I was ‘voluntarily’ comitted to a psych hospital (UK) about 6yrs ago. I was a recovering heroin addict with a daily pickup prescription of bupronorphine at the time. It took 3 days of begging nurses to fetch/check my prescription requirements before they arrived. By the time they did I was crawling to the fucking medical room to take my tablet.

The nurse exclaimed: “Oh WOW! I’ve never seen someone change so quickly!”

It got worse…I was comitted to a hospital in a neighbouring NHS Trust rather than my local one due to bed limitations. This meant two things:

1. My psychiatrist was on annual leave and couldn’t come to see me in the legally established 2 day maximum wait.
2. No other psychiatrist in that Trust could evaluate me as I was an outside patient.

This meant I was trapped for 7 days when in reality I should have only had to spend 2 days maximum. After 7 days another problem was manifesting. My severe addiction to pregabalin. As the pregabalin in my system wore off I began to experience hallucinations and delusions. So the hospital stay was making me more insane. My bed was a hard wooden block with a faux-leather mattress and sheets on top. It started to melt and hands would grab and punch at me. I paced the corridors listening to the voices of people who didn’t exist.

I tried explaining all this to the nurses but as anyone who’s been to a mental hospital knows they take anything you say with a pinch of salt. So they ignored my deterioration and doctors still refused to even see me.

On the 7th day the delusions and psychosis were so bad I was taking instructions from ‘Wall People’ who told me the ‘Magic Formula to Escape’ was to speak to the “Queen Nurse” and ask to be “released against medical advice”.

When I uttered those words a magical thing happened - a doctor appeared with a sheet of paper. He asked some questions, never once giving me eye contact, and filled in his form. All the time this was happening I was seeing wall people trying to bust through the wall to grab me while I ‘heard’ other patients baying for my blood in the corridor outside.

The form complete I was let out of the front door and given my wallet and keys.

The bus then train home was a nightmare-fuelled Mad Max-like journey with people attacking me and shouting at me. When I got home I immediately ducked into my car and grabbed my pregabalin. Ate a bunch and 20mins later - swoosh - I was sane.

It was the hardest, most horrific shit I’ve ever gone through and scars me to this day. I’m clean now but I’ve always told doctors and psychiatrists that if I’m suicidal I’d never tell them because I’d sooner die than be hospitalised. Then they utter the usual phrase “are you a risk to yourself or anyone else”. Knowing full well I’m suicidal I say “No, absolutely not”.