After I was released from my third hospitalization in early May of this year, I spent about five days at an adult social rehabilitation facility. We agreed that this would be part of my aftercare, as it would help prevent relapse. It seemed like a good idea, but I did not like being there. There was nothing wrong with the facility or with the staff, they were actually very nice people. I just didn’t like it there.
The facility was a big house with six bedrooms, a kitchen, a dining area, and a common room with couches where the “clients” could watch television or chat. There were five other people staying there besides me, in addition to the staff. We took turns preparing meals and cleaning up afterwards. We also had daily group therapy sessions, and one or sometimes two daily walks. I only heard a voice one time while I was there. I thought that could probably be attributed to the medication and the increased dosage. When we were having a group therapy session out in the back yard, I heard a voice say, “We’re not giving up on it!” It was very loud, and it sounded like it was coming from the house next door. I wasn’t even sure if it was something someone had actually said, or if it was just one of the voices in my head. It sounded like one of the familiar voices in my head.
I met with the staff psychiatrist and the facility director, and requested that I be discharged five days after I was admitted. When I left the hospital, the original plan was to spend a week or maybe even two weeks at the rehabilitation facility. I just didn’t think I wanted to spend that much time there. I didn’t think I really needed to. I was scheduled to attend an intensive outpatient treatment program the following week for two weeks. My husband took a week off, and then my mom came to visit for the second week. This was where I met my new case manager, and I also started the process of finding a private therapist.