I have also been through the psychiatric hospitalization route about ten years ago. I had been doing outpatient therapy and taking a combination of meds, and because I seemed to be doing well and my insurance didn’t want to approve another round of therapy, at that point my sessions were getting less frequent but hadn’t stopped yet. My issues were mostly to do with my parents, with whom I was living at the time (and am again, due to economic issues, but hopefully that will change soon). One day I was at work and my boss yelled at me for something stupid - he just did that, he was really only pissed off if he was smiling - and shortly after that I had to go on the road. While I was sitting in traffic waiting for an open bridge to close, I started having a panic attack. I didn’t so much feel an impulse to just drive the van off the bridge as have a vague feeling that I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t do it anyway. I don’t remember how I got through the rest of the day but I called my therapist when I got home that night. I had to leave a message and when she called a little while later she said she hadn’t gotten the message, but was just checking up because it’d been a couple of weeks and I wouldn’t see her for a couple more weeks. Thank Og for small favors.
We decided that I would go to a hospital for a three-day observation stay - my meds had been working pretty well up till that time and I was actually fairly upbeat about the future. I’m probably the most positive chronic depressive you could ever hope to meet. If I was judged to be a danger to myself they would be able to keep me longer; if it was felt I needed further treatment I would have the option of arranging a longer stay; if the panic attack passed and I was basically ok to continue as I had been, I could go home in three days. I had both group and individual therapy while I was there.
I’m not sure if the place I was at happened to specialize mostly in drug/alcohol treatment or if that’s just what most of the patients were there for at that time. I do remember when I checked in looking for an elastic to put my hair up before going to bed and the nurse flipping out because she thought I was going to shoot up, so I’m guessing the former. (I’ve never even smoked pot, not even in high school, for the record.) I honestly didn’t have much use for the nurses there at all. The doctors were mostly pretty good, though there was one who didn’t listen to me at all. He kept insisiting that the fact that I have tattoos proved that I was suicidal and refused to listen to anything I was saying. Fortunately another doctor, a much older gentleman, talked with me later and really listened to what I was saying - among other things, that getting tattooed was really one of the most positive things I had done for myself, because it made me feel like I finally belonged to myself, if you can understand that. I ended up being released after two days because they saw that I was really not even considering suicide, it was an isolated episode and as long as I kept up with treatment I’d probably be ok.
I’ve sought treatment and/or medication on other occasions since then but that was the only hospitalization experience I’ve had. A few years ago I did go through a situation at work where my boss was on a crusade to make everyone as miserable as she was, and I don’t just mean making it a generally unhappy place to work, she was literally targeting people. Two other people quit before me for the same reason. By the time I left, it had gotten to the point where I was missing at least a day every week because of severe dizzy spells and nausea. Ironically, I was denied on my disability claim because this only happened at, or on my way to, work. I wasn’t so sick I couldn’t work - I just couldn’t work there. The next job I took (a commission-based sales position) didn’t work out around the same time I moved in with a friend who had an elephant-sized prescription drug problem that I hadn’t known about before. I ended up having her committed - I was in the process of moving out, which she was pissed at me for but I had no choice, we were about to lose the apartment anyway thanks to her never getting out of bed long enough to look for a job, when I went back to get some of my stuff and found pills everywhere, broken glass everywhere, the dog cowering in the corner, and my friend passed out with a gash over her eye. The EMT’s brought her around and were explaining to me that even though she obviously needed to be hospitalized, they could only take her if she agreed or if they could prove her incompetent. She knew her name, where she was, who was president, etc., so they were having a hard time proving the incompetence thing. By the time she told them it was Thursday (it was Sunday), she had pretty much been talked into going anyway. She had a seizure and went into a coma in the hospital, and when she came out didn’t talk to me for two months. We finally ended up reconciling and she’s been clean for three years now.
So. I’ve seen it from both sides. It’s usually easy enough to get help, though it does very much depend on finding the right people to work with you. It’s not so much easy for someone to force something on you that you’re not willing to do. Even though my problems haven’t entirely gone away - I accept that I will probably suffer from depression most of my life, though how much it affects me is largely up to me in many ways - it hasn’t affected my ability to live my life as I want to. A couple of low-paying jobs later things are beginning to look up, and I’m working on a relationship though there’s a lot of stop and start there. I don’t discuss my issues with everyone right off the bat but I don’t deny them either. As far as having problems down the road because of having been though treatment, a therapist should be able to advise you on the laws in your state. The sales job that I had that didn’t work out was selling life insurance and while our questionnaire did ask if you were currently on any medication I don’t recall anything about past treatment for mental illness.
The fact that you’re able to come here and talk about what’s going on shows that you don’t really want to commit suicide, religious beliefs aside. People who talk about their problems are looking for support that will keep them alive and sane. That’s a good thing, and it seems like you came to the right place. I’ll be praying that all works out for you, though I know it can be hard getting there.