Rachel Bonneval
Bio
A mental case writing articles and stories about mental health. Every article is written from personal experiences and shines a light on the soul behind the diagnosis of BPD.
Stories (12)
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3 Ways to Know If a Mental Hospital Is Right for You
Are you considering a Mental Hospital as treatment? If so, this list is the right article for you. First, I want you to think about a mental hospital. What's the first thing that comes to mind? For me, its the scene from the film Good Burger. The barred windows, people walking around like zombies, looking completely disheveled, and admitting to being psychopaths. There were security guards, and people in there that were convinced they didn't need to be there. It all seemed realistic. Minus the outrageous dance scene of course. But what are they really like? Is it a place for everyone, or is it truly just for those who are "psychopaths?" Here are three simple ways to know if a mental hospital is the right treatment for you.
By Rachel Bonneval7 years ago in Psyche
Goodbye
I was going home right away. At least that what I had allowed myself to believe. I began smiling, so much so that it made my cheeks hurt. That was my first true blue, ear to ear smile since arriving at this facility three days prior. I had walked out of the doctor's office, followed the tech back through the double doors, and into the common room. I walked over to my friends, and I began to cry. The same friend who cried on my shoulder because she couldn’t go home became the same friend whose shoulder I cried on because I could go home. That is true friendship.
By Rachel Bonneval7 years ago in Psyche
Monday
For the first time in my life, I was thankful for it to be Monday! I was guaranteed to see the doctor, and I was hopeful that today was the day I said goodbye to this place, once and for all. I had even created a script in my head of all the right things to say to convince this doctor that I was sane. I walked down the hall, curled up into a ball inside my baggy sweatshirt on the couch as always, and waited to get my vitals done. One after another, my small group of friends made their way to the couch, took their seats next to me, and we talked. We were all running on hope, and high anxiety. All four of us ready to go home, and get out of this place.
By Rachel Bonneval7 years ago in Psyche
Sunday
For five minutes I was able to escape into the showers, and feel the hot water, and stinging strength of the water pressure as it hit my skin. I washed up, and changed into my new clothes that my husband brought. The pajama pants fit perfectly, and my oversized hoodie was perfect for curling up on the couch.
By Rachel Bonneval7 years ago in Psyche
Not Today
I learned a magic trick that day. It was a card trick that the homeless man who I had become friends learned years ago, while on the streets in Tennessee. I was captivated by this particular trick, and it made me laugh because I was completely dumbfounded at how he did it. He said it was just a little card trick, but it brought so much light, and laughter to such a dark and sad place. We sat there doing the same magic trick over and over. I decided after the twentieth time that I should call my husband and update him. I had to give him the news that I wouldn’t be home until Monday at the earliest.
By Rachel Bonneval7 years ago in Psyche
The Breakfast Table
The breakfast table has always been the place where you connect the most with friends and family. It was a safe space to converse with people, while sharing stories and experiences without feeling judgement. At this particular table, there were four of us, myself included. A middle-aged man who was homeless and there for help with his alcohol addiction, an elderly woman who had tried to take her own life, a teenager who had severe depression, and myself with my bipolar mania. Suddenly, sitting around this heavy metal table with this group of people felt like a comfortable place to be.
By Rachel Bonneval7 years ago in Psyche
Psych 1
Walking through the double doors to Psych 1 was not as nerve-racking as I had expected. I originally envisioned a room full of noise, and overly medicated patients drooling over themselves in wheelchairs. Just like they show you in the movies. Instead, I was met with an empty room, and three Nurses. In the empty room, I could see that it had books, a television, crayons, and a door that led to the outside. Looking at the door, all I could see was my disheveled reflection in the window. I noticed there were no brown recliners, but there were leather sofas, and tables with connected metal seats. The nurses station was on my right, with a counter that was so high I could barely see over it. I was told by the nurse that I needed to be searched again, to be sure that I didn’t bring anything from the other hall that I wasn’t supposed to.
By Rachel Bonneval7 years ago in Psyche
They Left for the Day
After seeing the abuse and the mistreatment of other patients in my hall, I had to remain alert. I was not going to speak unless spoken to, and I was going to keep to myself. I did not want to give the techs a reason to notice me. I was beginning to feel tired, but there was no way I was going to be able to sleep, not even for five minutes. I decided to just sit in my recliner and watch television.
By Rachel Bonneval7 years ago in Psyche
Hallways
I was staring out the glass partition window, and I had felt my arm hairs pull. It was something sticky on my arm, and as I looked down, I saw my hospital bracelet. Placed a bit too tightly, and pulling on the fine hairs. It was annoying more so than painful. The tech asked me if the information on it was correct. Which was something she should have done in the beginning. My last name was wrong. She had typed ‘Bonnevon,’ and not ‘Bonneval.’ I asked her to fix it, and she didn’t know how. We asked the techs who had taken inventory of my belongings earlier, they didn’t know. Every tech we asked, didn’t know how to change my name! She said “I will find out soon, and we will get it taken care of.” I just nodded as if to say “Yeah okay.” Inside I was rolling my eyes at the lack of knowledge these techs had. I began to wonder if they were even trained. I was sent back in the waiting room, and about five minutes later, I was called by a tech. We started making our way through door after door. We finally stopped at a door with a sign that read “Women's Hall.” I thought it a bit odd that they called it a hall and not a “ward” or “wing.” It wasn’t until the door opened that I saw why they called it a hall. It was just that. A straight, narrow hall. With no windows, and nothing but locked doors. The doors were heavy, and had the small vertical windows in them. You couldn't see much looking through them. We began walking down the hall and all I could see was a cart, and a small chair with yet another tech just sitting there holding what looked like a phone.
By Rachel Bonneval7 years ago in Psyche
Manic Happiness
Mania is a phase of Bipolar Disorder characterized by an abnormally heightened mood, hyperactivity, and a reduced need for sleep. Basically, I feel confident, energized, and ready to take on the world, with barely any sleep. I feel genuinely happy, and excited for life. Which is a huge deal considering the depressive lows of Bipolar Disorder, are very low. When I am low, I am insecure, and miserable. I have no confidence, no energy, and all I want to do is sleep. It’s no wonder that when I am Manic, I get irritated when people tell me to take my medicines. When I am on my medicine, I don’t feel low, but I am nowhere near the "high" that mania gives me. I’m in what feels like a lull. Almost emotionless, and numb. Scared that if I feel too happy, Mania is coming. Scared that if I feel too depressed, that the depressive low is coming. It’s an uneasy feeling to have.
By Rachel Bonneval7 years ago in Psyche
Doors
Chairs. Nothing but rows, upon rows of brown hospital recliners, filled with men in a zombie like state. Some were covered with the traditional white, and very uncomfortable hospital blankets, while others just sat there staring at the small flat screen television. The T.V. was inside of a brown wooden box, with a glass front, that I would later find out was to keep them from breaking the television, and using it as a weapon. This room was dark, even though it was barely past noon, and it felt cold, unusually cold, even for a hospital.
By Rachel Bonneval7 years ago in Psyche
The End or the Beginning?
Going in, I never thought I would be admitted. I wore my favorite Maroon sneakers, my leggings, and my Harry Potter shirt that read “Mischief Managed” with a criss-crossed front, and my hair was thrown in its traditional ponytail. I left my backpack in the car, and walked up to the Mental Health Hospital entrance, hand in hand with my husband. There were two sets of doors. They buzz you into the first set, and then when those doors close, they buzz you into the second, basically trapping you in a little enclosure to ensure you can’t leave without a badge or them allowing you out. That alone had me anxious because I loathe confined spaces. When we entered, I was nervous, shaking, and could barely speak to the receptionist. She handed me my clipboard and told me to fill it out, typical doctor appointment protocol. However, this place felt far from typical. It seemed more like a jail rather than a place to go to for help.
By Rachel Bonneval7 years ago in Psyche
