Witness to Withness

Taunton

I wake up to colored light, disturbing array
the hope of the future put on hold, smacked
A collision of nuclear particles, unstable
All because of a minor depression, c'mon now

The scrape of a knee, a minor aberration at first glance. The knee is put in a cast once it is determined that it is broken and once it is discovered that there is a blood clot it is almost too late to save this life.

         Let's be real clear about one thing. It was proclaimed by the crisis counselor as a minor depression. Now please someone tell me what I am doing in a state hospital. I am immediately delivered upon entering to a man who seems Chinese and it is hard to understand what he is saying. My disorientation is already beginning.
"what am I doing here"? The good doctor asks if I am hearing voices. I let him know that I am not. I am then asked what brought me here and I share my concerns about getting together with a girl before college started. He had a label for me, a rubber stamp. I was labeled schizo-affective and there for had a reason to enter the psychiatric facility. That was my ticket to the one place I did not want to be. From the get go I was treated as if I were crazy and there seemed to be no way out.

         I enter the ward and it is official. I have entered the industrial complex of psychiatric madness. I have never seen a place or even dreamed of one like this. The first person that enters my view is a woman that is totally naked. It is the first woman that I have seen naked and about for any length of time. I would find out later this woman was Christina, a mentally handicapped woman who was found naked walking about and was therefore sent to the hospital.
         I had seen people in other facilities who had issues, but nothing like I would experience here. I was told I was just a bit depressed. Now the good doctor Bon choo had another label for me. I did not ever know about what the label was until I was well into my thirties and needed some closure about what go me in the hospital in the first place.
         It did not take long until I blended into the landscape. It seemed to be part of the agreement. No one else wanted me. There was no place for respite, my parents had cast me out and according to my dad no other family wanted me. This would have to be my home. My only choice seemed to be a need to blend in. Where else would I go? The first night was very unsettling. I reverted to my old persona of feeling like I had a special spiritual purpose God called me too. I was on the grandiose part of the manic spectrum and my guess was that I was not on my bipolar medicine, since they did not see me that way. I wanted to see myself as worthy of attention and that was the best I could do. The staff left me to my own devices. No one took time to talk with me. They watched me and decided to tell me that the pope called wanting to talk to me. This did not help my mental state one bit or my sense of wanting to get my bearings.

         I worked at trying to find a place where I could find hope. I thought of Dr. Fleming. He did after all promise I could go to school after I worked that summer. I can faintly remember talking to my mother who told me that once I entered the state hospital I was out of his jurisdiction. I was left to be taken care of by my new "family"(my wording). I continued to be more aware of people staring straight ahead as if into oblivion. There was violence, people put into isolation rooms, patients staring off into space as if they could find themselves just by staring. There were people pacing and pacing and pacing. Over time I noticed all manner of aberrant sexual responses. One lady kept talking about wanting bananas. I would soon find out it had nothing to do with fruit. This lady had a reputation on the ward. She was someone I wanted nothing to do with. I did meet someone I felt was at least near normal. His name was Jerry Profit. I would find out he was a Jehovah Witness and we talked a bit about religion. We would thereafter talk at length at for about a week until for whatever reason we came to be at odds with each other.

         I continued to work hard to find people on the outside who could become a bridge to getting out of Taunton. I called the college that I had spent the summer working at. I could not get through. It seemed like I was being cursed or maybe it was a conspiracy. The hospital found away to keep me from talking with the outside world for any length of time. I had had such a great time during the summer feeling normal, a part of the human race and it had come to this. I walked around in a daze that mirrored the state of those around me. I paced often times with a colored bandana on my head, which communicated an increasing headache and aura of confusion. I felt like a mess. I would change clothes which I believe symbolized that I would do anything get myself out of there, I wanted an escape. I did try to talk with staff. I found out one goliath of a man who liked to play tennis, which happened to play tennis. It did not take long to find out he did not take me seriously, maybe because I was slipping. I do not know.

         There were some bright spots. The first family member that greeted me was my cousin George. He happened to be a Jehovah Witness and we had our share of disagreements. I genuinely felt cared about by him as we drove off for a hamburger in his van. He
talked with me about his take on religion which included drinking on occasion and his disillusionment with the continual end of the world milieu of his faith. I asked questions. I felt attended to and then went back into the hospital. Over time I would find out that my brother Kurt had been put in the hospital too. He was just in another ward one floor below where I stayed. I did get to take showers regularly, all of us thrown into showers like a herd of cattle. There were meals that met our needs and we went outside on occasion. I can recall often laying under a tree and getting some relaxed sleep. It was a way of escape that worked for me. I obsessed about whether the fact that my talking to myself may have had something to do with the doctor think I talked to myself. I was trying to figure it out. I wanted out. I also thought of my need to emulate people as I talked internally. Could this have caused me to get in a place I could not get out. Who knew?