kill you. She then asks me “What upset you so much that you chose to do that?” while gesturing at my bandaged arm. I nervously explain I’m not really sure and can’t even remember if it was a suicide attempt or not, and she interrupts me mid sentence because I was fidgeting. “Why are you doing that” “Sorry I just tend to fidget when I’m anxious” “Stop that. It’s distracting. Do you know how selfish suicide is? It’s horrible to do that to your family–” … she goes on like this for several minutes, asking me questions and interrupting me any time I try and answer, calling people with depression selfish and telling me how awful I am for attempting (Which at this point I’m not sure if i did or not, and her acting like I definitely did isn’t making it any easier for me to figure it out.)<\/p>\n When she misgenders me, I do not correct her; but my dad had told her I am trans before she came in and so when she does it she starts getting upset at me (who once again, did not correct her) because I’m making everyone’s life harder by being trans. It seemed like her entire goal with this interview was to write whatever she wanted down on her assessment, and spend the entire rest of the time trying to make me feel like a bad person. Eventually she decides she’s gotten enough information and tells me she is sending me to an inpatient facility.<\/p>\n It was several hours before she found a facility with an open bed for me, when she finally did it was around 5pm. I was picked up by an ambulance and after a 40 minute drive with paramedics who did not know where the facility actually was, I arrived and was admitted. They do the usual tests and searches and I am introduced to the other patients, who are generally very nice and are completely okay with using my pronouns and name. That night they don’t give me my night medication because they had not received anything from the hospital that listed it. I am told they will have it all tomorrow.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n The day started with a tech trying and failing to do a blood test. When it comes time for my morning meds they do not give me my salt supplements I need for POTS<\/a>, and claim I do not have a prescription for them (they are technically over the counter, but I am required to take them) so I am not allowed to have them until I see the medical doctor that will come in later that day. The rest of the day goes smoothly besides a nurse getting upset because I asked she use my pronouns. She says it’s too hard, and I should just stop wanting people to use them. She will make another important appearance later in the story, so remember that.<\/p>\n The other patients are nice, although I am the oldest one there. They all range from ages 12-15. Later that day we get a new patient I will call Maria. She seems shy at first, but eventually opens up a little bit. I try and be as nice as possible but when she misgenders me and the other patients correct her, she reveals she is very transphobic. I did not attempt to befriend her any more after that.<\/p>\n The medical doctor who was meant to let me take my salt never comes, and that night I once again go without it.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Day 2 once again started with a tech trying and failing to do a blood test. By morning meds the doctor still hasn’t come, so I go without salt. Note also I am vegetarian and they have refused to make any accommodations for this (despite it being legally necessary) and so I have very little to eat to make up for my lack of salt. After lunch the doctor finally comes, he is in a very big rush and takes my blood pressure, (which is high, prompting me to tell him I have POTS<\/a>) gets me to do some quick flexibility tests, then tries to usher me out the door. I very quickly ask him to tell the staff that I need my salt supplements, and he stops and looks very confused, then turns to the tech that had brought me to his examination room. “Why aren’t you giving him the salt supplements?” “There was no prescription” “You are supposed to continue medication from home. Give him the salt.” The tech escorts me back to the main room, and is upset at me for some reason.<\/p>\n Every day all we did was sit in the main room with a TV which was controlled by a tech, coloring pages, pencils and dried out markers, playing cards, uno, and 3 puzzle sets. Once a day for about an hour, a man would come in and do some kind of activity with us. These ranged from him playing guitar, to giving us foam stickers, to playing bingo. I spent most of my time drawing on the back of the provided coloring pages and playing uno. At 7pm you would get a 10 minute phone call with a family member, the first two days my calls were pretty uninteresting.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n The entire day was spent waiting for the psychiatrist to arrive. As we waited for the doctor we were informed that the facility had four floors, each one for a different group. We were on the adolescent floor. The other floors were adults, elderly, and substance abuse. The psychiatrist saw every patient on every floor, and we were last on the list. Originally we were told he would be there around 1pm, but that didn’t happen. It kept getting pushed until he eventually got there around 8pm.<\/p>\n When it was my turn to see him I was brought into the very small staff room.\u00a0 It was crowded with around 6 techs and nurses, and the doctor who sat in a chair in the middle of the room. It was so small that the doctors desk took up the entirety of the wall besides the two doors immediately on either side of it. The “session” began with him immediately and very bluntly saying something along the lines of “[Deadname], I knew you were a severe case of self mutilation but this is some of the worst I’ve ever seen, how many stitches is that?” when I answered, he immediately began the next question in a similarly blunt fashion; “Why did you try to kill yourself?”<\/p>\n I didn’t have much time to think because of how fast he moved along so I stuttered out “I- I don’t think I did? I don’t know, things just went so fast at the ER I must’ve answered a question wrong, I think this was just a relapse” he wrote something down and said “You don’t do what you did unless you want to die. What are you diagnosed with?” I listed depression, anxiety, gender dysphoria, and that I am in the process of being tested for autism and ADHD. “You are making eye contact right now, you aren’t autistic. [Deadname]\u00a0 Do you have friends?” “Yes” “Are they real friends or just online friends” “Uh- real? I-” He then continued to cut me off over and over again.<\/p>\n I can’t recall the specifics of how the rest of the conversation went, but I know at some point after his countless uses of my deadname I tried to explain to him that I am trans and go by [Name]. He said this was too much to remember, so he is just going to go off of what he sees in the chart. I asked him to at the very least, just avoid<\/em> using my deadname when speaking to me. He was annoyed, but said “I’ll try.”\u00a0 and dismissed me.<\/p>\n He did not in fact try to avoid my deadname. he actually went out of his way to say it as much as possible from that point on. He found a way to inject it into every single sentence. I later found out also that when I said I was diagnosed with gender dysphoria he wrote in his notes “Body dysmorphia but identifies as having gender dysphoria.” despite me actually being professionally diagnosed with gender dysphoria and also “Claims to have ADHD and Autism” even though I only stated the fact I was actually in the process of being tested for both. (I am now recognized as having both) that night I talked to my brother on the phone and ended up crying myself to sleep because he asked me if I’d be out in time for his 13th birthday on Sunday, and I had no idea.<\/p>\n <\/p>\nDay zero<\/h2>\n
Day 1<\/h2>\n
Day 2<\/h2>\n
Day 3<\/h2>\n
Day 4<\/h2>\n