These inpatient centers are a crapshoot. I was placed in one as a teenager, and it was honestly living hell. The way the staff treated me... ugh. Seven years later, I still have PTSD from a certain event that occurred there.
this is going to get highly personal, so let me know once you've read it so I can delete it
Since I self-harm, I was treated significantly worse than the 'normal' patients. On admission, their policy was to do a 'skin assessment.' This went for every patient. They'd normally ask to see everyone's arms, legs, and belly, then record any open wounds or severe scars. For me, they decided it was necessary to take it farther. Now, let me say first off that I have severe body image issues. Something as simple as taking a bath is an excruciating ordeal. I have to leave the lights off in order to not disturb myself in the process. Since I knew for a few hours that their 'skin assessment' was coming, so I had mentally readied readied myself for it. The thing is, due to the severity of my self-harm, they took it much further. I showed them the spots they usually check, which was painful, but something I had accepted as necessary for treatment. Then they decided this wasn't enough. This is where I lost it. I fell on the floor, bawling uncontrollably and begging them to let that be it. I truthfully told them that they'd already seen every scar, and there was no point in taking it further. It didn't matter. I wasn't even allowed time to calm down. One of the staff members grabbed me from behind in a 'bear hug.' Another started forcibly stripping my clothes off. A third staff member pulled up a chair to watch. I remember begging through tears that they at least leave underwear on. They didn't. I was forcibly stripped of all clothing, all the while being yelled at for not 'complying.' Then they just dropped me there, completely naked, walked out, and demanded that I get dressed and follow them immediately. I can't even begin to describe how violating this was. It took six months before I could even process the emotions from that event. I knew it had happened, but I had no emotion toward the subject, and would immediately think about something else instead. Then months later, it all came back. I don't mean just remembering, I experienced what I was later told was a PTSD flashback. It's been seven years, and I still have these, mostly in response to certain 'triggers.' Being tightly hugged is the most significant one. I can't have any physical contact with men anymore because of it. I also wake up sometimes with recurring nightmares when the same thing happens again in extreme detail. Fortunately, I'm terrible at remembering dreams, so I'll usually wake up, go smoke, then be able to function again. I'll remember that the dream happened, but that's about it.
The program itself wasn't very good. It was one aimed specifically at teens, and seemed to belittle our issues as 'teenagers acting out due to stress.' They acted as if everybody just had anger management issues, rather than deeper problems. This may have been true for some, but talking around told me that most people were dealing with severe, long-term problems. Most of what we were taught were just ways to distract ourselves for a few minutes. Things like "Listen to music, go for a walk, punch your pillow." It was like a fucking eHow article on "how to cope with stress" turned into an inpatient treatment program. Throughout the whole stay, the only thing I actually learned was to stay away from mental health workers, lest I end up back there and be violated even further.
At several points, I tried to bring up the fact that momentary distractions aren't going to do much for those of us with long-term, unresolved issues. The only response I'd ever get was someone yelling "WELL YOU HAVEN'T TRIED IT YET SO HOW WOULD YOU KNOW" as if I'd never listened to music or taken a fucking walk before...
The argument that they're used to help regulate meds doesn't really hold water. Yes, we met with psychiatrists and were prescribed medication. In the city I was living, this was actually the only time I was able to get a psychiatrist to actually listen through my symptoms before pushing pills at me. (I was actually there because, after waiting seven months to meet a psychiatrist, she spent the whole appointment on an anti-LGBT tirade that prompted me to go home and attempt suicide.) The thing is, we were always released from the hospital before the actual effects of the medications would become apparent. SSRIs generally take a month to take full effect. This hospital's policy wouldn't even allow a hold of a full month. The working policy seemed to be "get them stable and out the door." Once outside, nobody had any resources. They made appointments for a therapists and psychiatrist for me, but I was placed on a multi-month waiting list. When side-effects from the medication started becoming noticeable, then severe, I had nobody to talk to. So I just quit taking them entirely. What else was I supposed to do?
Nobody's concerns were treated with any level of respect. Everything was rated in bureaucratic metrics. Instead of asking things like "Tell me how you feel about yourself today" or "How do you feel about the future?" we'd be presented with "Do you feel suicidal right now?" and "Rate your depression 1-10" This made it extremely easy to lie. Everyone else seemed equally frustrated with the futility of getting actual help within this clusterfuck of a mental health program, so we'd all start reducing that number by one or two every day until they released us, regardless of how we're feeling. I remember people telling me in confidence that they were going to go home and kill themselves, even outlining plans in extreme detail. Then they'd tell the workers "My depression today is a three out of ten. I don't feel suicidal." Most of us truly wanted help, but this hospital was not providing it. What else were we supposed to do.
Due to my constant questioning about substandard treatment, I was 'punished' with a diagnosis of Oppositional Defiant Disorder. I kept asking to see the DSM criteria for this and explanations of how I meet that diagnosis, but this was always denied. This wasn't helped by the fact that I had brought up emotional abuse by my father, who denied it by telling them that I'm a manipulative liar any time actual concerns were brought up. OF COURSE an abuser is going to claim the victim is lying, but they believed him over me because it made it easier to dismiss my questions. Years later, I told my therapist about this and he was PISSED and said that I don't meat the criteria for that diagnosis in any way.
Due to my self-harm, I was also subjected to a roundabout method of sleep deprivation. I was forced to sleep on the floor in front of the nurse's station with bright fluorescent lights (I despise these because I can actively see them flicker) and loud gossiping about the most inane bullshit. All. Fucking. Night. Then I'd be actively punished throughout the day for lying my head on the table in an attempt to get a minute of actual rest. They'd blame me for not taking my treatment seriously every time I try to doze off in the slightest after 72 hours of not sleeping more than 15 minutes at a time. I had actually started hallucinating from lack of sleep at one point, but I sure as hell wasn't telling them about that.
Then they sent a $20,000 bill, which insurance refused to cover. For a 1.5 week stay. That was just wonderful. My father had to fight tooth and nail to get it paid for. Since he's on a group plan, he managed to 'shop around' with people in his employer's HR office until finding one sympathetic enough to use their ability to override the insurer on specific cases.
I'm sure that not all treatment centers are like this, but this is my experience. To be honest, if I could ask a favor in exchange for me spending an hour typing this, can you print out that section about the 'skin assessment' and show it to someone at the hospital? I can't stand the idea that this is probably done on the regular to other people without staff even recognizing the long-term repercussions.