Hello everyone, last Friday was the International Women’s Day. So, I thought I would share with you one of my experiences related to that.
Three years ago, I read an action-packed novel about the life of a group of women in the mental hospital, I was gripped by it and influenced me in a way that I wanted to explore it by myself. I thought that the best way to do that is through volunteering as it can help me t o get experience in my area of interest and also to do an act of charity and give back to my community. Therefore, I made my decision and went through the process to apply for the volunteering.
I told my family about my plan and I was expecting their unconditional support as they used to. Instead, I received disappointment and criticism, because they thought this experience is not as easy as others and I might not be able to handle it.
I made my final plea and told them that it is their final word because I knew that nothing on this earth could convince them and also because I could never do this without their blessings. Finally, they gave me their approval.
On the first day of my volunteering, I entered the hospital and instead of shouting for joy, I wanted to turn around and run like hell. There was some thing different about that hospital, it was not like other general health facilities. You can hear patients shouting and screaming around you, some others were crying about something you can’t even comprehend. One girl was screaming and punching the walls as she was hearing voices and seeing people that weren’t actually there.
Most women were there for bipolar, some for schizophrenia, many seniors for dementia. One or two were there for paranoia, a few for manic-depressive illness and one girl was there for her constant suicidal thoughts.
You do not need to have a psychiatric knowledge to understand their pain and to know what they have experienced, all you need is to have a common sense. Their stories were written all over their faces.
During my second week at the hospital, I met and interviewed a new patient. She was a very pleasant 30-year-old female and diagnosed with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. For the sake of protecting her identity, I will name her Muna.
Muna was a victim of spousal abuse and was emotionally drained. She got married at age of eighteen and suffered at the hand of an abusive husband. One day he decided he had enough of her so he threw her out of his house and she was forced to leave her daughter and son behind. She was sent back to her bother’s house because her parents passed away long time ago.
Her life with him was on such a roller coaster of emotions. I hold her hand while she was crying “I don’t know why he divorced me, I did all he asked. We accepted grief, but grief wouldn’t accept us” she said.
She told me her story as if she were sharing a series of well-known facts, with no self-pity or despair. I could do no more than mumble an apology
All the women I met during my volunteering from a wide range of backgrounds. They were perfectly normal, functioning members of society with jobs, families, friends and a positive future. Some were students, just like me.
Although, their circumstances were different, they all had in common the fact they wanted someone to lend them an attentive ear and listen to their stories carefully and sympathetically. They were not crazy, they were not nuts. They didn’t need the medication to regain their health, they just needed a little extra help and a safe, relaxing place to recuperate from their problems.
Mental hospitals are very misunderstood places. There is a certain stigma not only attached to being a patient in a mental hospital, but to the whole field of mental health to begin with. Nevertheless, I am proud of myself that I seized the opportunity and I followed my interest, and that made all the difference.
Have a lovely evening:)
