Take me to hell: the reader of Samizdat said one wrong word at the reception of the therapist - and ended up in a mental hospital

According to the statistics of the Center of Serbian, about eight million Russians are in a state of depression, but not every of them receives the necessary help or realizes their problem. After reading the very story of the reader of Samizdat Darina Zhezheleva, we can assume why. In 2017, Darina’s day is like this: yoga, shake the ass, face mask, not to commit suicide, milk. Soon, she managed to feel all the charms of the Russian psychiatric care system: one phrase incorrectly mentioned at the doctor instantly transferred her to a gloomy hospital with howling pensioners, evil orderlies and cold hard beds.

- Agron!
- A?
- X*y on!

The orderlies are pushed into an ambulance by a gray -bearded man with a languid face. He immediately begins to scream as a schoolboy: "Why is he fighting?!" For some reason, he was called by an agronomist here. He has an intelligent look and good clothes. Two hours later, in a closed tight room, it will begin to piss into his boot with the same languid-typical expression on his face. In the meantime, I am perplexed.

The orderly smiles affably to me.
- You first travel our airlines?

From the rear seat, polite issues in broken Russian are periodically heard.
- In - Colombian. You can get married, you will leave, there is warm, ”the orderly recommends.

The Colombian's name is Santo Christian David, he is very gallant and timid. He behaves completely adequately, although scared. And who is not scared here?

In the reception, we are placed in a small room with benches. All exits from it are opened only by keys. Here we will spend five hours, but I still do not know about this either.

We are sitting: I, an agronomist (he constantly puts on nervously, then takes off his boots), two elderly women and one in mesh tights, in heels, sits, wide apart and sticking his lips. The feeling of complete hell.

The Colombian politely meets: bypasses everyone, remembers names, clicks his hands. A few hours later, however, it turns out why he was “taken”. The orderly reports on the phone: “A citizen of Colombia, studying in the medical, came to conquer the world, did not work out (this is a favorite formulation of the orderlies and nurses here in the hospital. A joke about the dream of conquering the world will never bother them). So, the Colombian, as it turns out, ran through the runway Pulkovo and - attention! - slowed down the planes. The Colombian with an embarrassed smile looks at us and shrugs. We are stunningly silent.

Bring another grandmother. Right in the night shirt. She speaks incessantly. “They will torment us, kill us, here you are sitting, I’m not crazy, I understand this all, and who is crazy-he, of course, will sit here, smile!”

I smile in her face.

Although not to a smile. All this turned out somehow too suddenly. I didn’t even have time to realize what was happening, as here-I’m already sitting in the reception room of a psychiatric hospital, a friend convulsively dugs in my apartment in search of mugs and brushes for me, and my mother packs her suitcases to live in my apartment instead of me, feed my cat and bring me at least some food. And I, as a person, do not exist anymore. I'm not. There is a unit, the body that is directed here, to a special institution. For treatment.

You need to be ready for a sudden breakdown every damn day

I came to the neuropsychiatric dispenser after the next nervous breakdown, not assuming that everything would go like this. I just wanted to consult. Maybe choose other pills. Previous doctors (I was observed with private traders) did not teach me that psychiatrists should not say everything. Therefore, I honestly said: yes, I thought about suicide. Yes, you can say, tried. They asked boredly: "When?"

“Yesterday,” I answered.

The doctor and the nurse raised their heads from the papers. A heavy silence hung in the room. I smiled awkwardly.

I began to convince me to go to examination, just an examination, for a week. Why not, I thought, completely exhausted. But my yes meant more than I thought. Suddenly the process boiled - they began to call the car. They told me that I was going right now and right from here. Yes, in these old pants. Yes, without a mug and brushes. No, you can’t go to feed the cat either. Such rules.
- Listen, but if I did not agree?
- Then there would be another conversation.

And I suddenly understand that mine or no or no at all did not matter in this room. There are certain phrases, saying which, you lose all rights.

Immediately, in the dispensary, from the doctor’s office, I was led along the corridor to a small room with an iron door. The same room is in the Gianelidze hospital, there they “withstand” the stinking homeless people before receiving, so as not to spoil the air and the mood of others. I was left in the room, and the iron door was closed outside to the lock. I began to cover horror.

And then the car arrived.

In November 2017, the mental list of my affairs looked like this:

- Yoga
- Drive the ass
- face mask
- Do not commit suicide
- Buy milk.

No jokes. Every day I tried not to fly off the coils, not to fall into hysteria, not to plunge too much in the thought of death.

Everyone thinks that depression is about people who have nothing to do. Like, take yourself, get distracted - and everything will be fine. It doesn't work. Depression may look like this: you slept on a schedule, you poured and ate a useful breakfast, you get up on the yoga - and suddenly you begin to dousise with tears.

Or you go on a run and run, trying to knock out all thoughts out of your head. But the run ends with the fact that you are not going home to stretching straight from the park, but to the store for a bottle of wine. At home, you frantically exhaust it, and it further becomes either better, or - which is more often worse. Hysteria, complete loss of control and a nervous breakdown. Depression. You live, periodically bending out of reality and hanging in black and longing. And during the spring-autumn exacerbations, nothing helps at all. For a sudden breakdown, you need to be ready every damn day.

Everyone thinks that depression is about people who have nothing to do

Emergency room. After five hours of waiting, I could not even really speak. I sit down to the doctor, this is a young girl. I answer questions. I go to the next room. All things, bag, phone, keys - have long been taken away. A huge man in an adhesive apron, bald and with a beard, demands to undress. I smile confusedly smile. On my panties a hole. I hide behind my palms. I stand on the icy floor, they examine me and throw me a torn nightie and a dirty robe. Waved stockings of a muddy color. God, are there really such? Sexuality of psychiatry. A woman measures me pressure, they turn me like a stupid body.
- She has any nails! The nails are cut to her! She yells to the bald.
“Let me,” I whisper quietly.

They don't answer me.

The woman grabs huge scissors, clamps my hand with an armpit and cuts evil. I squeeze my eyes in horror.

She rudely shreds my nails, and I'm shaking all. She seemed to remain completely sure that I was taking drugs.
- Go.

I am sent to the street, to an ambulance to take me to the department.
- And Fufike? - I ask timidly.
- There are no them, ended.

On the street minus two.

I run around the ice soil and get in an ascending car. I shakes me. We are going, driving for a long time, darkness, terrible pillars with signs on the department. A complete sense of unreality.

In the department I see a string of women standing at the office: they are waiting for their pills. All are completely crazy. Terrible. And then along the corridor, from the ward, a howl, moan, crying are heard. Inhibitory lamentations. This is howling Asya. My horror is growing in incredible progression. I am completely losing the ability to speak. I am fed with phenazepam, weighed and examined. Gently explain that I should not enter into conflicts with anyone. “Our audience is complicated, you yourself understand. They will not understand for a long time. ” What do they mean?

I will not sleep in the ward. Apparently, special attention is assumed for the new ones. For me, they take the bed into the corridor and give half -dried linen and blanket. The bed is without springs, just a wooden board, and a thin bedspread on top.

They immediately began to approach me, speak. A young girl, a pretty blonde with an overly gaze, took my hand. I asked where to find books. She took me to the end of the corridor, to the room, and for a long time pointed a finger at an empty table - these are books. There were no books.

A miracle - one was lying on the windowsill. I grabbed her, I was absolutely ready to fight for this book. This was the second part of the "vanity fairy" Tekkestea. Only thanks to this book I did not go crazy over these days.

When I could not read, I tried to curl up and fall asleep. The howl from the chamber did not stop. I was shaking because of a raw blanket. “I'm here for two weeks,” I thought about it constantly. Two weeks. "All hospitals are scary!" My friend will exclaim contemptuously. "What are you sorry for yourself?" No. So many films have been shot about this, so many books have been written, but no one knows these terrible details. It is believed that they are invented for artistic reality.

You can’t write a ballpoint pen, you can’t write anything-because you can kill someone with a pen. Or someone will kill you with this pen. “Once-and this pen is already in the eye of someone,” the nurse willingly explains. Always open to the toilet - suddenly you will cover you there, in the toilet. Suddenly they will want to kill you there. Or you are someone. No mirrors.

The night howl continued. Once every five minutes I heard even steps along the corridor - the nurse went around the wards. She slowed down and leaned over me. I was shaking. Uneven steps, shuffling-this is one of the patients goes to the toilet. Steps also slow down by my bed. I stop breathing. I'm waiting for me to hit me with a chair or begin to strangle with a pillow. Real, distinct fear for your life.

At that moment, turning her face to the wall, I gave up - quietly cried. But even this really did not have the strength. I just looked at the yellow wall. And waited in the morning.

That night I was absolutely seriously thinking about how to run away. I examined the windows, reflecting if I can quickly open them and crawl between the bars. Where to run, what I will do ... It sounds cinematic. It was so. This is all so true - what is happening in films. Madness, aesthetics of the psychological thriller and attempts to escape.

Asya howled everything. And the orderly went to her. I heard her reassured her - like a little child: she lulled, comforted, regretted. So sincere. So kindly. Everything trembled inside me. This is exactly what I needed when I got out in my apartment: so that someone lulled, comforted, kindly, warmly regretted. This needs this, absolutely everyone, when nightmares come out of his inner darkness. Everyone has their own dragons. Why, then only in a psychiatric hospital, for psychos - they took it and officially recognized the need for pity and tenderness for them?

Who was crazy here? Are we on these beds?

Do I regret myself? Yes. Yes. The girl who at the most vulnerable moment was thrown onto a hard bed in the corridor under a raw blade in a psychiatric hospital, who tried to fall asleep under a terrible howl and sobbing from the neighboring chamber. Do not fall asleep - what is there! -Just somehow endure a wild gnawing anxiety and fear. I'm sorry, sorry for her. And I don’t know what is so terrible and abnormal in pitying yourself at such a moment, and in waiting for you to regret and say: “I'm here, nearby. This will not happen again. You were well done. "

It was there that a new thought began to emerge. I just choose the wrong people. They are neither good nor bad. They are different. “I'm just trying to buy a bouquet of violets in an arms shop. I would give everything, but they simply are not here. ”

I see - I am among the five completely crazy grandmothers, a very young guy is watching us, he leads us to discharge. To do this, you need to go around several buildings, making your way along the paths in the park, somewhere to give a piece of paper, somewhere to pick up your clothes. The road is not forbid, on the street gloomy and damp. We put on completely terrible things to be at ourselves. Torn men's pants. Galoshi. A huge jacket stained with blood and vomiting. Blue knitted hat. We go under the escort of the boy. Slowly - one of the grandmothers is very bad. The color corrections of this day would envy all the directors of the world. SIZAYA, increased contrast. Paths among stunted trees and dilapidated buildings. A huge territory of a psychiatric hospital. Sometimes people with a strange look and carts in their hands sometimes come across. We are wandering along an endless path among apocalyptic landscapes, a group in terrible clothes. All this is so cinematic that it seems unrealistic and even stylish.

Everything inside me is torn out, for a high gray fence. I don't believe. For the first time I felt my vulnerability, for the first time I was so addicted. Who am I? Crazy in a dressing gown, without documents and a phone, one sharp movement - and no one will stand on ceremony. I can’t survive this fear. Never.

I often think about the hospital as an object left somewhere or a buried person. I feel and internally see how this vast territory with ancient buildings stands quietly there, behind the railway, hiding the nightmares of madness in itself. It is worth, under the croaking of a raven and a creak of carts of local workers. The same crazy as everyone there - patients, doctors, leadership. I see bare trees along the tracks and the territory covered with foliage, where, probably, there were no subbotniks for half a year. The paths stretch, a complex wasteland, like a suburban garbage dump, is in the foliage, the garbage lies, the path is broken, the buildings are scattered far from each other. They look like they have long been abandoned. On this everything is the seal of an amazing atmosphere.

I do not forget the way that we have done with that sanitar boy and a couple of crazy old women. We slowly went to one building, took the clothes. To another - papers. It seemed completely crazy and endless. And inside everything was not believed: would they really let go? When I went out onto the porch of the department, I did not even understand where to go and how to get to the subway. And I was terribly afraid that they would return me back. There was a car at the entrance, a written old woman was seated there. Husband with his wife. I asked where the way out was, and they offered to give a lift. It was also symbolic. It was as if they were taken out smuggling, quietly, under the guise of the one who had the right to freedom, the old woman. Me who does not have the right to do so. And I still thought: how are they so, these two are not afraid of me? I was taken around the park so that I did not go there, so that I would not see the entrance, so that I could not return here to this enchanted forest.

And so that she could not get out of here if I find myself here again.