The facility has three separate levels of security.
The highest-security unit is reserved for patients who are severely impaired by drugs and have completely lost touch with reality. The entire area is filthy: feces smeared on the floors and walls, people urinating on beds, floors, and even themselves. The patients often appear unclean, and some will eat food off the floor if it falls.
In this unit, you always have to be on your guard. Patients can suddenly become violent or start fights over the smallest, most trivial things—for no apparent reason at all. People will steal your belongings, like shoes or clothing, without hesitation. You’re never truly safe, even when sleeping: doors to the rooms are often left unlocked or open, so anyone—a completely unpredictable and unstable person—can simply wander in at any time.
If patients become truly violent or pose a serious problem, staff restrain them and inject a sedative—usually in the buttocks—that knocks them out completely, often for hours. There is a second, lower-security level, mostly populated by younger people. It is mixed-gender but strictly segregated: women stay in their designated rooms or areas, and men in theirs. Men are not allowed in female rooms, and women are not allowed in male rooms. If staff catch anyone entering a room of the opposite sex, they immediately transfer that person to the highest-security unit—the one filled with the most severely disturbed and unpredictable patients.
This lower-security level is more relaxed overall. The majority of patients there are admitted for depression or after suicide attempts.
Across all levels, the facility feels cold and prison-like. The air conditioning runs constantly, making every area uncomfortably chilly. All showers have only cold water—no warm or hot water is available. Patients are given hard-bristle toothbrushes that scrape and irritate the teeth, with no mouthwash or dental floss provided.
You are allowed to wash the clothes you arrived in once per day. While your clothing is being laundered, you must wear two hospital gowns—one in the front and one in the back—to avoid any exposure or nudity.Movement and daily activities are tightly controlled. You are not allowed to stand still in the hallways for prolonged periods—staff will order you to keep moving. Patients are essentially forced to pace back and forth in the hallway if they want to be out of their room. Your only real options are: lie down in your room, pace the hallway, or sit in the common area where meals are served.
Patients are permitted outside three times a day, but only for 10–15 minutes each time, in a very small, gated courtyard. During these brief outdoor periods, staff hand out one free cigarette per person. The cigarettes are low-quality and harsh. After the short break, everyone must immediately return inside.
You are fed three meals a day, plus snacks in between. The food is mediocre—not terrible, but far from good.
Doctors typically see patients for only about five minutes a day and show little genuine concern. They dominate the conversation and rarely allow you to speak freely. If you try to advocate for yourself or push back, they often threaten to extend your stay.The process often begins with just one phone call from a family member claiming you are a danger to yourself or others. Law enforcement can respond quickly and place you on an involuntary hold—even without a thorough investigation or solid evidence. From that moment, your rights are severely limited: what you say or explain to doctors carries little weight.
If you ask when you can be discharged, doctors will often mislead you, giving the impression that your stay will be short—even when they already know early on that it will last much longer than a week. Ultimately, the doctors have strong incentives to keep patients longer: full occupancy means more revenue for the facility, and insurance covers the bills in the end.
