My Stay at a Psychiatric Hospital

I'm getting tired of telling this story so I'm writing it down. This way I can just hand out the link and not have to say it again.
Last Tuesday the 26th of January, I went to do intake paperwork at a new therapy place I was going to. I had been having suicidal thoughts and was quite scared, as this wasn't the first time this has happened. My nurse practitioner who prescribes my psych meds recommended I get back into therapy and this place was right around the corner. The intake specialist said I scored high on the suicide risk assessment form and strongly recommended I go to their "urgent care" for mental health, the Psychiatric Intervention Center or PIC.
On this specialist's recommendation, Wednesday night I checked into PIC and found out that it wasn't an urgent care, it was a crisis center. The doctor there - I saw a nurse, a doctor, and a social worker all in a span of about ten hours - didn't care about my symptoms or what complaints I had, he was more interested in checking a box on a form and sending me to a hospital. He even lied on my form - perhaps he misunderstood but I'm going to hang on to my anger until proven otherwise - and said that I had attempted suicide when I only had thoughts.
All of this ended up putting me in StoneCrest Behavioral Center. I was there Thursday - Saturday. There were no visiting hours while I was in there, so I missed my husband terribly. I was able to use the phone but it was a communal phone, in public, that had to be limited to ten minutes a patient at a time. The food was terrible, the oatmeal wasn't oatmeal but gruel, and they didn't care about your food preferences until you reminded them the third time that you don't eat fish.
I was scared for my physical safety. The other patients - they put me on a crisis ward full of violent and potentially dangerous patients - were scary. My roommate the first night bragged about almost stabbing her boyfriend. I almost had a chair thrown at me; I ran quick.
The good thing was that at StoneCrest, the staff was wonderful. The nurses and mental health assistants (basically orderlies) all were of one mind: you shouldn't be here. Some thought I should be discharged immediately, some thought they should move me to a less crisis-laden floor, but all were under the assumption that I wouldn't stay long.
I didn't. I was home by Saturday afternoon. I got to see my husband and see my kitties. I missed him so dearly, and the fuzzbuckets too. The doctor I was assigned to was very good at recognizing I didn't need to be there and got me home quick.
This makes me question how honest to be with therapists in the future. I signed myself willingly into the hospital, but it was under major duress. They told me that if I didn't, they could get a court order if the doctor felt it was necessary. I don't know whether or not to keep going back to the place that runs PIC, as they were the ones who locked me up, but I know I need help.
So that's my eventful week. I hope you all had a more restful end of January than I did.
<3, Lyssa