My shady-eyed psychiatrist – Aaron O. Godwin, M.D. –
shifts awkwardly in his high-back chair
(it looks uncomfortable and pale green is a horrible color for a chair)
it’s our final session…
he is moving to California, and he asks,
“if you were to kill yourself, how would you do it?”
“I’m not suicidal”, I reply – “I’m just really really sad –
and don’t know how to stop”
“if you were to kill yourself, how would you do it?”, he repeats
“I’d hang myself”, I say…
Dr. Godwin stands up…
“1013” (ten-thirteen), he says out loud
What the fuck does that fucking mean?
Involuntary, incarceration, mental institution – the fucking nut house –
I sit in a chair with a security guard blocking the door as we wait for the ambulance to arrive –
I’m not sick or injured – I don’t need an ambulance
…the security guard is not listening to me –
as he, with no expression, blocks the door
I’ve never paid this much attention to fluorescent lights on the ceiling before
I can look nowhere, but upwards – and to my sides
As I’m wheeled down corridor after corridor of seemingly never-ending fluorescent lights
- and patients in gowns – and I ride at least 3 elevators -
yes, I’m fucking strapped down – both of my wrists and both ankles are in restraints –
and the ambulance EMTs have no expressions on their faces
their expressions are empty
I’m in Ward 3, for the criminally insane – because there isn’t yet room in the Men’s Ward (it’s full) –
this is (potentially) a story with a very bad ending –
I lower my voice and am careful how I walk –
to look tougher and appear more masculine
I don’t know what will happen to me here -
and I don’t want to (I can’t) be scarred like that
(you know what I mean) –
I didn’t say “scared” (though I could have), I said “scarred”. I can’t be scarred like that –
I won’t survive it
Then, I’m being given pills that I don’t want to take –
but I’m forced to take them –
if I don’t (voluntarily), an orderly will pin me down on a table or on a chair and force them down my throat –
I know this to be true because I’m, in real time, watching it happen to others –
“pill hour” is highly violent and traumatic – and I don’t want to be taking these medications
A flashlight shines in my eyes at the top (or near it) of every fucking hour while I’m trying to sleep –
because I’m on suicide watch –
and I can’t fucking sleep with a fucking flashlight shining in my motherfucking face every hour –
and then there is breakfast at 6:30 am (after I had to listen to my assigned roommate masturbate)
We’re strongly encouraged (forced) to socialize for hours –
every day –
I’m socializing, so the doctors will see me socializing and I can get the fuck out of here –
but it’s awful – these people have problems – very serious and real problems –
and they need help – very serious and real help -
the mental instability floats in the air like autumn mist –
and it’s highly disturbing and sticks to you - and you cannot avoid it -
it’s Day 2 and I’m fucking making a fucking ashtray out of clay in a class I am forced to attend –
and I’m “making friends”
Brad is obviously highly medicated –
And he has just returned from his electroconvulsive treatment
I talk to him, and some guy named Nigel in the Main Room
where all inmates hang during the day –
“Hello, I’m Jimmy”, I say. “I fucking hate it here” –
“I’m Brad”. Okay
It is nice to meet you Brad – as he stares into space with an open mouth -
Nigel likes to dance – and he hums and sometimes sings, sometimes loudly –
this place is a fucking horror story – and I think I might die –
for the first time in years, I think I might want to die
I’m transferred to Ward 7 – the Men’s ward –
and I am visibly shaking –
The nighttime security is 1 man – and there are 78 of us –
I won’t sugar-coat this – I am terrified of being raped
I can fight off one or two – but not more
(I begin planning how to best defend myself
– actively making plans to survive)
It’s 7 am and we’re all drinking fucking sugar-free Tang out of paper cups
and eating yogurt and oatmeal (plastic spoons only) in the caf –
and (as always) we’re told to socialize – to make new friends
“I fucking have friends– these people here are fucking insane and crazy as fuck”, I tell a guard – and he looks at me like I’m crazy –
(I pause)
- perhaps, I’m quickly becoming it
- adapting. blending in. fading into the landscape appropriately
it’s fucking Tuesday and the TV is set to soap operas in the Main Room –
and the guy I’m sitting next to (his name is Terry) is violent – he has that stare
We both ignore the television
“I fucking hate it here”, Terry says to open air
“yeah”, is all I reply because I’m running out of energy to speak
Here it is again! The fucking flashlight every fucking hour shining in my motherfucking face –
“I’m not fucking suicidal – and I never was”, I yell –
…mental institutions are not good places to yell
The security guard on Ward 7 laughs after I speak –
“I’m here for 4 days, the minimum”, I tell him –
and somehow this is funny
“Relax”, he tells me – “nobody gets out in 4 days –
Make yourself comfortable” –
and I fucking want to punch him in his smug motherfucking face
End of Day 4.
A clean bill of mental health by both psychiatrists
I leave with a fucking clay ashtray
and I leave with memories –
memories (fucking memories) …
A transport (car) is waiting outside of the hospital and a fellow inmate wants to go before me –
I physically shove him out of my way –
and he falls backwards onto the parking lot asphalt -
he doesn’t fight me – though I am ready -
I get in the car, and he is waiting for the next transport –
at this point I am loud and pissed the fuck off – and not far from violence
not far from violence
I arrive home and my roommate, my best friend is furious –
he has aged 2 years since I saw him last Friday
He embraces me tightly and doesn’t stop for several seconds –
he says, through sudden tears, “I’m glad you’re not dead –
I don’t think I could fucking handle that”
(he didn’t know where I was because I wasn’t allowed to call him) –
and I cannot help but break down with frantic and immediate tears –
and I don’t stop for hours –
I don’t stop for hours
Dr. Aaron O. Godwin currently practices in Ventura, California –
at Vista Del Mar Hospital -
I cannot tell you what I have done –
(he should not be a doctor)
And I cannot tell you what I continue to do -
and I’ll never stop…
I’ll never fucking stop…
ever
Photo: Jimmy Broccoli
