Sure have! Now, which time exactly would you care to hear about? Haha!
I was first institutionalized at age 14—honestly I had entirely too much fun there at such an age. I had made attention seeking comments that although depression/anxiety related, would have never transpired in suicide. Having been a minor at the time, such comments and destructive habits were enough to land me in there for about a week. My first stay at a psych ward just so happened to be filled with promiscuous bisexual girls, a 'punk rock' boy I ended up befriending, hilarious drug addicts, and well, even the food and decor at that place was actually tolerable! Now, my second stay was not as enjoyale due to the fact that I had legitimately flirted with suicide. With that said, I was under constant surveillance, and I was not particularly fond of how I was treated. The fact that I was continuously being thought of as the gal who wanted to off herself, honestly did more harm to my psyche than good. Anyway, moving along, my next stay at a psychiatric facility was by far the most memorable. I was 17 years old, a full-blown daily meth user, and my methamphetamine crazed antics began to get exceedingly violent, psychotic, and really, really awful. To make a long story short, I got into an argument with my family while coming down off of meth. The argument led to me attempting to run away from home so that I could get loaded. My family literally barricaded the door, and I attempted to push my way through. The men in my family were stronger than me and I finally yelled that I would just jump out of the window of our second story apartment complex. My goal was not suicide, but merely to pull a mission impossible to sneak my way down the wall. After hearing that, my family assumed that I was trying to kill myself, and tackled me to the ground as I was cursing, screaming, kicking, pushing, ect. I literally had three family members on top off my meth crazed body. They held me down, called the police, and I was immediately sent to a psych ward—yet again. Ironically, this all occurred the day before Christmas Eve. I spent the evening in a room with two female gang members and woke up to a supposed 'staff member' yelling to pack my bags. The 'staff member' stated that I was going to go home for Christmas and that my mom was directly outside the door waiting for me and that I had to step outside to see her. My intuitive notions were telling me that this woman was full of shit, so I proceeded to tell her that from what I had gathered, visitors were allowed in the building. I told her to let my mother in the building—she declined. I then got a feeling in the pit of my stomach that something was about to go very, very wrong. This 'staff member' then grabbed me by the arm, told me "look your mother is outside waiting to take you home for Christmas, come with me." As soon as I went along with her lead, which had to have been no more than half a step, she grabbed my other arm, placed it behind my back, handcuffed me, and told me that I was going to a school in Utah. This 'staff member' was actually a police officer, and my mother was actually at home two hours away. To make a long story short, I was placed on an airplane seated directly next to a police officer and shipped to a level 14 lockdown facility in Utah involuntarily. I spent roughly 8 and a half months there; I also spent my 18th birthday there.
As an adult I have had one more experience with being institutionalized. I was 21 and had just experienced the worst year of my life. Without going into unnecessary details, I basically went into a violent rage in front of, and towards my family. The choices were left to either press charges on me or put me on a 72 hour hold. When I arrived I was put in a room similar to a holding cell in jail. There were multiple other young women, and I really just wanted them all to shut the fuck up and stop trying to talk to me! Haha! Anyway, I had found a Xanax bar in my bra that they did not find while checking me in, so I proceeded to pop that while the woman who insited on me pissing with the door open had her head turned. After taking that I then demanded my Xanax XR from the nurse. She was out of that, so she gave me a Valium and I slept for a bit. Upon waking I decided that I had to get out of there as soon as possible. I was too old for this shit. With that said, I spoke with the psychiatrist and they decided that I did not need to be there for a full 72 hours. I was out of there in about four. I am pleased to say that was my last time in a psychiatric institution. Although, I honestly feel as though three out of the four experiences were quite entertaining. Hell, the way I see it, every single experience merely added a bit of character!