Incidentally, my first experience on the locked ward originated with a Student Health Center.
I was, at the time, a music major, and had not had extensive social-theory classes (sociology, psychology, etc) but I started figuring out some stuff on my own w/regards to my sexual identity and also its relationship to politics. I was very excited about these idea because they enabled me to make sense of my life, so I began rather feverishly jotting them down, and asked a few professors, students, and on-campus counselors to read them over and give me some feedback. These early writings looked like this (this is a surviving page).
In retrospect, I think most of the folks I asked to read over this stuff glanced at it, found it incomprehensible and/or chock-full of unexplained/unelaborated raw declarations and unsupported concepts, and rather than tell me so, they were evasive about what they thought of it. I, meanwhile, was so wrapped up in this stuff that I figured they were scared of the ideas’ potential for polarizing…scared to acknowledge these ideas because to do so would compel political activity, that kind of thing! So I wrote more, elaborated more, to try to draw them into conversation.
I was not, however, falling apart. I was attending my classes and doing well in my coursework. I was not by any reasonable stretch of the imagination a danger to myself, either via self-neglect or intentional self-destruction.
One of the people to whom I distributed copies of my writings was the director of the Rape Crisis Center, a poet who read feminist poetry at the coffeehouse across the street. Much of what I had written overlapped with and integrated well with feminist thought, and because of her position, her feminism, and the ideas expressed in her poetry, she was (to my thinking) a good choice of people to try to share my ideas with. But because she only knew me in passing and did not make much sense of my writings, she was worried about my intentions. (I did in no way threaten her though).
Meanwhile, another person I tried to share my ideas with was a counselor at the mental health clinic of the Student Health Center. I’d been going there every once in a while before these ideas came to me, to talk about my social life concerns, sexual identity perplexities, etc., (at one point receiving a prescription for Stelazine — a close relative of Thorazine —in response to having such concerns). So now that I felt I had answers and insights, it seemed natural to share them with the counselors to whom students turn with such problems, yes?
So soon my resident advisor was informing me that to address some growing concerns on campus I really needed to go over to the Student Health Center and speak with the MH director. And when I did, the MH director asked if I was willing to “talk to a psychiatrist”. I figured that was the shortest route to clearing up the possibility that I was nutso (I had by now figured out that I was not making sense to people and had a good laugh at myself upon so realizing) so I said OK. The MH director said I had to sign a permission form, and I figured “Makes sense, you consent to get your teeth drilled at the dentist, you consent to an operation if you need a surgeon, and with a psychiatrist talking is ‘treatment’”, and so I signed.
I was driven in a van to another site a couple miles away and then they came to take away my shoelaces and belt, and in response to my questions said I would not actually be seeing the doctor for 4-5 days. And what I’d signed was an agreement that they could lock me up in a locked ward until they decided they’d fixed me properly.
In other words, don’t kid yourself: one of the functions of mental health services on a college campus is to identify college students who are quirky in ways that are disturbing to other folks on campus and arrange for them to be evaluated by a psychiatrist and subjected to involuntary psychiatric practice if it seems like a good idea.
The ideas I wrote about, despite not making sense to people in the form that I first presented them in, were not delusional babble (or at least far more people are inclined to perceive them that way ;)); I got better at communicating, and learned the language of the relevant existing fields. The stuff that got me locked up is expressed more coherently here, here, and here, as well as on various moderated email digests and of course the SDMB.