For my friends and family who might be reading this article: this may come as a shock, but I spent a weekend in a mental hospital in January, and it was the most terrifying and horrifying thing I’ve ever experienced. Some things were so bad that I still can’t talk about them; so in order to open up the minds of people about the mental health system, I have decided to write about my experience instead. Note: names have been changed to protect patient confidentiality.

I spent one Saturday in January in the emergency room thanks to an intentional overdose. It’s important to note that I have been diagnosed with depression, anxiety and OCD; so when I get low, I get really low, leading to suicidal thoughts and, occasionally, suicidal actions. It sucked, point blank. I had enough self-control to make sure that it wasn’t a lethal dose, but it was still a really crappy experience. I had blood taken, EKG's (those stickers never come off; I still have marks from them) and IV drips. I was constantly peeing and sick to my stomach. I couldn’t eat. I was jittery.

If you’ve ever taken too many pills you know how terrible of an experience it is, but the worst part was when I was forced to go to the psychiatric ward. They took my clothes (including socks and bra), jewelry, phone, shoes... everything. Then they had to do a pat down and make me go through a metal detector. I’m in these horrible blue scrubs that are made of the same material as hospital gowns, and they are an adult large. I’m 5 feet, 2 inches, and wear a size two in jeans, so I’m swimming.

I’m escorted into the general psych ward by two nurses, and what happens next? I’m charged at by a woman who’s trying to run away. Great first impression, right? I eventually learn her name (we’ll call her Becca) and get to talking to her. I find out that she has borderline personality disorder and, I suspect, schizophrenia as well. She’s nice enough, but has terrible delusions and is very confused. None of the nurses will help her, so she chases after any doctor and social worker she sees, just trying to get help; instead she’s locked in a room and tranquilized.

Yeah, it’s 2016 and we still only know how to handle those with mental illnesses by sedating them and locking them away. So that’s how my night started, and it only got worse. I didn’t get any sleep; there were 25 of us patients, but only 12 beds that have to be assigned. I was one of the unlucky ones who didn’t get a bed, and I didn’t get there in time to nab a couch. So no sleep for me. I spent most of the night sobbing. I consider myself a pretty “sane” person (a relative term; nobody is actually sane; we all have our quirks): I have depression, but nothing I considered bad enough to be locked away for, and so I was scared and just utterly miserable.

Do you think any nurses cared enough to ask how I was? I was there for 24 hours and only three nurses of the dozens I saw even bothered to ask if I was OK. One was even kind enough to get me some ginger ale (I was still sick from the overdose) and another got me some sandpaper-like tissues. Thankfully I met another girl (we’ll call her Amanda) who protected me that night. She remembered how scared she was her first time in a mental hospital and how all she wanted was for someone to hug her and tell her it was all going to be OK, and so that’s what she did for me.

Later that night, after I was hit by Becca due to one of her delusions, it was Amanda who separated us and made sure Becca didn’t get too close to me. The nurses who were in charge of us were sitting at the same table and saw it happen, and yet they didn’t write it up; they just told me to stop crying because Becca didn’t mean it (I’m aware that she didn’t mean it – I continued to try and keep her calm the rest of the night – but she was extremely unpredictable). I’m forever grateful for Amanda’s help that night; I just wish that I had gotten her last name or number so that I could keep in contact with her.

I found another friend that night (this one we’ll call Jake), and he was another person who in my opinion shouldn’t have been locked up. He was in there because he got into a fight with his mom over some cornbread. He kept trying to keep me laughing – something he ended up being really good at – so he’s another person that I’m grateful for.

Back to the horrifying parts. During that night and the next morning, two guys got into a fight. I was unfortunate enough to be the person sitting in between them. I was having a pleasant conversation with one of them when he just snapped and starting getting very aggressive. Another guy picked up a chair over his head and threw it. There were no security guards or nurses around because they were busy taking care of someone else who was trying to run away to her kids. I don’t know if you’ve ever been to a mental hospital, but these chairs are big behemoths, made entirely of very heavy plastic – I had trouble just pushing them. The man continued to be aggressive and was throwing things the rest of the morning. I was lucky to have someone we’ll call Joseph, who promised to make sure that none of the dangerous guys around would hurt me. He was in and out of prison, so he no longer had any contact with his kids, but he told me that I reminded him of his daughter.

Other things happened while I was there. There was a girl who I never talked to because she only ever woke up to throw up (something that wasn’t taken care of properly for the longest time). There were other aggressive people and more Becca troubles. Then there was getting yelled at by a bitchy nurse because I told my family about how I was hit and how it wasn’t written up. Apparently it was my fault that it wasn’t written up. She was extremely aggravated that I told my family because they’re all sheriffs and they wanted to speak to the supervisors. It was also apparently my fault that things escalated due to hospital negligence, and so now there are legal issues. There were a lot of freak-outs by other patients who had to be tranquilized, and it was just an overall terrible experience.

I sobbed after I was seen by the doctor, who shook my hand, acknowledged that my admittance to the psych ward was excessive and authorized my release. He was the first person in over 24 hours who treated me like an actual human being, not some menace to society who is plaguing the earth with her mental illness and doing a disservice merely by existing. It may seem like a hand shake is trivial, but to me it was monumental. You would never understand unless you were treated as less than a human being.

So if you’re ever thinking about going to ECMC for psychiatric care, don’t. Unless you like being treated like a second-class citizen.

It was the worst thing I have ever experienced. It was so disheartening to see how people diagnosed with mental disorders were being treated there. I don’t care if someone hears voices in their head, or self-harms or has delusions; no one deserves to be treated like they don’t matter. Basic human rights aren’t just for those with a healthy mind. Schizophrenia, depression, body dysmorphia, OCD, anxiety: these sicknesses of the mind don't negate your rights.

A mental illness is a sickness – just like the flu, cancer, ALS, Parkinson’s disease, HIV/AIDS, etc. If you wouldn’t treat a person with the flu like a second-class citizen, don’t treat a person with depression like one. I know that if someone with cancer was treated like I was that weekend, all of society would be in an uproar. So why aren’t any reforms being demanded in mental hospitals? Since when does having a mental illness mean that you don’t matter? Everyone matters, even those with sick minds. Don’t shut someone out because of a mental illness; listen to them, and let them be heard too.