This was my 2nd time at the same place 

It felt like the opposite of a hospital 

The staff would come into my room every hour of the night and wake me up by speaking to me, this went on for days. Not like checking on me, not saying I’m sorry but I have to wake you up. Like deliberately waking me up at 1 hour intervals. Saying my name in an authoritative tone, me lifting my head up, then them walking away, only to come back an hour later. Prolonging my psychosis. I get that they wanna check for suicide but I never expressed that I was, and this seemed like some Guantanamo Bay shit. I was woken up at 3 am on the third or fourth night for a “TB” test in which my hand was pricked by a needle. ??? Is that a thing?

The psychiatrists on site there were cold. Devils. As in one of them spoke to me as bluntly as possible, no emotions. Like I was some sort of test subject. It felt like I was playing fallout and if I chose the wrong answer, I would get stuck there for more days. Every joke I made or playful comment did exactly that. I know it’s a serious place but I try to lighten my mood. This guy seemed like he hated my guts. He probably did. 
The other one told me that my mother specifically had told the hospital to extend my stay. When I called her and it wasn’t true, the opposite, I ran towards his office and saw him high-tailing it out of there, grinning at me through the glass door. It took all of my strength not to break through the glass and tackle him. I had already been in a physical altercation there that I didn’t start, so pain wasn’t anything to think about. But violence would’ve only made my situation worse. It would have taken a SWAT team and elephant tranquilizers to take me down in the state I was in, but instead I just went to my room and broke down. Everyone asked me if I was okay and I wasn’t. I started crying my eyes out. I wanted to snap this old man’s pencil-neck. My knees hurt from standing constantly on the hardwood floor. I had akathisia. I couldn’t sit. I paced for 9 or 11 or 13 days straight. I don’t remember how long. Hurt was an understatement actually. I had to get special shoes after and spent my recovery sitting or laying down because it felt as though my cartilage or whatever was wearing thin. 
I was tired of being confined and surrounded by the noise and trauma of being there. My roommate was beaten in front of me by the staff, his blood was splattered on the floor. I think for resisting something. It was grueling. The staff stole my phone, ID, and some sentimental objects to me that I brought. I didn’t realize it because when I got dressed my mind was on freedom. I had to play a game. I have Deadpool-esque fantasies of going back there and going full Chuck Norris on the people who tortured me. It’s like that SNL skit where the two ladies get abducted by aliens and have a loving experience, but McKinnon’s character always gets the short end of the stick. I don’t relate to all the cute memes of “grippy-sock vacations”. And I’m sure that many of you have been through worse. I’m here for you just as you’re here for me.

I’m so angry now. Channeling it into some art. For those wondering the reviews of this place are all very similar.