Twice when I was younger. I was only inpatient for a day or two and then went to outpatient. There have probably been times since then that I should have gone but haven't for fear of losing my job. I've always admitted myself (or told my mom I felt like I needed to go) when things got really bad. When it's been suggested that I go as an adult and I explain that I could lose my job I've found the ER and my pdoc to be very understanding.

For two weeks back in high school, after a very... serious bout of depression. I hated it, and wound up lying about my progress so I'd get the okay to go home early. (I'm much better now, through the help of a competent therapist and my own determination.)

They're not the most therapeutic places to stay and the nurses act like you're a nuisance, and I hear that from most people I know who've spent time in these places. There was only one window in my ward that wasn't permanently covered by blinds, and we got yelled at if we looked out it for too long. Another time I was passing by when two girls started fighting, and after they were pulled away I was told to sit down or I'd have to go to bed early, even though I wasn't involved.

One minor event in particular has always bothered me. Every day at group therapy, we had to state a goal for the day. Everybody always fell back on the standards: "Maintain a positive attitude" and "Focus on my therapy." Now one day I decided to say, "I'll try to stay in a good mood." Everybody, including the therapist, shot me down and told me to pick a real goal. So maintaining a positive attitude, which is easy to project falsely, is okay, but actually attempting to stay upbeat for real is not? I never got that.

Almost everyone I know has been in one and the only positive thing most of them say they got out of it was making new friends. Honestly, I think there needs to be an alternative system. I can't imagine that going through something stressful like that would make me feel much better if I was feeling terrible. I've been suicidal and almost every time it was actually linked to something going terribly wrong in my life, not just my brain chemistry or "being negative" so unless someone was actually helping me fix things they weren't going to help me.

I spent maybe three hours in one...long enough for me to convince the doctor that I didn't need to be there, and to cut me loose. I went voluntarily, and upon walking in, saw what truly mentally ill people looked like. I decided I was merely sad, and could make a few adjustments to my life, right there and then. I've never seen a shrink since.