How I ended up in a mental hospital
Ms Winnie Kimani.
When most people hear of a mental health facility, they think of "a place for crazy people", which is not the case. A psychiatric facility is a safe place where you can open up and heal from your mental turmoil.
I had sworn I would never go to a mental hospital. That was until I was struck by severe depression.
One Sunday a month ago, my parents dragged me to a psychiatric hospital where I was diagnosed with severe depression and immediately admitted for two weeks.
You must be asking yourself, how did it get here? Well, I had been bullied and body-shamed throughout my young life. In addition, as a first born, I had unrealistic expectations of success. I wanted the perfect life.
But at the time, I felt that everything I was doing made no sense, so I decided to change my career to become a funeral director, because a friend had suggested that the job paid quite well.
After an awkward conversation with my parents about this big change, my mother decided to take me to a mortuary in Murang'a to see if I was comfortable around dead bodies.
Little did I know that this would be the point where everything escalated to its worst. The sight of dead bodies tormented me and proved to me that being a mortician was not for me.
I felt frustrated and lost.
I wanted to take my own life because it seemed like an easy option at the time. After buying a handful of drugs, I set off to complete the mission, but luckily, I was found unconscious on my bedroom floor by my parents.
It was the doctor at the hospital I was rushed to who suggested I spend some time in a psychiatric facility.
At the hospital, I had a physical exam and later, I was given an injection for the night to make me rest because I was restless. For two weeks I was on daily pills to calm my mind and emotions.
In my psychologist Faith, I found the listening ear I did not know I needed.
We patients formed a large group where we opened up about what exactly had taken us there. It didn’t matter how bad the problem was. I felt at home because there was less judgement and more talking.
Games such as cards and table tennis were set up to distract each of us from everything that was happening.
The food was good.
Before the two weeks were over, my body had become resilient as I got better every day. The treatment didn't stop there; I still see the psychologist twice a month.
Unfortunately, people with mental health problems are stigmatised, which is devastating and leads most people to take drugs to feel better instead of seeking help.
But if I had to do it all over again, I would happily visit a mental health facility as often as possible to get help.