My Nightmarish Psych Ward Stay

Hello Three weeks ago I got out of a psych ward in Kuwait where I live. It was definitely a bad experience, felt dehumanizing. Still need to process it, so I thought I should write about it. Please forgive me but this will sadly be VERY long. For that reason I cannot expect you to read and interact, it isn’t fair to you guys. But I need to process this…and for that I need to write everything about it.

A couple of days prior to February 5 I was going through a massive dissociative shutdown. I could feel my brain pulling any sort of emotion inward, and was completely unable to feel anything. I desperately needed support but sadly my therapist wasn’t available and neither were my friends, and my parents were away (went to Thailand for a week). What happened next had two big reasons and I’ll talk about only one. As a result of this dissociation, which I couldn’t find a solution for and no cold water helped, I decided to injure myself on February 5. I do have a history of doing that, but this one took the cake for being the worst one and I’ll save you the gory details, but it was on the side of my left wrist. I could’ve perished from how bad it was, but there is a point behind why I’m saying that.

When I went to the nearby medical center (where I actually decided to injure myself in my car before heading in). They stopped the bleeding by putting pressure. I was very obviously distressed and couldn’t lie about the reason for the injury and so they asked who they should call for me, like an ambulance or a family member, and I said ambulance. When they did call our 911 equivalent it seems they told the operator that they have a case of suicide attempt. Now it wasn’t just the ambulance but also the police got involved as a result. After investigating me (plus a healthy dose of mental health stigma thrown my way), and keeping me on hold and guarded, I was stitched up and then after a long visit at the police station a couple of policemen took me to the mental health center (government-funded). With another bit of semi-investigation, I was told I was going to be held at the ward (acute cases ward).

I’m skipping some details, but when I heard that part I almost broke down and began slightly begging to not be taken in, but then after saying I really don’t want to go, the (very cold) doctor threatened me and said “You either cooperate or we will restrain you and take you by force.” Immediately I wasn’t met with a greeting tone or anything in the realm of mental-health-friendliness. I was thinking it was going to be a room and so on, a general ward maybe. Didn’t know it was basically detainment that I was going to face.

So then the two policemen took me to the ward, they rang a bell to what seemed like a safety door similar to what you see in correctional facilities. Big and made of metal, only two small glass windows where you could just see the face of the person attempting to get inside the ward. Anyway, they get me inside, and my belongings were taken. I was then taken to a sort of triage that they had there and was partially stripped down so they can check for self-injuries, and lucky for me the injuries couldn’t be seen unless you flashed a light sideways to see the scars clearly. So they then asked for a flimsy confirmation: “Sure there’s nothing?” I was like “Yeah I’m sure.” And then I was given some mandatory medication that is supposed to calm you down and get you sleepy (not benzos).

All that happened after that was me standing at the ward, not knowing what’s going on nor what’s going to happen. And, it was actually an open ward, just one open space in the middle (hexagonal space), which had some minor seatings with sofas, and when you come in through the door there is one corridor to your right, and another corridor to your left. There’s a reception island (just using this term like you would with a kitchen island), behind which you had the hexagonal space which had five different general dorm rooms along the hexagon, each one had like ten hospital beds or so, and one office between the dorms. Right corridor had a lounge for patients, a smaller office, as well as the triage and the bathroom for nurses only and a locker room for them, with the shower room for us. As for the left corridor it had the dining room, our bathroom and some kitchen, and a tiny room for privacy when visitors come.

Needless to say, the place was NOT friendly on the eyes, completely lacked privacy, and the bathroom door didn’t have locks nor even could you close it (and yes, one bathroom for all of us). You wouldn’t have space even for your own thoughts, and nothing leisurely could be done, not even a television (there was one, just turned off completely). The cases there, while heartbreaking, weren’t ones you would talk to or chat with. And no one is to be taken out of the ward unless the doctor writes your release papers. So, you couldn’t enjoy walks, you couldn’t exercise, you don’t even see other people AT ALL. The people that you could interact with are very busy nurses.

Each day was absolute Hell for me. You count the seconds, and they definitely make you wait, anywhere else in the world and I would’ve been out much more quickly than eight days, which is how long I ended up staying. I couldn’t eat normally and lost four kilograms. It was genuinely like being kept captive. It felt like you couldn’t escape. The place itself was far from pretty, not even a painting was there, it was just walls colored in beige or something light like that. Bedtime was obviously shared with others, and western movies show prisons that actually have a bit more privacy than this. And the mattress was literally rock solid. The AC was fully on 24/7, it was always very cold but lucky me I was wearing heavy clothing. No psychologist would see you, no therapies, no care provided whatsoever. That is why I keep calling it a prison in my head rather than a psych ward, it was not an environment for any sort of recovery. The whole time you’re just in intense pain (I don’t even wish it on the worst people), intense boredom, intense stress, extreme levels of overthinking, painful waiting for anything to happen.

And, I witnessed someone being restrained and locked inside one of the dorms basically my entire stay except for the first couple of days. I can’t even count how many people were actually restrained for what seemed like mediocre reasons. It didn’t feel like a last resort kind of thing. Roughly speaking I may have witnessed 10 or slightly more restraints in my 8-day stay. At night until the next morning you’d have only one nurse working, as opposed to a group of nurses. And I doubt any of them would have used sedatives to help calm patients down because it was usually the restraints. At this point I was looking at the door, the way out, and daydreaming about finally leaving. Everyone there among the patients had the most severe symptoms, some weren’t even mindful of what was going on…and it is truly heartbreaking but you do feel like you don’t belong there at all.

Usually outside of Kuwait based on what I know you’d be evaluated within 24 hours after (even involuntary) admission, even during weekends. Weekends in Kuwait are on Fridays and Saturdays. I was “detained” on Thursday. No doctor saw me until it was something like 88 to 90 hours later, even though business days start on Sundays. I was seen finally like 10am on Monday at the office in that hexagonal space, I told the whole story, and I asked if I could be taken to a private room. The doctor said I can bring that up the following day when the panel of specialists sees me. They did see me, I was questioned in that office again but by close to nine specialists or so. The head doctor later said “Will you do what you did to yourself again?” I told her “Ever since I walked in here I’ve been wanting to go back in time just to stop myself from doing it”. By that I meant the place was terrible. I asked for a private room and she said “Private room or leave entirely? Be honest.” I said “Well, leave entirely.” She said ok and I was excused from what felt like a parole hearing. A psychologist was to see me the same day the one after, immediately I was like “it’s definitely going to be the day after or even the day after tomorrow, given how long they take to deal with things.” I was seen the next day, but only because my brother pressured them to get the psychologist to see me, he was going to go home after finishing his work day and some sort of conference that he attended (not give, ATTENDED) while I was burning at the ward and internally hysterical. Once he came, the questionnaire he gave me was all about whether I’m violent to others or not, whether I see the world with a survival of the fittest lens, all about my religious compass being low or not. It had NOTHING to do with why I was “detained”. In any case, I answered it. A day later, finally, a nurse told me the ward’s doctor had written my release papers, my brother did some errands to finalize that, and I finally walked out of there feeling a complete sense of rebirth.

Had I done what I had done sometime prior to a 2019 law I would have not been taken to a psych ward. I would have been imprisoned for three years. Didn’t know that until after my stay at the ward. And didn’t know how other countries’ laws and wards were like until after my stay. Needless to say, it felt like it was all about fear mongering and making you scared of doing it as opposed to actually helping you recover. Seriously, no one there helped set up a treatment plan for my post-ward time nor was I even remotely cared for in any way. My word was simply taken that I won’t do this again. Had I said I was suicidal I would have probably been simply kept there until another “parole hearing.”

I don’t wish this to happen to anyone. Needless to say, it was very traumatizing. If you did read, I really thank you with every meaning the word thanks has If you couldn’t, I truly understand and thank you anyway.