How I lay in a mental hospital - a real story (16 photos)

Cool photo story of how a dude got out of the army! Read and watch!

Kashenko writes:
So, it all started when I turned 20 years old and the passport officers refused to change my passport without a registration certificate from the military registration and enlistment office or a military ID. I had to go to the military registration and enlistment office, which I had never done in my life. There they immediately opened a case against me and sent me for a medical examination. I went through all the doctors except the psychiatrist.

The psychiatrist listened carefully to my complaints about mood swings, depression, examined the cuts on my hands and handed me an envelope with a referral to PB No. 1 named after. ON THE. Alekseeva, better known as Kashchenko.

Having collected the necessary inventory, I headed to the bookstore, believing that all my digital devices would be taken away from me, and purchased books for the week ahead. Having arrived at the place, I enthusiastically crossed the threshold of the checkpoint, received the necessary documents and waited for the signature of the chief doctor. He was in a meeting twice, so he had plenty of time to wander around the hospital grounds.

This is the administrative building:

Entrance to one of the branches:

It must be beautiful here in the summer.

Food block. I don't know what this turret is for, but it looks nice.

In general, the area is quite picturesque.

If anyone wants to see more photographs, then you can come there yourself and take as many as you want - entry to the territory is completely free.

So the doctor finally came and my journey continued. The required package of documents with a signature was provided and I was left to wait for my turn - there was another guy in front of me. “You won’t leave here again,” the barrel-shaped nurse told him, which put me in a positive mood. My turn came, I signed a piece of paper agreeing to hospitalization, they searched me (in all places) and put me in an UAZ along with that guy. The guy turned out to be a young, but very promising alcoholic, and this was not his first time here, which dispelled my fears.

During all these bureaucratic procedures, we talked a little with the doctor who received me. She turned out to be a rather cheerful woman who encouraged me and convinced me that “you don’t need to do what you are going to do.” Actually, I didn't intend to do anything like that, but no one trusts a man with cuts on his hands.

And here is the treasured door, removed later:

They gave me my things and showed me the bed on which I would sleep for the next week. Not all things were given away - for some reason it was necessary to carry a toothbrush, toothpaste and a mug separately. The doctor left my wallet and papers, and all the other things were left with me during the examination - including headphones and a phone charger, which I was incredibly happy about.

The head of the department also decided that I would cut myself, and threatened to pump me with various medications if something happened. In general, I love experiments, but this time I decided to be quiet, even despite the tempting offer. In the end, all the work was completed and I had my first night in a psychiatric hospital.

On the first day the sensations were quite unusual. It’s only later that you realize that nothing special happened, and the entire main contingent are chronic alcoholics with a bunch of ensuing consequences. Someone fucked his wife and she sent him to treatment, someone is just a dumbass. There weren't many real psychos - I counted three. Fate decided that to enhance the effect, I would sleep next to the most fucked up of them - Alyoshenka. However, Alyoshenka does not need to be afraid, because all he does all day long is lie on the bed, finger the surrounding space, hum, grunt and look piercingly into the eyes. The other two - Kesha with meningitis, who received it along with a honors diploma from Moscow State University - and went to a mental hospital for 18 years. He constantly combs his hair in front of the mirror, he can hit a person or throw a stool at you. This didn’t happen to me, but there are enough stories. The second is a man with long black hair and an unnatural, crooked expression. I remember him only because for the first two days it seemed to me that he was some kind of metalhead. Having met him face to face and observing his gait, I came to the unequivocal conclusion - he is stubborn.

For obvious reasons, I didn’t take pictures of my neighbors, and all other pictures were taken in stealth mode, so don’t expect any special revelations.

Evening, reading, tea, gprs, music - everything is as usual, only the Internet without pictures:

You need to take tea with you, because even hot water is in short supply, let alone tea bags. Sixty people instantly drink water in any quantity.

Well, that’s all, the first day is slowly coming to an end and from there I only have two audio recordings left, where a nurse and a patient sing the song “Today she must walk alone, along the icy street.” The quality is terrible, nothing special, so it's better for you to use your imagination and imagine the atmosphere than to waste 3 minutes listening to crap. I couldn’t fall asleep for a long time, because in the office next to me the nurses were talking loudly, someone was snoring loudly, and I regretted the lack of earplugs.

Of course there was dinner. But I wasn't there. The remaining patients were threatened to write “refusal to eat” in their personal files, which apparently meant something very bad, but I escaped this fate - I said that I had just recently had lunch. True, I didn’t have time to have lunch - I waited too long for the doctor, but I decided that by the first meal I needed to be fucking hungry in order to eat the shit that they supposedly feed everyone here. It's unavoidable.

Eating was inevitable, just like going to the toilet. The worst thing I've read about is toilets in mental hospitals. There was even a thought in my head about not eating anything so as not to shit, but I think it was too crazy. There were three toilets separated by small walls. No doors. The toilet is very small, out of 60 people, 55 are smokers, so the toilet is packed around the clock, with rare exceptions. And imagine what it’s like to take a shit when six people are looking at you intently? Someone even talks about life and all that while defecating, smoking a cigarette - they get a thrill from the process, but, apparently, for this you need to have enough experience. Unfortunately, or fortunately, I never got this experience.

At 7 in the morning I was woken up by screams of “LET’S GIVE UP URINE AND TO TELEVISION.” TV watching, as you might guess, is watching television programs. After two hours of TV watching, breakfast. By luck, I was among those who did not have enough space in the dining room. She's happy because I didn't get any porridge. I don’t really like porridge, especially if I can’t guess from its appearance what kind of porridge it is. I had to drink tea and eat two sandwiches - one with doctor's sausage and the other with butter.

Until about two o'clock I enjoyed idleness. Or rather, I enjoyed the first 2 hours, and then it got seriously boring. In everyday life, even if you stay at home all weekend and do nothing, you don’t feel lost. There is always some small work, be it walking the dog or cooking - in the psychiatric hospital there is nothing at all. You read, browse the boring Internet without pictures, listen to music, and your body begins to ache from four hours of inactivity. Finally, you turn into one of these sixty zombies who pace the department, walking from one corner to another, with a completely absent, lifeless, meaningless expression on their face.

It’s not the patients that scare you, it’s the realization that you’re part of it all that scares you. You are one of them. There is nothing special about them, you see them every day on the streets. When they wander alone through the wine section of the supermarket or drink vodka on a bench in small groups. A significant part of them are ordinary people. I watch how they stare at the TV and what they talk about, and I feel uneasy. They are the personification of everything I try to avoid. Degradation, monotony, insignificance and uselessness. It is unlikely that the way of life in a psychiatric hospital is in any way different from their usual way of life - there are even dominoes there, and you can find nurses who spend the night discussing where it is better to encode a family member and how much enchantment costs from one famous sorcerer.

Two guys come up to me and we introduce ourselves. These are RVK officers, just like me, who arrived for examination from the military registration and enlistment office. It turns out that I am in a day hospital, and spent the night here due to some circumstances. Jay and Bob have never spent the night on the ward, but I'm not the only one. I'll call them Jay and Bob, because these two are about as dumb and quite similar in appearance, and I don't remember their real names. Bob is not at all silent and it really upset me in those rare moments when I had to be with them.

Having made sure of my adequacy, I, along with them, was sent to carry furniture. I was really happy about this, just as I would be happy about any physical work in general.

Of course, you could do meditation. Do exercises. Anything.
But shy guys like me don't do anything like that in the company of sixty psychos.

Russian psychiatric examination, senseless and merciless:

There was enough work, and it took some energy. As you know, strength is replenished with food. And here is the long-awaited food:

Nothing special has come since then. Every day, at 8:00, I came to Kashchenko and did unpretentious work and, in fact, underwent an examination - a psychologist, a neurologist, and some other doctors.

But, mostly, I slept sitting in a chair or binge-watched my favorite TV series on my phone.

Watched the psychos:

That's all, apparently. Perhaps I’ll remember something along the way... Like, for example, now I remembered the story of the electroencephalogram. Me, Jay and Bob, a nurse, and two crazy people. After going through the procedure, I sat down next to him and waited for the crazy people to go through it.

“If they start running away, you hit them in the legs,” I heard from Talkative Bob and asked again. Yes, yes, I really had to hit them in the legs - in fact, Jay and Bob came for the same thing, because they had already gone through all the procedures. Psychos often try to escape, and I was one of the guards. Unfortunately, everything went without incident and there was no fun chase.

You're probably wondering whether I was mowing or really crazy. But I don’t know myself—there’s a very fine line here. I told all the doctors only the truth - the most optimized for a 15-minute conversation, so there were no intrigues or intellectual games. I think everyone has a disease, presenting it in a good light will exempt you from service.

In the end, even if you are an ordinary moron, like Jay and Bob, you will still be given a certificate. Kashchenko is a win-win option. The only thing that was confusing was the overly serious attitude of the psychiatrists to talking to you, as if they were really examining you. I have some thoughts on this matter, but no concrete conclusion. I can say unequivocally - don’t even try to screw someone. Don't consider them idiots, it's quite insulting.

The “diagnosis” field on my certificate was not filled in. Tomorrow I’ll go to the military registration and enlistment office and tell you something else.