My first stay in a psychiatric hospital game in 1990. The place was Saint Lawrence Hospital, the only hospital in town with a psych ward. Let me tell you it really was like One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. The staff alienated the patients and the patients returned the favor. The staff was horrible to the patients. Open hostility reigned supreme between the two groups. I have no idea if it has improved since my last hospitalization there in 1997. Staff may be more responsive to us crazies. Who knows. But the place was a literal looney bin and was the last place I needed to be to get help. I was in the isolation unit for a week. The diagnosis was bipolar and self injurious behavior. I cracked my head so often I looked like I had broken my nose. Black and blue and a popped blood vessel in one eye. I looked like hell, and the other patients felt free to tell me that. One "gentleman" who was there in lieu of serving a prison sentence for repeated DUIs and had a glass eye from an automobile accident, followed me around every where and felt free to come into my room to harass me. And when I complained to the staff about it they told me I should handle it myself. I did one night, yelling and screaming at him as I was afraid he was going to assault me. Of course the yelling and screaming only served to keep me in isolation longer. But he did stop bothering me. He bothered the staff instead and kept taking his glass eye out to terrify the nurses. I had a roommate who was a cutter. She when into the community room in lock down and while staff was holding a mirror so one of the men could shave, she seized the mirror, broke it and proceeded to cut herself. They just bandaged her up and that keep her in isolation for a while longer.
One of the men there was a schizophrenic gentleman who I recognized from the library as a patron. When he was on his medication he was a graduate student in English Lit. When off he would be at Saint Lawrence in the isolation ward. The staff went ballistic one night when he tried to flush his dirty sheets down the toilet, which of course plugged the toilet up and caused a flood. You could hear the staff screaming at him to behave. But mostly he was a gentle soul who was trying his best. He died a few years later, discovered in his apartment, off his medication and basically dead of dehydration.
I was allowed visitors and when Gastric came the above mentioned patient, Jerome, would had her his overcoat to hold. I don't know why but he did. My Ex came to visit only occasionally, preferring to spent time with a new love interest. The Ex was not quite yet an Ex but I hung on to the illusion of togetherness and I believe now the Ex convinced me to go to the hospital to facilitate the liaison. Along with the Soul Sucker, who is still good friends with the Ex, they got me admitted after some false starts. I was crazy, bruised and lost all track of time. I missed the UofM/Ohio State game and spent Thanksgiving on the isolation ward. Some of my true friends came to visit: Gastric came often, along with JB, LAD, and the late Dianne. But not so much my not so soon to be Ex.
And I think I will leave you hanging with this retelling of my time in the isolation ward.
Tuesday, July 8, 2014
Putting the brakes on
I wish I could put the brakes on summer and slow the days down. As I get older time seems to be a frequent flyer. And working at a university I get the same back to school angst I got when I used to have to go back to school in September. Here it is late August when the students flood into town. Summer is so quiet and and easy to get around. Campus is lovely, even in the rain like today. I know we are losing two minutes of sunlight a day and that makes me sad. By Brody's Mom birthday in August it will be palpable. End of summer festivities like the Great Lakes Folk Festival really marks the end of summer for me. Oh, I will still go to the farmers' market on the weekend. That goes until the end of October. Soon the tomatoes will be out and the corn will be ready. But it all foreshadows the end of summer as we know.
I am going to drink my coffee now and ponder the universe; something even Einstein couldn't really comprehend. What is one to do?
I am going to drink my coffee now and ponder the universe; something even Einstein couldn't really comprehend. What is one to do?
Maybe on a lighter note
Normally after a stressful therapy session I like to go home and take a lot of drugs and sleep the therapy off. Yesterday I had errands to run after therapy. I had to meet Gastric at 3:30 to pick up a package. So between the time I got home from therapy and leaving again I took a shower, as I was, in Gastric's words, sweating like a whore in church. I also made lunch for today and waited for my ride. Gastric's car, however, was loaded with the evil sister Nutella and a cousin, simply named Cuz. We had to stop twice to get them home, once for slushies and once to drop one off, and then drop them home before we could proceed to the errand at hand, which was to pick up a package at the FedEx office for my long lost nephew Bubba's birthday. Both Gastric and I were angry by the detours and delays and spent a great deal of time fuxing things. So to compensate for the crap, I began substituting turtles for various quotes, e.g. A turtle, a turtle, my kingdom for a turtle. Further, Now is the winter of our discontent, made glorious summer by this turtle of York. It was a pleasant diversion from the stress at hand. And today is Bubba's actually birthday so a shout out to him and happy turtles to you. Turtle stands for anything you would want to substitute it for in a phrase. Although turtles to Gastric and me do have a certain flatus meaning. So there you go.
There were no ducks on the loading dock, although we had some friendly sparrows, who I thought would be caught up in the food change sooner rather than later.
I think I may be in Patricia's cross hairs, or crossed hares. In any event I plan to stand up for myself from now on. She can't keep alienating people and expect it not to have consequences. Stay strong and stay focused is my motto now. She's not my mother, although she can be very mean, like the the mothers in the book I am currently reading.
Mayhap forthcoming will be the tale of my first psychiatric hospital commitment. That sounds fun. It starts with drunken melancholy and angst. Would be that I had a doppelganger to explain things away.
Turtles Ho.
There were no ducks on the loading dock, although we had some friendly sparrows, who I thought would be caught up in the food change sooner rather than later.
I think I may be in Patricia's cross hairs, or crossed hares. In any event I plan to stand up for myself from now on. She can't keep alienating people and expect it not to have consequences. Stay strong and stay focused is my motto now. She's not my mother, although she can be very mean, like the the mothers in the book I am currently reading.
Mayhap forthcoming will be the tale of my first psychiatric hospital commitment. That sounds fun. It starts with drunken melancholy and angst. Would be that I had a doppelganger to explain things away.
Turtles Ho.
One relaxed moment
A poem:
SHE walks with turtles, like the night. Of cloudless climes and starry skies,. And all that's best of dark and bright. Meets in her aspect and her eyes
Excelsior!
Monday, July 7, 2014
Memories, like the corners of my mind
I have just finished reading "Mothers Who Can't Love" and have started reading the book "Mean Mothers", It sparked a memory so vivid that I can't shake it or get to sleep. My mother used to say, among other things "I love you because I have to but I don't like you". My God, how powerful a statement that sent to me. I wasn't likable. I tried hard to be likable. I was the clown, the peacemaker, the confidant, I was codependent at the age of five, I was a tiny adult, forced to grow up too fast and leave my childhood and childlike world behind. No wonder I am in therapy.
Where I digressed this morning was running away from home at twenty two. I got through my undergraduate degree in 3.5 years and worked nine months in a minimum wage job to pay for graduate school. When I came to MSU for graduate work I turned my back on my family to preserve what little sanity I had left. Sometimes the only answer to the situation is to abandon all hope and get on with your life. I cut myself off, not only from my mother, but from many people I loved, like my grandmother Dorothy and the Aunties. Some times I would sneak into Southfield for a visit and not tell my parents, and unless you were Dorothy or the Aunties, no one knew about these visits, which were usually preceded by a phone call full of guilt provoking words. Once my mother died in 1996 my father, from whom I was estranged, became my buddy. And it wasn't until he died ten years later that my family came out of the woodwork to tell me, not just that they were sorry about my dad, but that they had basically abandoned me to an unfit mother and an intolerable situation . Too little. Too late. But the sting of leaving family behind also gave some in the extended family that I didn't give a rat's ass about anyone in the family. This is especially true of the Rat Bastard cousin who physically abused me when I was five. They see my departure as abandonment and not something I did to save myself.
I don't think sleep will come tonight. I should have never started reading that book after a late supper. What to do, what to do. A little song, a little dance, a little seltzer down your pants. Sometime you just have to pull down your pants and slide on the ice. What other platitudes can I come up with? Oh, fux.
The one proud moment I had today was telling Patricia I wasn't going to get her Popsicles and she had better make other arrangements. I am certain to get an angry call later this week. Also, for the sake of some peace of mind I cancelled my mandolin lessons for the month just to get my shit together. I am trying to take care of myself without the constant self loathing that I am prone to.
Gonif is asleep in my chair, belly full of turkey. I guess it may be time to put me to rest.
Where I digressed this morning was running away from home at twenty two. I got through my undergraduate degree in 3.5 years and worked nine months in a minimum wage job to pay for graduate school. When I came to MSU for graduate work I turned my back on my family to preserve what little sanity I had left. Sometimes the only answer to the situation is to abandon all hope and get on with your life. I cut myself off, not only from my mother, but from many people I loved, like my grandmother Dorothy and the Aunties. Some times I would sneak into Southfield for a visit and not tell my parents, and unless you were Dorothy or the Aunties, no one knew about these visits, which were usually preceded by a phone call full of guilt provoking words. Once my mother died in 1996 my father, from whom I was estranged, became my buddy. And it wasn't until he died ten years later that my family came out of the woodwork to tell me, not just that they were sorry about my dad, but that they had basically abandoned me to an unfit mother and an intolerable situation . Too little. Too late. But the sting of leaving family behind also gave some in the extended family that I didn't give a rat's ass about anyone in the family. This is especially true of the Rat Bastard cousin who physically abused me when I was five. They see my departure as abandonment and not something I did to save myself.
I don't think sleep will come tonight. I should have never started reading that book after a late supper. What to do, what to do. A little song, a little dance, a little seltzer down your pants. Sometime you just have to pull down your pants and slide on the ice. What other platitudes can I come up with? Oh, fux.
The one proud moment I had today was telling Patricia I wasn't going to get her Popsicles and she had better make other arrangements. I am certain to get an angry call later this week. Also, for the sake of some peace of mind I cancelled my mandolin lessons for the month just to get my shit together. I am trying to take care of myself without the constant self loathing that I am prone to.
Gonif is asleep in my chair, belly full of turkey. I guess it may be time to put me to rest.
Belated 4th of July wishes and post.
And now that it is past the 4th, isn't it about time for the back to school ads to be appearing on television?
Epiphany
I quit drinking on January 6, 1997. I had a few drinks that night and took an overdose of lithium and ended up in a psych unit again. It was in that unit I decided drinking while taking psychiatric medications was probably not the brightest of ideas I could have. I went through a week of very intense outpatient therapy and resolved not to drink again. A resolution I have begrudgingly kept. I do miss a nice glass of Merlot or an icy cold beer on a summer day. Part of the problem with being a gourmand is so many recipes call for wine. There is alcohol free beers and wines and I use them in recipes. My French onion soup just wouldn't be the same without some O'Doul's Amber. But once again I digress.
When I first moved from a large house to my small condo I decided I could have a few beers a night. That morphed into a few Jack Daniel shots. And that lapsed into me sitting in the dark, watching baseball and listening to Mozart's Requiem and crying my eyes out. I'd wake up at 3:00 a.m. And get ready for work and walk into work about 5:00 a.m. That went on for six months and then that epiphany of the suicide attempt and I stopped drinking for good. My dad was mystified as to why I was so depressed. Well, thanks to my psychiatrist I was put on the right combination of medicine for me and by 2000 dad and I were on our way to being world travelers. My therapy was going well and dad and I were going great guns. The last trip we took to the Netherlands, Belgium and France. I noticed that he wasn't doing too well in terms of his breathing.
Fast forward to October 2003 and I was having some health issues, not the least of which was kidney cancer. And about the same time dad was diagnosed with a lung tumor. He insisted I have my surgery first and he was actually there for me. Stayed in my small condo and took care of me for almost two weeks until I went back to work. He had some more tests and finally lung surgery in March the following year and by April 26th was dead.
I was in shock. But I did not drink. Some family came for the funeral: his brother and my cousins. I have the guest book from the funeral but I remember it was sparsely attended. Then came the ordeal of closing of the house in Detroit, which I did with a great deal of help from my posse. I still did not drink. Oh, I wanted to. But I had this seems that if I drank I would die and then my mother would meet me wherever and ask me why I never visited her anymore.
And that will suffice until I tell you my story of running away from home at the age of twenty two.
When I first moved from a large house to my small condo I decided I could have a few beers a night. That morphed into a few Jack Daniel shots. And that lapsed into me sitting in the dark, watching baseball and listening to Mozart's Requiem and crying my eyes out. I'd wake up at 3:00 a.m. And get ready for work and walk into work about 5:00 a.m. That went on for six months and then that epiphany of the suicide attempt and I stopped drinking for good. My dad was mystified as to why I was so depressed. Well, thanks to my psychiatrist I was put on the right combination of medicine for me and by 2000 dad and I were on our way to being world travelers. My therapy was going well and dad and I were going great guns. The last trip we took to the Netherlands, Belgium and France. I noticed that he wasn't doing too well in terms of his breathing.
Fast forward to October 2003 and I was having some health issues, not the least of which was kidney cancer. And about the same time dad was diagnosed with a lung tumor. He insisted I have my surgery first and he was actually there for me. Stayed in my small condo and took care of me for almost two weeks until I went back to work. He had some more tests and finally lung surgery in March the following year and by April 26th was dead.
I was in shock. But I did not drink. Some family came for the funeral: his brother and my cousins. I have the guest book from the funeral but I remember it was sparsely attended. Then came the ordeal of closing of the house in Detroit, which I did with a great deal of help from my posse. I still did not drink. Oh, I wanted to. But I had this seems that if I drank I would die and then my mother would meet me wherever and ask me why I never visited her anymore.
And that will suffice until I tell you my story of running away from home at the age of twenty two.
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