I’m going to go on a little rant here because it’s safe to do so. The suicide question got me sent from the ER to a separate psych ward. Of course, I had gone to the ER because I had a really nasty skin infection, but I guess my non-existent suicide threat was more important than antibiotics. (It was a bad infection. The ER nurses were almost impressed with how bad it was.) All because I answered the question, “Have you ever thought about suicide?” with a “Yes, but I don’t feel that way now.” I was only held for 18 hours, but I managed to check off enough boxes in psych ward bingo. I was separated from my dad because I was a “danger” and placed into a different section of the ER. I had my shoes taken away (never got them back, either) and was put into a tiny room with three beds crammed into it. The only thing I could do was lay and watch TV. No food or water, even though I was there for a solid 8 hours. Then they took me to the psych ward at 3 AM. Since I was “crazy,” I was strapped down to a stretcher. I had straps over my head, shoulders, waist, hips, legs, and ankles. The people transporting me were nice, though. Then we went to the psych ward, where I filled out paperwork, got my photo taken, and was stripped searched, and then shown a bed. I actually slept for a few hours and then got dressed and made myself presentable. I’m still not entirely sure what the search was for. I don’t know if they were looking for scars, contraband, or drugs. Maybe a mix of the three. I talked with the psychiatrist, who was polite enough, but then diagnosed me with bipolar disorder because I was very chipper and that didn’t fit in with the intake report. In reality, I was trying to talk my way back to the ER. They tried to give me meds, but I knew I had the right to refuse their treatment because I had gone in “voluntarily.” Based on a five minute conversation, the psychiatrist wanted to start me on a high dose of Topamax. Thankfully, I knew enough about medications to be like, “Whoa, wait. Let me see the drug info.” They also tried to give me a nicotine patch, even though I’ve never smoked. Apparently they just give them to everyone there. What they didn’t do was give me any of my regular medication. I’d missed multiple doses with some of them and they didn’t really seem eager to get them to me. Let me take a moment to mention that the air conditioner in the facility was broken. This was in June in Florida. It was sweltering. The ward wasn’t separated by gender and the nurses stayed in their little area. So I had a creepy guy dressed in only a robe come into my room several times, to the point where I mentioned it to the nurses. He did offer me some meth, though. Now that I think about it, the robe was closed (thankfully), but I’m not entirely sure how it was fastened. Robe guy also announced that his plans for the day were to create a scene so that he’d have to be injected with sedatives. Apparently this was a daily thing and he just came to the facility to get drugs. There were also a few people who were homeless and were mainly using the acute care facility as a way to get meals and a safe place to sleep at night. Eventually, my father was able to convince the facility that I was actually quite physically ill and needed medical attention. So I ended back up at the ER and was in the hospital for a week or so, getting 3-4 doses of IV antibiotics a day. When I’d asked what I had been sent to the psych ward for, they said that I had been taken in because I had been physically violent and threatened to kill my cat with a knife. I didn’t even OWN a cat! Moral of the story: Don’t be lazy and attempt to shave you legs with a dry razor. It will make little micro-cuts in the skin and then get infected.