The 19th Floor

THE 19th FLOOR

Baking a Southern Breakdown                                                                                

In some of the south, the female psychiatric episode is hardly uncommon. It, however, is not treated with medication or therapy as much as it is with family intervention, prayer chains and a good pedicure.

No feeble southern woman wants to be visited by friends and church members when her feet are visibly unkempt in house slippers.

These episodes are not ones of a clinical nature. They are more of a time-out when the victim (always a woman) is simply over whelmed by the circumstances in her life.

The attention, rest and dinners brought by others, allow the Southern lady to be nurtured back to health.

 It is an unspoken rule that this is acceptable only once or twice in her life time. More episodes than that would create gossip.

Speculation that a southern woman might be “medically crazy” could certainly result in a social repercussion that is irreversible. 

But, the occasional melt down when done correctly, can make a southern woman appear fragile. Vulnerability and delicacy are appealing qualities that have long been customary of a Southern female. Showcased in novels and movies, these characteristics have been around since before the civil war.

A co-dependant nature is another quality. The tendency to fix is inherited at birth, primarily in the female species.  Much of the medical world will debate this is an unhealthy behavior. However, for a traditional Southerner, it is indigenous. A southern woman loves to be of assistance during a crisis. So, when a friend, family or church member is suffering she is a first responder.

This is a prime opportunity to look stable by comparison, as well as showcase her latest casserole recipe.

There can be a personal sense of satisfaction found in providing care to a victim in a psychiatric episode. As for a Southern man, well, let’s just say I have run out of gas more than ten times. As I wait on the side of the road, rarely has anyone stopped to assist me. The two times anyone stopped, it was a man; a southern man.

It is the “Rhett Butler” chivalry.  Yes, even the Southern men fall weak to a delicate female in the midst of a collapse. Again, this is only effective when the female implements the correct technique while breaking down.

She can not involve him in anything dramatic, as that will certainly backfire. She must not speak of financial issues, another man, or her multitude of children that she can not raise alone. She must not reveal too much information or this will over whelm the Southern gentleman.  She should carefully choreograph her calamity in a manner that reveals her attractively. No man, southern or not, wants to be a hero to a hot mess.

 But, an alluring, well coifed victim of her circumstance can find much comfort in the strong arms of a man ready to make it all better.

Yes, the “Damsel in De-Stress” has a shorter recovery time when aided by a “Rhett”.

With grace and style, the southern woman may benefit greatly from a psychiatric occasion and recover to full capacity.

 In no time she will be better than new and baking a casserole for the next lady.

Southern Fried Breakdowns

Now, I was born, raised and always have lived in the South.

My family embodies every Southern trait you can imagine.

From Sweet Tea to Moonshine, from Jesus to Jezebel and back around again.

However, generations of women in my family, have failed significantly at the proper protocol of their psychiatric intermission.

It is not executed with sophistication and style in the manner of “Scarlett o’Hara”.

Our “psychiatric episodes” are not alluring or elegant.  In fact, they do not look attractive, at ALL.

They are consistent with paranoid panic, cheeks full of mascara, a missing shoe and eyes that have been cried inside out. And, that would be on a more charming day.

No, we do not fall apart pretty.

We are completely unaware of salvaging our own dignity, much less following any format that would enable our break downs to appear anything less than disturbing.

In every family there is a genetic pre disposition. Some families inherit pageantry and educational success, some athleticism and accolade. There are even some unfortunate genetics that lend families to addictions, disease and poor health.

Our family accedes to tendencies of TRUE, “coo-coo”.

I, personally, have always considered my personal “crazy” as sort of a new spin on the Old South “breakdowns”. Not so much clinical as it is a cute-crazy.

You know, like if you were to see the word “CRAZY” on paper, it would be in bubble letters and spelled with a K, instead of a C. Yes, that is how mine is. If only to myself.

I, unlike other family members, will make my episode less ugly and more quirky.

I have found that a humorous antidote and smile is a lovely method to masquerade embarrassing moments of insanity.

It is a clever way to detour from the actuality that I just ran two miles to the nearest hospital because I was certain I was in cardiac arrest, and didn’t have the time to wait on an ambulance. I have diagnosed myself with everything from Lupus to Blood Clots and will suffer silently to avoid worrying anyone. As you can imagine, this can take a toll on an individual!

 Bearing the knowledge, alone, that you have an imaginary life threatening disease!

Then the moment comes when someone finds me falling apart because, “who will raise my children when I succumb to my imaginary disease”? Or the times many Medical books have been found in my possession hi-lighting my disorder in a red pen marking,

 “I HAVE THIS-” with a scripture of healing also written underneath my acknowledgment.

 I had found many ways to make many embarrassing situations funny instead of peculiar. I love how quick wit has rescued me from many an awkward moment when everyone, including myself, recognizes I am an absolute lunatic.

Alpha Females and Omega Males

I was born into a family that was largely a majority of women, strong dominant woman.

Most men in our family, excluding relatives, were either “run-aways” or “sent-aways”.

The male relatives were usually exhausted by defeat before middle age.

All of my Aunts have taken great honor in their ability to live independently, if necessary. They are quick to inform you that NO man is a prerequisite to their happiness.

My Aunt Bea was the first female butcher in our hometown and my other Aunt Maggie was the first female gas attendant. This was all in the early sixties when that was unconventional at least. This created quite a conversation at the hair parlors.

But, that affected Aunt Bea- or Aunt Maggie- very little. They were confident in their femininity and offered no apologies for being strong. That is the female heritage of which I came.

Again, that inherent quality was missed on me. I, on the other hand, had found my happiness contingent on a male presence in my life. I even customarily determined my self value on the opinions of a man. I was all too aware that this was unhealthy and not acceptable. I just didn’t see how I could ever have the internal fortitude to be the self-sufficient women that my family generated. I mean, seriously. Was I even CAPABLE of that level of independence and self assurance? Could one day I be confident enough to hang a sign like my Aunt Maggie’s that read:

“You will never be the MAN your Momma is”…..?

I would hope. Also, hopefully, if I had a son he would find humor in that and not humiliation like my cousin Ken.

My Grandmother was a little woman with a loud presence. Her birth name was Bonnie but everyone called her “Great Bonnie”. For a long time growing up, I thought the “Great” was also a birth name. But, it really meant she was a great grandmother, literally and figuratively.

She had birthed four girls, including my mother, and a son. Her son died at a young age and so did her husband. This left my mother, the youngest, with a group of alpha-females to raise her.

My aunts were very assertive, strong and often confrontational. But, they were so with such a gentle demeanor that it would be hard to recognize you were just “told off” until hours later when you would recollect the conversation. Any insults were camouflaged with a sweet southern banter, which always included an assortment of “Sweetie’s” and “Darlin’s”. They were also accompanied by an occasional curse word and several references to Jesus.

 When unflattering remarks are delivered with a pretty smile and natural grace, the receiving end could misinterpret the conversation as kind.

It would only be a delayed awareness, that they were recently served their own ass by one my relatives.

That was a true gift given to the women of my family.

This was especially prevalent with my mother. She, however, had a tendency to not be as graceful with her altercations. She often would replace gracefulness with more aggressiveness than my aunts.

As for me, again, I missed this quality altogether as well. I was the exact opposite of my mother. Passive-Aggressive paired with a need to “people please”.

 I always felt uneasy in confrontation and would avoid conflict at any cost. I began a habit of smiling through complexity all together.

All of the women in my family have had bouts of depression and anxiety.

This seemed to be treated with medication, prayer and sometimes divorce.

It would not be made public and certainly was NOT announced to the church; because it wasn’t about seeking attention or needing to be nurtured. It was real; and I mean REAL.

The psychiatric recovery time of my family, was fairly speedy and when over it was considered a divine healing and not spoken about again.

However, not with my mother, sometimes she would embrace her depression and anxiety as a rest, which my aunts were always accommodating to.  She did not fall apart gently or gracefully, either.

 It was always a visible disaster. Unfortunately, there were always witnesses as well.

My mother was an exception to everything, which was good- and bad.

She dropped out of school at the age of twelve, was diagnosed with dyslexia and seemed to be challenged at every corner of her life. She was a two pack a day smoker, over weight and depressed.

However, she was the ultimate over comer. After losing her second husband to cancer, she defied the odds.

She quit smoking, became a tri athlete, obtained a degree in Nursing and was unstoppable.

As she was focused on a successful life, her psychiatric symptoms lessened. Her depression and craziness seemed to be healed with denial and a busy schedule.

She had no time for interruptions.

I learned quickly at twelve that included me.

Her first husband, my biological father, was in the Navy. He was quite the character. His most, and only, noble accomplishment was finding a fugitive that was a known local child predator.  He made it his own mission to capture him. He did. When he found him, he whipped him with a belt and then tied him up and hung him by the feet on his Momma’s porch.

Now a day there would be every special interest group all over that incident and my biological father would probably be considered a criminal. But, not then. To hear the people in his hometown tell it, he was a hero. But, to my mother he was everything but that. He was unfaithful and didn’t take much seriously. A very handsome, charming, talented man that just couldn’t commit.

My mother left him when he went to the Navy.

But, she would say he left her long before that. The final straw was her knowledge that he fathered another child while they were still married. He liked the ladies. The ladies liked him too.

He did love me though. After their divorce he and my grandfather (his father) tried to kidnap me once while Great Bonnie babysat me. I was too young to remember I just know they were unsuccessful. Unfortunately, my biological grandfather caught a bullet in the leg during their attempt to grab me from my tire swing. Great Bonnie denied she did it. The story, told to the police, was that he caught a stray bullet from a near by hunter.

Great Bonnie gave the Lord all the Glory for that extraordinary justice.

 Ironically, a stray bullet had also gotten my uncle once and a neighbor as well.

Ramona the Unbrave

After the attempted kidnapping my father signed his parenting rights over to my mothers’ new husband. He was happy to have me as his own and never one day did I ever feel anything less than his daughter. I actually didn’t even find out he wasn’t my father until many years later.

 He had raised me as his own. I loved everything about him and his family. He and my mother had my sister five years later and never once did he, or his family, ever make me feel less than her. He became sick with Leukemia when I was in sixth grade. I never knew exactly what that meant until a couple years later when it finally took its toll on him. When he died I was devastated.

My sister was not as affected due to the fact she didn’t quite understand death at such a young age.

But, I did. I had watched him slowly change from a strong, tall, large and healthy man to finally losing his struggle in front of me at a slight ninety eight pounds.

 I witnessed little tiny beads of blood come to the surface of his skin making him look like little polka dots. I knew that was not normal. When I called the nurse, it was too late.

I was alone with him that day.

He died while I read him my favorite story of “Ramona, the Brave.” 

He always told me I was strong and curious like her. He would get so tickled when I would read it to him and use a different voice for Ramona. I can remember hearing him in his deepest baritone voice with the softest southern accent saying, “Ramona wishes she was as darlin as you little Sissy”…

 But, I realized I was not Ramona the Brave that day.

After his funeral, my mother had her best breakdown yet. She collapsed on Great Bonnie’s staircase and the next thing I knew I was packing bags for Great Bonnie’s house. A few weeks later she enrolled back in school.  My mother replaced her pain with returning to school, exercising and working. Life was different for my sister and I. My sister would spend much of her time at our father’s parents’ farm and I would spend my time with my Great Bonnie and my Aunt’s.

My pain was managed by my large imagination and ability to disconnect from “bad” thoughts and “sad” feelings.

I became a real champion at locking uncomfortable emotions into a little closet in my mind. This was an amazing coping mechanism that turned out to be a terrible tendency that I would carry through out much of my life.

Pig Latin and Panic Attacks

Great Bonnie was a character and kept my mind busy during this time. She was imaginative and found creative things for me to do. Being poor she knew how to invent things to do that were cheap, if not free.  She would teach me how to write stories, sing in harmony, and make my own paper dolls- with full wardrobe changes!

She would say “Honey, a piece of aluminum foil could make a paper doll look like Ethel Merman!” I did not know, at the time, who “Ethel Murman” was but the way she would say things were just funny. She made the simplest things amazing.

My family said that Great Bonnie battled depression all of her life.

I would never have noticed. Unlike my mother, Great Bonnie hid any signs of it from me.

She believed children should be protected from life as long as possible. So, did my Aunts. They went to great measures to keep me from adult conversations. All of my life I had believed they spoke in their own foreign language. I was so impressed and looked forward to learning it myself. They only did this to keep me from understanding what they were discussing. They called it Pig-Latin. Only a few years ago did I realize they were not the first affluent hillbillies I had ever known. Apparently, “Pig-Latin” was not even a language option offered by Rosetta Stone.

Time with Great Bonnie, Aunt Maggie, Aunt Bea and Aunt Moonie kept my mind from being idle which helped me not to think about sad things.

There was always laughter. I loved that. Great Bonnie would say “laughter is the best booze for the soul”.

I loved how my Aunts and even sometimes my mother would play practical jokes on each other.

The best one being this “honk if you’re horny” bumper sticker Great Bonnie confiscated from a local store in the mall. She discreetly put in on Aunt Bea’s car bumper. For days Aunt Bea couldn’t figure out why everyone was honking at her.

Then after she discovered it she, in return, put it on my moms car. When I asked what “horny” meant. It was explained to me that the definition of HORNY was “when you are so happy you could dance- but are in your car and can’t, so you just honk your horn.”

 I loved how “horny” everyone was when we were on the road!  

When mom discovered the sticker on HER car- that was the last I saw of it.

 Just like mom to stop the joke instead of putting it on Aunt Maggie’s car to keep the “happiness” going. When I asked her why she didn’t put it on Aunt Maggie’s car, she said she was “too busy for that silliness”. That made me so mad because it wasn’t silly, it was just a good time in our family.

I knew we would never see that bumper sticker again now that mom had it.

It wasn’t until I got hit by a car a year later that my own psychiatric characteristics would make their first appearance.

After having to become aware of my own mortality shortly after dealing with my father’s death was just a little much, I think. Children rarely have to confront the uncertainty of living. This is probably because it is too big of a thought for little brains.

It definitely was for me. Death was all too present and scary to me.

I became anxious and displayed evidence of what is now known as panic attacks.

Then there was no name or much understanding of Panic and Anxiety disorders and attacks back then.

These “attacks” became more and more frequent until I was convinced I was having a heart attack at the local Walmart. (I since have discovered that a lot of people also have had their first experience with panic there as well…)

As I sat on the pay phone with 911, my mother was insistent I stopped my “non-sense” before someone recognized us.

She was visibly irritated and even threatened to leave me there but, I didn’t care.

 I had to save my own life!

 As she applied her “just in case the ambulance driver is cute and single” lip-gloss, I was taking an inventory of my recent sins and asking for forgiveness to the Lord.

Just in case it was my time.

I arrived in the Emergency room and was greeted by my Aunts. They were especially worried as Mother and I had kept all of my anxiety and ER visits secret, to not stress them out.

But, they knew this time and were there before we even were.

I was their angel and I knew it. They stood with Great Bonnie, bibles in tow, ready to make certain I was cared for properly by the Hospital staff.

As always the nurses in the local ER recognized me and were especially nice.

The Physician on call there recognized me as well. He was not so nice this time and I could hear him whispering to my family outside of the exam door. I was sure this was the talk of how I was too far gone for hope. I suddenly felt so sorry that they were soon to be sad when the Lord called me home. I began imagining how sad my funeral would be. All I would ask for is a pink casket. My thoughts started a whirlwind of guilt, shame, sadness, until the Doctor entered into the room with my family behind him. I knew it was bad when I saw Great Bonnie with her angry face on. She never cried, so anger was her substitute emotion. Not far behind was all of my Aunt’s with crying scarves. These were the ones they kept neatly in their purse pockets. I only saw the little square cotton fabrics at funerals and church. So, I knew the news was going to be real bad.

The doctor said I needed some tests ran. Aunt Bea began her private conversations with the Holy Ghost in tongues and laid hands on me while Aunt Moonie began braiding my hair. I knew she wanted it to be pretty for my funeral dress. Aunt Maggie, always the skeptic, was asking the Doctor questions and seemed to not believe him. I knew she would be in denial when this day came. But, I was going to be strong, I thought.

Then, SHOCKED, I found out I wasn’t dying. I was diagnosed with sadness. At least that is how Great Bonnie put it.

After careful observation in the Emergency Room, I was referred to a Psychiatrist.

Since my mother was in medical school and working on her internship, she knew all of the best doctors and reassured me I would be seeing the best one.

The Psychiatrist was Dr. Fangenfoggen. A strange man who happened to be a colleague of my mother’s.

He was an oddly quiet man with a large, industrial beard that fascinated me.

While we were in a “session”, I would find myself wondering what objects could fit in his beard without being discovered.

 I determined a toothbrush, several large screws, a remote control, and several French fries. One more inch, I thought as I squinted studying his facial hair wonderland, and you might could fit a baby shoe in there too!

He would continue asking me random questions and I returned with random answers.

Afterwards, he suggested therapy but with my mother’s busy schedule, she suggested “in treatment”.

This not only would offer a management of her daughter’s lunacy but would be a nice holiday from parenting. That would mean I would receive tests to determine my recent “incidents” in the hospital.  This would also keep Mother from being interrupted as she climbed the career ladder.

At first, I was pretty excited about getting out of school for a little bit. It would be like a vacation, I thought.

I heard mother discussing my admission with the Doctor. They both agreed on what hospital would be the best for insurance coverage and location. I imagined how much attention I would get since I would be in the hospital.

My family would bring flowers and presents, they would braid my hair and do my toenails. It would be just like when I was sick with the flu, but better since I was actually in the hospital.

Mother kissed me good bye, hurriedly, then assured me this would be just a short while and all would be better afterwards. She suggested I look at this experience as a “break” from school and some much needed rest.

I doubted that, but with no say so, this would just be an adventure. It would be like the stories of Ramona. I would just “saddle up” for the ride.

Because my mother had to hurry back to work, my admission was expedited quickly and before I knew it I was on my way to the 19^th floor, the “Psych Unit”.

The 19^th Floor

The word “Psych” was a little intimidating to me. I wondered if crazy people would be there or just teenagers like me that needed a little direction. I wondered if it would be like the movie The Breakfast Club…I wondered if I would be the Molly Ringwald character or the Ally Sheedy character. Hmm. I didn’t care as long as there was a Judd Nelson character there. I imagined myself as this rebellious cool teenager. Maybe I would even act like that when I met everyone. I could tell the other kids I was here for smoking pot and robbing stores. That would be real cool.

I was escorted by a nurse, dressed in white from head to toe. From her puffy cotton like hair to white rubber shoes. She looked like a chubby Q-Tip.

No smile, no kind words. She was wearing a tag that said “WHITE”. I immediately determined that “WHITE” meant either 1. Directions on what to wear  2. Her Name.

 Or 3. Her race.  I became tickled at how funny that was. I was actually getting a little excited about my adventure. I couldn’t wait to tell everyone how I smoked cigarettes and went to so many wild parties that my mom couldn’t take it anymore. I took my braid out. Bad kids don’t wear braids. I was suddenly too cool for that.

We walked forever and rode the steel elevator up. The doors opened to my new home.

The floor was very cold and far too quiet. No colors or pictures on the wall and looked like what I would imagine jail to look like.

The nurses introduced themselves to me, and were not very friendly. They immediately took my tennis shoes, because they were a “safety risk” and replaced them with some rubber house shoes. By the time all of this was over, it was past the recognized bed time.  They showed me to my room and told me the Dr would be in to see me in the morning.

I had my own room, no phone or tv, and was instantly bored. There was a tiny sliver of a window, I looked out and saw a parking garage, a Circle K and two homeless men sharing a very large beer. Thankfully, I was tired so that helped me to go to sleep.

I got into the bed and awaited the next day. I was looking forward to meeting some of the other kids and making friends.

My first day on the 19^th floor of the Community Psych Unit was interesting.

I would start my day with “Group therapy” after the somewhat cold oatmeal breakfast. Ugh.

During my first group session, I looked around and saw no young people. I asked the nurse where they were and she said I was the only minor on the floor, probably a “mistake” she said. She went on to tell me there is an adolescent and children’s unit but not on this floor.

Wow. This really concerned me. Mainly, her referring to me as a “minor” and not a “child”. Was this jail? I began wondering why I was not on the teenager floor. How could I pull off being cool if I were with nothing but grown ups? Crazy grown ups, at that.

Group therapy was like nothing I imagined. It was kind of weird actually. I had never been around people like THIS. What the hell I wondered.

I began feeling a little anxious.

Mid way through group after listening to one man discuss his obsession with germs, another man discuss his divorce in third person and a lady talk about the reasons she had to murder her husband, I became very aware that this was a place for the “crazies”. That would be spelled with a C and not the cute bubble letter K that my crazy was.

Normally, this might scare a child. Not me. I found it quite interesting as well as entertaining. I even couldn’t keep myself from laughing as the gypsy also known as Laura, accused the witch, also known as Katherine and sometimes Paula, of stealing her rabbit’s foot keychain. This was the most absurd conversation I had ever heard.

That is until one tried to put a spell on the other. NOW it became, FOR SURE, the most absurd.

Then as a big surprise to me and the Counselor, in the middle of the argument over the Rabitt’s foot keychain, the “Rabbit” came to life.

Yes, in the form of an older lady with gray rod-iron looking hair, Hazel Leftwich.

She was the oldest crazy in the group… and apparently the only Rabbit.

Wow. She REALLY thinks she is a rabbit and they are fighting over her foot.

 Is this truly happening?

  I was interrupted from my laughing by the group counselor.

“Miss Shackelford, what troubles you”?

I was shocked by hearing my name called and kind of jumped.

“Uhmmm, yes…my troubles, yeah,” I began remembering. “Uh, I, I I got hit by a car and my dad died. I think that’s why I am here…”  I truly had to think a minute. My head was really fuzzy and my thoughts seemed delayed. I wondered if it was the medicine they gave me last night and again this morning.

“…..I, I mean I also started feeling weird and thinking I was dying and stuff…, I said.”

I kind of chuckled. It was funny now remembering the ambulance showing up at Walmart and watching my Mom freak out thinking I was on drugs or something while she looked around in embarrassment.

“ How did that make you feel”?, asked the bright eyed group therapist,  taking notes and speaking in a kind of fake phone voice. The voice Aunt Moonie uses when she answers the phone.

The questions became annoying. I thought “how the hell do you think it made me feel, you are the damn doctor!” I became very agitated by this whole scene as I glance at all of the other patients in group. But I replied with, “I guess, scared. I really don’t know. Scared mostly. I mean I don’t want to die and stuff…” I laughed a little at the silliness of my words. Then, immediately assessed that I was NOT like them and realized how ridiculous it was that I was even in there. That was as honest as I could give her. I knew I had some issues to work through. I was very realistic with myself in that area. But, I just didn’t feel comfortable sharing my rational thoughts with the crazies.

This could not be productive. How could I be expected to share “feelings” with people who could not even communicate? Who were fictitious characters of themselves, with unreal thoughts and fabricated stories? With a FREAKING RABBIT?

YOU CAN NOT connect with the UNCONNECTED!!

I screamed inside my head.

I was sweating more, heart racing and my hands began to shake. I looked at everyone in their own world and no one was listening not even the stupid counselor who was making a grocery list under her group notes.

 I began to panic as I speculated…What if I too was in my own reality..?... Maybe I am crazy and just don’t know it!

I suddenly imagined that THEY were the sane ones. What if they are afraid they can’t communicate with ME!

 I began feeling that sense of over whelming panic. I AM CRAZY! THAT’S WHY I AM HERE….My thoughts were fuzzier and my vision seemed distorted all of the sudden.

I wanted to run and started feeling my heart race. I became sweaty and before I even realized I was standing, hands shaking and trying to get out of the locked group door.

I was unproductive in my escape by two large black men. I began screaming.

They carried me to a room covered in puffy pink material.

It was called, “the PINK room”. 

This room was a “sedation” area. It was used to “calm one down” or “keep one safe from them selves”. It was often accompanied with a Thorzine shot. This shot would tranquilize you until you were calm again. It was often threatened by the staff to keep the patients from becoming hostile.

It looked quite similar to the inside of cotton candy.

I sat in the pink “Pepto-Bismal” colored holding bubble. I was wondering if soon a nurse would appear with the dreaded iniquitous Thorzine shot.

My thoughts were interrupted as a nurse appeared with the keys to unlock the door.

It was the ONLY nurse on the entire floor that I had met whom I could potentially like. Her name was Elizabeth.

Finding “Normal”

Elizabeth was the youngest and most human of all the staff. She was middle twenties, petite with pretty long brown hair.

She actually smiled which seemed to be prohibited for the other employees on this floor.           

She spoke softly and told me I could go to my room and wait on the Doctor.

I felt comforted by her soft tone.

Her eyes looked very sympathetic. I could tell that she felt a little compassion for me.

I smiled, so graciously, and followed her to my room.

I went in and ate the dirt sandwich that was left on the tray. It was already lunch time.

My time flies when you are having fun I thought. Pssh. Thoughts were running through my head of what had just happened in group. The man actually thought he was JESUS!, I thought, and oh my God that woman KILLED her husband! The Rabbit!!!!!

Is this even real? I wanted so bad to call someone and tell them of this non sense. I needed someone to validate how I did NOT need to be here; someone to laugh at how outrageous this was with me. I REALLY needed to laugh.

 Then, I started remembering the expressions on the faces of the crazies when I tried to escape. Seeing exceptionally INSANE people gasp because YOU did something shocking is so ironic.

 This was all like some comedy skit. Or maybe a horror movie. Whatever it was, it was real.

I thought, “this IS real isn’t it?….”

My thoughts were foggy and not normal. I knew this was not typical of me. It was like one thought would melt into the next one until multiple thoughts became a squiggle of confusion. This seemed to be worsening as I was thinking it.

Something really is going on with me, I thought.

My thoughts were interrupted by a nurse. It was not Elizabeth. It was the John Candy in drag looking nurse. This one had enormous tree trunk arms and hands that were like big baseball mitts.  She very easily could have been a man- or a Russian wrestler, I thought.

“Open up and let me see you take your medications…” She demanded with a small piece of pepper in her teeth, just posted up near the gum line. I watched it carefully, wondering if it would fall out in my water cup she was holding. I couldn’t take my eyes of it.

 God knows I don’t need it to dislodge ANY where near me.

I suddenly realized she was speaking in an angry tone.

“Heloooooo? I am talking to YOU,” she cawed in an intimidating deep register.

I took my medication as instructed.

As she left, I began to wonder if this medication was poisoning me. I became crippled in fear; I wanted to go make myself throw up. Sadness quickly replaced the fear. I wanted my mom. As hateful and selfish as she could be, she would protect me. I was over whelmed with guilt for being less than what she wanted. I felt pity for her, pity for me, pity for my baby sister.

 “How are you today, better?” The Doctor asked as he entered. This was not the strung out voice of Dr. Fangenfoggen, who spoke so slow that you could predict his next sentence while waiting. No, this was a new Doctor.

“I am Dr. Ellis, Melissa. I am a psychiatric therapist and will be asking you a series of questions…”

His calm demeanor evoked tears from me somehow. I think it was because I felt like he was rational and understanding. Maybe he could see my displacement and emptiness and discern that, I indeed, do NOT belong here and need to be home.

My thoughts became twist-y again. I wanted to mention that to him but the thoughts began swirling into the next one again causing me confusion and drowsiness. I felt the desperate urgency to discuss this with him but as soon as I began to vocalize my thoughts, the swirl would melt the words from being spoken.

He began to check my reflexes and vital signs.

In a brief moment of clarity, I managed to hurriedly tell him about the swishing thoughts.

I think it came out right when I spoke.

“I will check into your medication then…” he replied. This suggested to me that I did, indeed, say my words right.

Yes, I was jacked up. It definitely was the medications they were giving me.

I felt a prod of motivation in that thought. I HAD to get strong to figure out how to avoid taking my medication. Without being caught. I must survive this to get home. I won’t let them do this to me. I will save myself. I would NOT take that medicine anymore.

I drifted off.

It was unusually warm, as I woke from my sleep to use the restroom. The typical temperature in this hell hole was usually set at “hypothermia”, but today it seemed so much warmer. I looked at the clock. It was almost time to eat and attend my group session. I had gotten to know the crazies a little better. I had actually began to enjoy hearing their imaginary stories. This was my daily entertainment and escape from thinking too much about how lonely I was. How abandoned I felt.

It had been a solid two weeks. I had been poked, prodded, assessed. It should be evident that I do not belong here by now.  I had wondered why my Aunt’s had not visited me yet.  They knew how mom was and often would save me from her. So what was going on?

No visitation or phone calls from ANYONE. This was so unusual for my over communicating aunts. Even Great Bonnie hadn’t been here to see me.

WHAT IS GOING ON? I knew that my Aunts and Grandmother were certainly NOT okay with my being gone so long. We never even went one day without speaking!

How did fourteen days go by? I couldn’t remember if I had or had not been taking my medicine. My thoughts were a little clearer but I still was not my normally quick and clear self. I would be more vigilant and aware I decided.

I MUST get out of here before I become unable to find normal again.

The next rounds of medications were being announced. I firmly decided to keep my thoughts clear enough to fake swallowing.

The nurse entered. This was the extra skinny, distracted nurse. Her name was Carol. She looked like Carol Burnett so her name was easy to remember. Avoiding medication would be easy with her. I could fake swallowing without her noticing because she was always too distracted to even check. I opened my mouth like a baby bird. I nestled each pill under my tongue like I had carefully planned.

Nervously I waited to see if she was going to check. Whew! She didn’t. I waited for her to leave and then I spit them in the toilet and flushed. YES!

I was one serving closer to reclaiming my mind. And my freedom.

I decided to go into the game room between group therapy and nap time to find ANY one I could speak to and get some answers. Although entertaining, the crazies had no intentions on leaving the 19^th floor. This was their home. Not this girl, I thought. I just knew I could find someone who was audible and coherent enough to give me some insight.

I noticed a preacher was praying for one of the patients, I would wait on him. He surely could help me! I was so excited to see a normal.

His prayer ended with a charismatic, “Praise Jesus, Hallelujah, Amen”.

I introduced myself. He smiled with large, very white teeth. His dark handed extended to mine. “I am Reverend Jackie Morris Mason, so nice to meet you young lady”!

I began spilling my guts. He was so nice and listened carefully to my every word. I felt so reassured. It was nice being able to have a normal conversation with someone. I felt HOPE for the first time since I arrived. I began crying and he handed me a crying cloth like the ones my Aunts had. When I finished I asked him if there was anyway he could help me, maybe even just CALL my family. He replied, “As soon as this revival is over, we will go downtown and meet with the church Lawyer. He is the best lawyer Alabama has, little lady. He owes me a favor, anyhow.”

I sat there stunned in my confusion. I thought, “Alabama? Huh? Revival? What?”

My confusion turned to disappointment when he said he would go ahead and call his lawyer friend now and picked up an imaginary phone and had an imaginary conversation with an obviously imaginary lawyer. DAMN. He was a crazy.

Well, so much for that, I mumbled quietly as he continued his conversation with his “friend”. I walked away and he was still laughing on his “phone”.

I was pissed.

I decided to just sit and see if I could spot anyone with any resemblance of normality.

For a while I continued my game of “Where is normal Waldo in the ward”.

I spotted the only eyes that still had white left in them. I hadn’t seen her before but her familiarity with the staff made me know she wasn’t new at all.

She also looked like she didn’t belong here. She was very striking. Dark hair that was shiny and bouncy. No makeup on her face and she still had nice skin and piercing blue eyes. I remembered how my Aunt Moonie would say that you can always judge a woman by her skin. I never understood that philosophy until now. She looked clean, stable and healthy. I questioned what she had or what she did to get in here.

Probably just a misunderstanding like my situation. She wasn’t a “minor”, so no one could have PUT her I here though, I thought.

I walked over to her. “Can I sit here”? I said friendly, not knowing what response I was going to get.

“Sure, doll.” I felt over whelming relief when she answered with a solid tone and in perfect English, clear and understandable. I spoke with some hesitation. Hopefully, this wasn’t going to be a conversation like the one with “The Reverend”.

“My name is Melissa-you can call me Missy”, I said. “ I don’t belong here and so confused on what the heck is going on…”

“I am Alexis Moss. You can call me Lexi. You are young as hell, baby! How old are you”, she asked.

“Fourteen…” I answered.

“Who the hell put you in here, the State?” She lit up a cigarette. You could smoke in hospitals then. A beautiful turquoise ring sat on her delicate finger, as she puffed on a long menthol flavored cigarette.  Her ring was almost the exact color of her eyes.

“The STATE?” I asked.

She continued speaking as if she were thinking out loud. “It isn’t even legal for you to be in here.”

Ah! I immediately knew she was going to be helpful.

“This right here is why our system fails kids….poor girl!. I am sorry. I bet you are scared to death aren’t you…?”

Other than Elizabeth, she was the most normal person in here.  I answered her, “yes, actually I am. I miss my family. My mom put me in here because I was having freak outs…”

I continued explaining to her about daddy dying, my car accident, pretty much my life story. She listened attentively, inquiring about my family and asking me questions about myself. This was the first genuinely productive conversation I had my entire time here! This was REAL group therapy, I thought.

She sighed. “Well, I can imagine your anxiety…honey we need to get you out of here…”

She was going to help me, I just knew it! The rest of the day was nice. We played cards, laughed, and seemed like friends. I really liked Lexi.

But, underneath that I still wondered why someone like her would be in here.

I hoped it wasn’t bad.

Laughter in the Loony Bin

The next day I was actually excited to wake up. It was going to actually be a decent day visiting with my new friend Lexi. I would start looking forward to designing a plan on getting home.

Group therapy was in rare form today, I thought. I laughed at our Group leader’s struggle to regain control of the conversation. I was hoping she wouldn’t because I was extremely amused when the crazies were acting up.

Walt, the resident “Jesus”, was vocalizing his feelings. He had become one of my favorites; even despite his always calling me a sinner and a harlot.

 He had just been released from the “pink room”. He was mad as hell about it too.

There is just something hysterical about a forty year old man, who looks like Jesus-robe and all-cursing with an obvious southern accent and a missing front tooth. Although, it did make me angry when I would glance down at his feet. He obviously had never had an Israelite wash them. They were so nasty and my Jesus would never have feet like that. Walt was a “delusional” schizophrenic. He truly believed he was Jesus. He began showing signs of delusion in his twenties after experimenting with psychedelic drugs.

That was back in the sixties, and from everything I had known about that era, it seemed like everyone did it then. But, apparently Walt had something in his brain that just didn’t handle those drugs well.  He once was a fairly successful computer tech, never married. That made me a little sad thinking about how he probably never would marry, or have children. But, I was sure he was unaware of all of that. That thought made me feel better.

Walt was so funny most of the time. Of course, he didn’t mean to be. His interactions with the other crazies are what made for good times in group; especially Jim.

His banter with Jim, the schizophrenic with a multiple personality disorder, was so funny it seemed like it was rehearsed. I sat and observed, laughing under my breath as Walt and Jim continued discussing American rights.

Today they were both in rare form. The group counselor let them continue. I was thankful.

Walt insisted how unjust it was to put him on the “pink cross” only because he was trying to “baptize” someone. He continued that his religious rights were violated and he fully intended to do something about it.

The counselor interrupted, “Well, Walt baptism is not a bad thing when the person receiving baptism is a willing participant.” The Counselor explained with a small amount of frustration. “Mr. Glass did NOT want to be baptized and you infringed on his personal rights. Mr. Glass is already having issues with being social and he is here trying to overcome that! You interfered with his progress, Walt.”

She was explaining, as if he understood her. His wasn’t even listening as he thumbed through the group book, reciting non existent scriptures as if it was a bible. “ Thou shalt be sweet to me all good men- and girl counselors- that want to accepted eternal life no matter what america says you should be baptized…” He recited quietly while she continued speaking. Both were interrupted by Jim.

Jim, began explaining, in pretty accurate detail, the Constitution to Walt.

An Attorney by the name of Winston was his character selection for the hour.

I was still fascinated how interesting Jim’s transformations were. He was actually very intelligent. Walt and Jim, along with many of the crazies, were surprisingly some of the most intelligent people you could ever meet. I sometimes wondered if all that intelligence hindered them somehow.

 Jim probably could pull off any one of his personalities outside of this place.

Hell, Winston could make a pretty decent living in our town!

I wondered how many people I had met that were also in an alternative personality selection.  People just wandering around unaware they were a crazy.

Jim and Walt began a fantasy conversation that became so outlandish it lost its comedic value. They were soon interrupted by the announcement that it was time for lunch.

I quickly returned my folding chair to its proper place so I could get a seat next to Lexi.

She spotted me as I entered the lunch area and she waved me over to her.

“Hey, Doll! How was the loony bin”? We both chuckled. I gave her a summary of the conversation between Jim and Walt. She was amused at my re-enactment, as I told the story a little better than it actually occurred. I always had a gift in telling stories.

Great Bonnie and Aunt Moonie would always tell me that. After that thought, I got that lonely, sick feeling in my stomach thinking about Moonie and Great Bonnie. I detoured that thought with more stories from group. After lunch ended we continued talking. After I realized I had shared hours worth of stories about me and my therapy, I redirected the conversation to her.

I began asking her about her group therapy sessions. I secretly still wondered why she was in a different one than I was, so I asked her.

She offered no explanation. Just that hers was nothing but women. I was a little jealous.

That must be nice, I thought.

She began to tell me that most of her group was all from violent backgrounds or had drug addiction issues. “Violent” backgrounds, I asked myself. What on earth did that mean? My imagination began creating scenarios. Maybe she was a deranged mass murderer, or killed people while smuggling drugs for the mafia. She was pretty enough to be an assassin like the ones in the movies. I immediately pictured her in all of those roles. Recalling famous actresses I had seen as those characters in movies, replacing her instead.

I wanted to ask her why she was here. It was like the cloud above us in all of our conversations that we both felt but never would address. I just couldn’t bring myself to ask her.  I think I was afraid what her answer would be. I couldn’t bear the thought that my new found normal friend had some sketchy character malfunction or worse, she was a crazy!

Through out the rest of the week she opened up more and more. Little insights into her past and who she was. She and I, though years apart, were so similar in many ways. She was from out west though. She originally lived in Utah.  She moved here with her husband who got a job transfer not long after they married. Her father, like mine, died when she was young. His absence left a great void in her life that was ‘only filled by men and sometimes too much alcohol’. I asked her if she missed being home, her friends and what about her mother?

Apparently they hadn’t spoken in years. I know my mom could be hateful but, I couldn’t imagine her not being involved in my life.

Her stories made her past seem rather checkered, I wasn’t one to judge. She accepted full responsibility for all of her poor choices, which I commended. I, myself, always preferred to find someone else to blame. Although poor choices at fourteen were considerably different than a grown woman’s. But, I still saw Lexi as a sweet, regular person and regardless- her presence comforted me.

As days passed and we grew closer, I learned more and more about Lexi. She had married a man who ‘she thought she could fix’. We both recognized this as “Co-dependant”. This was a term used in great frequency while in therapy.

 His name was Brandon. He was a terrible alcoholic who was extremely abusive, even to the point of her being hospitalized various times because of injuries he caused. She was even hospitalized with a concussion once. She said the final straw was his coming home drunk one night and  he threw gasoline on her while threatening to light her up. He was angry because his dinner was cold. She managed to run away and seek refuge in a homeless shelter. He vowed to follow through one day. So, she pressed charges and he was sent to serve a long sentence in the Tennessee State Prison. All of this, and severe loneliness led her to a road of depression, suicide attempts and addiction. A failed suicide attempt finally led her here. She explained, in the saddest way, that it wasn’t him that was her worst enemy. It was herself. As she explained her pain, and fears of leaving him as well as fears of staying with him, I sympathized. Her explanation of how loneliness was a feeling she could hardly bear, even more than the violence, saddened me. Lexi was a beautiful soul. How could anyone be so cruel to her? My heart hurt for her. She seemed so vulnerable. I knew the sadness and emptiness of not having a father. Lexi seemed so lost to me all of a sudden. But, I understood her now.

With all of that sadness, she also had an abundance of great strength.

 I thought how easily that could be me one day. Maybe that is what Mom saw in me; that vacancy that would be filled with a bad relationship. Maybe Mom was truly SAVING me!

 Lexi said girls who don’t have fathers are more prone to unhealthy relationships and poor life choices….I began to understand that I didn’t actually understand everything. Sometimes it felt like I didn’t understand anything.

Less than Laughter in the Looney bin

The morning announcements rang through the intercom. This was the time when names were announced for procedures, medical check ups, and individual therapy. I was stunned as I heard my name announced. I had a million thoughts run through my mind. I noticed they were clearer now that I have been flushing my medication. Even still, that feeling of over whelming fear almost paralyzed me.

Elizabeth was working.  I asked her why I was being called. She explained they were running additional tests on me, more specifically an “E.E.G”. This was a procedure where they put probes on your head and watched your brain waves. It was used as a more certain means of psychiatric diagnoses. I was not happy about this. But, thank God she would be the nurse to accompany me downstairs to testing. 

According to procedures, every patient had to have an escort off of the floor. I was so thankful she was mine. She got her staff keys off of the hook by the nurse’s station.

 I could tell they were hers because of a cute little teddy bear figurine on the ring. No other nurse but, Elizabeth would have something so cute. I could see some of the nurses having figurines like a skull and cross bones or possibly something ultimately creepy like an eyeball, but only Elizabeth would have the teddy bear. She and I began walking.

She unlocked the staff elevator. This was not like an average elevator. Aside from the lock, this one seemed weird. It was long and bigger. It was to accommodate a hospital bed I guess or corpse maybe?  As we rode down, I got light headed. I realized it was the first time I had been off of that floor in what seemed like months. While I had Elizabeth to myself I had to ask her questions. Questions like when I was going home, if my family had called, etc. “Elizabeth, am I stuck here”?

My question seemed to have startled her. Her eyes became sympathetic but she only responded with how my family loved me and that yes, they called everyday.  But, she could not say anything more than that.

 I felt a rush of excitement and a sense of relief.  They DID care! Elizabeth also said that I would be going home as soon as Dr. Fangenfoggen got my test results and approved a discharge. That was why she, herself, made certain I got my E.E.G today- hopefully to speed up the process. She said everything in a positive way that gave me much needed encouragement. Maybe this wasn’t going to be forever like I feared.

As I waited in the waiting room of what felt like an operating room, I heard horror stories from other patients. Stories about electrical shocks to your brain that “melted” the bad thoughts out, and how people were like vegetables afterwards.

I was amazed at how just when I think I had heard it all, I could still be flabbergasted in this place.

My imagination went wild with that information, just as the anxiety was settling after my talk with Elizabeth.

I questioned the procedure nurse making sure that I was ACTUALLY scheduled for an E.E.G.  Wouldn’t that be my luck, I thought. She assured me I was not scheduled for anything but the E.E.G. She also said “Shock Treatments” were only used as a last resort for patients that didn’t respond to treatment.  As I waited, I witnessed the after math of a shock treatment. One of the patients that was waiting with me earlier, verbal and alive, returning as only a shell of herself.  Leaving the room in a wheelchair, she was slobbering on herself and her hands shaking. She looked right at me, I nervously smiled at her. She didn’t even blink. Complete vacancy. The stories told to me appeared to be very much true. It was like the lights were on but no one was home. That was the most horrible thing other than Daddy dying I had ever seen. I remember watching movies about Vietnam and The Holocaust. THIS seemed even worse. Like the worst horror movie EVER. I felt the anxiety again. Sometimes when it was real bad I would wish that I didn’t flush my medicines. Today was THAT day.

The day was long waiting on my turn. I had waited to be called back for so long and then they finally called me. I slept through much of the E.E.G.

 It was painless, just kind of scary and a real mess. They glued all of these probes to my head that were connected to a machine. Then they asked me a series of questions and seemed to consult with the machine for some type of response. That was pretty much it. Other than messy hair, I was pretty much unaffected. I was happy to be back in my room and ready to go to bed. Every night I would pray that Jesus would hear my prayers and send me home, and I meant MY Jesus. Not Walt.

The next day I woke feeling refreshed and ready to visit with Lexi. I wanted to tell her all about my “E.E.G.” procedure. But, I especially wanted to tell her about seeing the patient after the “shock treatment”.  I wondered if she knew about that kind of stuff. I knew she certainly would understand how horrible of an experience it was for me.  I didn’t see her waiting for me in our usual spot. I didn’t see her anywhere around. I went directly to the nurse’s station. I saw Elizabeth. I asked about Lexi and she said that she was discharged. “Discharged? What? Why?”, I asked. She recognized my disappointment. “Honey, I know you enjoyed visiting with Alexis. But, she couldn’t stay here forever…” Elizabeth continued that some patients have insurance that only allows for a brief visit. I felt instantly sick. Sarcastically I thought it was just like MY mom to have the best insurance, which would NEVER run out, EVER!

 My thoughts returned quickly to Lexi. But, she wasn’t even ready, I thought. She had no one waiting for her on the outside. I knew she didn’t want to go yet. I was worried.  I just wanted to be alone in my room. I sat on my bed looking out the slender window. This was something I had resisted until now. I had not wanted to see the outside. That would be a too real reminder of how trapped and alone I was. But, if I could see Lexi leaving the hospital smiling that would encourage me. God, I hoped she was smiling. But, she wasn’t there. Just the two black guys with the extra large beer. Hopefully not the SAME one from when I first got here.

Then, I remembered how Lexi would have no one waiting, excited to see her.

Sadly, she had said that loneliness was her prison. To her THAT was worse than THIS place even.

I couldn’t find even one happy thought for Lexi. I was ALWAYS good at replacement thoughts to keep bad feelings away. So, I began to imagine Lexi finding my family to tell them about me. I began my fantasy. She would get to them and they would all sit around having coffee and making a plan for me.

 Meanwhile, they realized how much they loved Lexi and since she had no family, they all mutually agreed to accept her into ours. We would be like family when I got out! Like, sisters! She would never be lonely again! This thought made me full of happiness and hope. Yes, indeed that is what will happen, I just knew it! Ah. Now, I could get some sleep.

The next few days were difficult. Everyday was longer since Lexi left. The same old routine; meetings with my Doctors, my asking when I was leaving, their uncertainty, etc.

The same cold breakfast and lunch, the same awfulness. I had even began to watch my bar of soap determined I would be home before it became a slither.

By now, surely, Great Bonnie, my aunts and maybe even my mother would be gathering up to rush through the locked doors and demand my release… The thought of that made me happy, for a moment. Then the realization that it had been days since Lexi left, made my hope seem unrealistic. The smallest remaining optimism of ever leaving here seemed to be fading, quickly. My skill of redirecting my thoughts to happier ones would not work this time. I felt abandoned, forgotten. Very much alone.  I became increasingly frustrated and angry. My hostility grew over the next several days and was becoming visible to some of the staff. I just wanted to sleep. The “Russian Wrestler” even mentioned I needed a medication increase. “God, shut up”, I thought. “Where is Rocky Balboa when you need him”, I said almost out loud. I hated her but especially when I was mad already.

 The thought of a medication increase worried me because that meant they might start paying attention to my taking it and most days I was successful at faking like I did.

It was time to get a serious plan in motion. Quickly. I thought about my family. What would they do? They would have been out by now. I reminded myself that I could be like them. I WAS like them. Great Bonnie was a pioneer of escape. She left Langley, Georgia at 86 and moved to the projects, all by herself. AND IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT!

Yes, my stubbornness and determination was my inherited birthright! Nothing could stop me now as I thought about what MY FAMILY would do in this situation. HA!

I suddenly felt like Aunt Bea warning the clerk at KMART who short changed her, “I’m on my way and hell is coming with me”, she would say like a vigilante.

That was MY heritage. I was gonna be like that- if even just this ONE time!

I scouted all over the unit the next few days. Every window was break proof, every door locked and there was no going down the elevator without a staff escort. Shit.

I began scouting for phones. If I could just even make a phone call, I thought.

 I was almost desperate enough to ask Reverend Jackie Morris Mason if I could use his.

I became obsessed with trying to find a way out of here, somehow. I knew I was pretty resourceful, it would come to me. I would NOT give up until it did. I am getting out and I will take down every nurse, wrestler and even rabbit that got in my way!

Crazy Movie Days

“Today must be Saturday”, I thought, as the Carol Burnett nurse set up for movie day. This was actually an entertaining event and a way to pass the time quickly. Watching the crazies during movie day was much more fun than the usual throwback “B” movie.

Every Saturday the selection would be some variation of a “masterpiece” featuring Suzanne Plechette or one of the actresses of the Original “Charlie’s Angels”.

But, when all the crazies were present at one time, it was Emmy worthy.

My favorite was when the Delusionals and the Paranoids would interact.

This would generally cause some sort of disturbance, which almost certainly would cause the Multiple Personalities to intervene. Usually as some type of hero.

 It would get especially confusing if one of the Multiples assumed the role of a Bartender. I still don’t know which is worse, a delusional thinking the bartender was making the drinks extra strong and being the LOUDEST fake-drunk ever, or a real drunk.

I waited on the day one of them assumed the personality of a Doctor and decided to discharge someone.

The movie was some show about a football hero. Most assumed the characters of famous players, some coaches. This became especially funny when someone found a football in the rec-room closet. I was laughing hysterically watching “Jesus” catch the ball and Jim assume the “persona” of Bear Bryant in his glory days. I had never laughed so hard as when Bear Bryant would correct Jesus on his interceptions. Jesus was side-lined. I laughed especially hard when Hazel Leftwhich wanted to play. She might even be awarded a Heisman for her skill of playing, without a foot. Surely she was the FIRST rabbit to have been a running back as well.

I watched and laughed, with little participation of course, enjoying the SHOW.

 All of the fun was interrupted by a delusional who decided to build a “toll bridge” in the middle of the room and became hostile when someone crossed the bridge without payment.

That was the kind of event that could wreck what could have been a bearable Saturday.

When the tough have had Enough

Then surely enough Monday arrived, like it always did, after Sunday.

Group was becoming more annoying than entertaining. The crazies were starting to really get to me. I was starting to lose it. I felt as if there was a big stop watch over my head, tick-tocking the seconds to my inevitable explosion.

 An eruption of every emotion, that would result in “pink rooms’, “thorzine shots” and maybe even……a shock treatment.

Fear began to cripple me. Oh, God. The familiar rushing panic began over coming me. My cheeks were becoming flushed and I was just about to feel that over -whelming primal need to run. STOP! I shouted inside my own brain. I instantly collected myself. I knew my inner strength would be the only resource I had available for my freedom. I could not surrender to this environment. I knew if I ever did, that would be the end of me. In one way or another.

I was told that my Doctor wanted to see me. I was so excited. Maybe this meant I was about to be released, please God- I would pray.

Dr. Fangenfoggen sat in the chair of my room as I walked in, taking notes and reviewing papers. Hopeful for good news, I politely asked how he was. Though I did NOT care and maybe even truly hated him.

He began talking with no response to my question.

“Your tests indicate that you have experienced isolated acute psychotic episodes.”

 I began trying to translate and comprehend as he spoke. His voice was so low and mostly just a mumble, that I found myself stretching my neck and squinting my eyes to hear him. I was so anxious for him to get to the point but he breathed through every word soooooo sllllowwwwllly.

 It was like waiting on a windmill to turn in an old Dutch painting.

He continued speaking as he glanced and flicked through papers on his clipboard.” I believe this was as a result of emotional trauma and not that of a chemical imbalance or other disorder. However, your EEG was inconclusive so I would like to order a second one to validate my diagnoses.”

I abruptly asked, “Does that mean I am ok, am I going home?” I fought back tears as to not appear “emotionally unbalanced”.

“ Your being ‘okay’ is subjective. You are functional because you are medicated, hospitalized and in a controlled environment. My question, as I earlier stated, is to the extent of whether your previous psychological responses to stimuli are environmental or biological, and that can only be determined with a valid and conclusive test. Therefore, Miss Shackelford, I will be ordering a second EEG. Then, I will be able to draw a solid conclusion to your diagnoses. Have a good day…”

With no explanation or mannerly gesture he exited. I didn’t quite understand what he was saying. Only that I WAS NOT going home and I would have another stupid EEG. I would dread the waiting room more than the procedure. I felt defeated.

I contemplated storing all of my daily medications, instead of flushing them, then taking them all at once. I wanted to die. I could not do this anymore. If only I had paper to write a goodbye letter to my family, I would have done it.

But, because of my experiences of a lifetime of insufficient good-bye’s, I couldn’t do that to my family. They deserved the good-bye that I never had gotten from the ones I had loved. I deliberated on what words I would write to everyone. I thought of all the life I would miss. I decided I just couldn’t do that. I became Option-less. Dear God help me!

The morning announcements included my name. This time I knew the drill.

I waited at the nurses station for my escort. I glanced over at the nail which holds the staff elevator keys. There was no cute bear on them. I was disappointed Elizabeth would not be my escort this time. I couldn’t help but scan the key chain to see if I spotted an eyeball or maybe a baby foot…

 I was escorted by a different nurse.  We made our way to the elevator. She was so heavy that every step made a small vibration on the floor under my feet. Her breathing was fast and she seemed to be struggling with it. I had hoped she wouldn’t lose her breath and die or something while in my presence. Or did I? …

We didn’t speak we just made our way to the testing area and I sat and waited.

 The same as last time.

There was only one other person in there.  I couldn’t help but notice her name on the EEG list above mine. Jennifer Banks. It sounded like a news anchor name. She apparently was also getting an EEG. She was not from my floor. I glanced over and nodded hello. Her eyes looked worried as mine did my first time here.

“Its not so bad”, I said. “I’ve done this before. It really isn’t…” I said as reassuring as I could. Feeling like a professional.

“It isn’t the test that scares me….” She said quietly and with a shaken voice. “It’s the lady that just left here. She was waiting in here with me and this other lady earlier, but she was getting some other kind of electrical therapy? “…

She said this almost asking if I knew what she was referring to. I interrupted. “Yeah, they call it a “shock treatment. Trust me; it is nothing like what we are getting…”

 She continued words spoken over mine as if she were lost in her own thoughts. ”My God, it was awful. I could hear her scream.  Then, when she finished and exited the procedure room…”

 She stopped as if it were difficult to even speak. Then she continued, ”…Her eyes were crossed and I don’t even know how to explain it. MY GOD!….”  

She was naturally shocked by witnessing such a thing. I remembered feeling the same things last time I was down here. I watched her chew her nails nervously while looking at the procedure door with fear filled eyes. “I know, I have witnessed the same thing once before. It seems so unnecessary and tragic”, I said as she continued talking over me in a controlled whisper, not taking her eyes off of the door.

“Now there is another girl in there. She was in here waiting with me when the other lady went in and came out. She was terribly afraid because she is getting the same procedure. She got up and tried to leave but they would not let her. She forced her way out of the door and the alarms went off and they issued a code pink, whatever that is.…”

 I wasn’t a genius but I assumed it referred to the “pink room” in the way code “red” referred to a fire alert. She continued.  “ I didn’t know what to say to her, she was CRYING and BEGGING, I just told her I would pray for her. God, I feel so sorry for her. Her husband was in the waiting room and seemed to have been the one to have brought her here…”

I thought how it had to be EXTRA awful waiting KNOWING you were never going to be the same. Jennifer Banks continued talking about it as if she couldn’t stop herself.

…” I mean she was so pretty, and didn’t seem crazy at all! I just don’t understand, and I couldn’t even help her! This CAN”T be right!?  It seems so barbaric and inhumane,…..”

She was interrupted as the buzz noise echoed through the empty sterile hall, indicating that the current test was over. We both jumped, startled at the loud noise.

My heart was beating so fast that I could feel the pulse in my temples. We both immediately looked towards the exam room door.

I was almost scared to see the patient exit. Jennifer Banks hid her face into her shaking hands. She was crying, praying out loud and shaking her head.

I felt a lump in my throat. I did not want to look. But, my curiosity often could outweigh my fear. Sometimes, often times, I would regret that. This time was no exception.

As I heard the big metal doors close, the squeaking noise of a loose wheel on an old wheel chair became louder and closer. I started to hide my eyes in my hands too.

 But, at the last minute I could not resist and I looked up.

There she was, in a broken wheel chair escorted by some random de-sensitized tech pushing her rubbery-like body to God knows where.

Poor thing, her head was hanging faced down, bobbing over the side of the wheel chair, oblivious to her surroundings.  A tiny foot was dragging the ground, a moment away from being caught in the wheel of the chair.

What once was a person now just a shell. I felt like I couldn’t get a good breath.

As they got closer my instinct was both to look away and also to look at the patients face.

Then all of a sudden, I felt the struggle for air coupled by a strong feeling of being punched in the stomach. I rose to my feet in tremendous shock when I saw her!

I saw glossy, shiny hair peaking out of a hospital cap, like a fallen halo around an empty face.

Then, our eyes met. My tear filled eyes to her familiar piercing blue ones.

Yes, I knew her. But, this time she did not know me. I immediately ran to the bathroom to vomit. All that was left of her, all that remained of her that I could recognize, was her turquoise ring.

I had no tears left. They were completely gone. How I could be so emotionless after the shock wore off, was a mystery even to myself. What should have been an array of emotions, panic, sadness and fear became rage. I became increasingly determined. I had channeled my emotions into a focus that I was unaware I possessed. There was no other room for any abstract thought. Purpose, willpower, and unusual discipline replaced anything else. I had resolved my fate. I WOULD be leaving the 19^th floor.

On my own and as soon as possible.

I started that next moment refusing to recall the terrible event forever stained in my memory. I knew I was a champion at that.

 My focus would immediately shift to using every thought towards my preparation of finding a means of escape.

 Then, finally that night I had it. It came to me.  It was perfect. It was the only way and it was actually possible!

The next day, I anxiously awaited Elizabeth. This time for different reasons. Not because of the comfort she offered me, but because I knew she would be the essential part to my carefully designed plan.  Elizabeth would be an unknowing accomplice. I was going to be free today if my plan worked. If it didn’t, well, I would die trying.

Either way, I was getting the hell out.

The staff shift was changing. I could feel my excitement from my toes. The butterflies in my stomach felt like they were so big that they could be seen floating around my head like a spring time portrait.

As expected, I spotted Elizabeth punching into the time clock, starting her evening shift.

I waved hello and kept walking past her to afternoon group.

 Normally, I would try to talk to her for a while but I was afraid she would sense my excitement.  Nothing needed to get in the way of my cautious plan or the execution of my path to freedom.

As I entered group, realizing this would be my last, I was extra friendly.

I made sure to acknowledge all the crazies I had made friendships with. I was going to say everything I needed to say so that I would not have any regrets looking back.

I would say good-bye in my own way. The gypsy was especially creepy today. She kept smiling at me saying I was a little bird about to fly away. What the hell! Shut up I would say inside of my head. Sometimes, the crazies were spot on.

The many uses of scrubs

At dinner time, I could hardly eat. I was watching the clock to bedtime. When everyone was well into sleep was the ideal time to make my move. I felt like a ninja for a moment, capable of anything. If anyone stopped me, I would use my throwing star on them. If only I had disappearing smoke….

The time passed so slowly as I waited. Continuing to retrace what steps I would make until it was natural in my memory. Then, finally everyone was in their rooms. I knew from past experience that I could call the nurses station with a headache and be released from my room to take medication.

I also knew that when Elizabeth was working, she would be comfortable enough with me to not follow the typical procedure of watching my every move. She fully trusted me. There had been occasions in the past where she and I would hang out and talk. She had even let me fold staff uniforms or empty trash cans sometimes when I couldn’t sleep. She had, on many occasions, left her teddy- bear keys on the hook, unattended. No other staff member would ever do such a thing. I hoped this would be the case tonight but I was prepared either way.

My fingers shook slightly as I hit the Nurse Call button. I knew that I had to get a grip on my nerves because this would be a surefire way to red flag myself.

Elizabeth answered. “Hey honey, you okay?” She asked.

“ I don’t know, I feel a little anxious tonight and have a terrible head ache….”, I answered. I used the anxious reference that I normally wouldn’t ever admit to because of the fear of increasing my medication. But, this time it wouldn’t matter because I would not be here tomorrow for the consequences of that. Hopefully, she would allow me more time out of my room because of that admittance. If so, this would be a lot easier.

I heard the buzz off my door being unlocked. I felt a sigh of relief as she held up a quiet finger and walked with me to her office area. This is what she did as to not alert the other patients who could be listening and question my privilege.

YES! I thought. One step closer. We both sat down. She began asking me what was bothering me and handed me a Tylenol. I answered her questions automatically as my mind was calculating my next step.

She continued talking, while filing papers and then the moment I had hoped for happened. She handed me the basket of staff scrubs to fold.

She smiled and said, “I do not hand you this because I don’t want to do them, you know, it is a good activity to make your refocus your mind and eliminate your anxiety….” She kind of laughed. She winked and said, “funny how scrubs can be of many uses, huh”?

I began folding the scrubs, “Thank you, so much”, I replied with the deepest meaning of that possible. She had NO idea just HOW useful scrubs could be.

The phone rang and without a thought, Elizabeth exited the room to answer it. Immediately, I spotted the teddy bear on her staff keys. I remembered the gold key was the key to the staff elevator.

My mind began racing with my heart. I was only steps from my self produced discharge.

All in the middle of a thousand thoughts I became aware of one issue that had not occurred to me. I didn’t want Elizabeth to suffer any consequences of my actions. Certainly, the blame would be all on her. This thought made me, for a moment, almost reconsider. But, I just couldn’t. I would contact the Administration and make it all okay for her somehow. Perhaps my family would do that for me.

I had to refocus. Time was precious. I over heard her still on the phone so I quickly grabbed the keys, cupping them whole to avoid the rattling sound. I began to wrap them in tape so I could put them in my bra without any noise. So far so good, I thought. Then I quickly took a pair of scrubs and wadded them into a ball. Then I carefully tucked them into the garbage can. I would offer to take the trash out and then…

I heard her begin to hang up from the call and head back to me.

She returned to her paperwork as I continued folding. She glanced up.

“Honey, you are sweating terribly…”, she noticed.

I shrugged my shoulders as if to signify there was no reason for concern.

She wouldn’t let it go.

“Maybe, I should take your blood pressure…” she suggested.

“No, its just my anxiety. I am fine.” I assured her.

This was making it even worse. I started feeling obvious. I was afraid if she took my blood pressure the result may read, “She is about to escape, watch out”.

“Maybe I should take the garbage out and walk it off…”, I suggested hopefully.

She returned with a “ I am concerned” and insisted on taking my blood pressure.

This was ruining everything, I thought.

She put her paper work down with a concerned look on her face and said she was going to get the Blood Pressure cuff.

I realized the keys were in my pocket and had a flash of this plan going terribly wrong, very soon if I did not hurry. I immediately took the scrubs from the garbage can. They were, of course, wet from a leaking beverage cup. I didn’t care.

 I tucked them as discreetly as I could into my pajama pants.

 She returned quicker than usual, with the cuff. Thankfully, she had not needed her keys. As she began to take my blood pressure, I saw her eyes fall down around my waist. I looked at what she was noticing through the mirrored walls beside me. The blue material from the scrubs was visible around my pajama waist line. So visible.

I was over come with fear. Yet, still more determined than ever.

Her facial expression revealed a look of question. I was certain she was about to confront me at the obvious sight of my blue scrubs material.

 She looked back down around my waist.  I could almost FEEL the blue material of the scrubs looking back at her almost asking her how she was doing tonight. I am so busted I thought.

She paused. She seemed lost in her thoughts.

“It has been really hard on you in here, hasn’t it….”

Quietly I replied almost with a guilty, “Yes ma’am.”

She secured the cuff onto my arm. She continued to take my pressure. She was not even looking at the results and almost seemed deeper in thought as she proceeded.

“You are going to be okay- you are on the right track…”, she said slowly.

Elizabeth was acting strange tonight I thought quietly inside my nervous brain.

“Follow your instincts and this will be easier on you”, she said with full conviction.

“Yes ma’am”, I replied. Whatever the hell that means, I thought.

The air was thick around us. I almost felt as if she was talking in code, revealing that I was doing the right thing by escaping….

I must be really losing it, I thought. I regained my rational composure.

She finished and then said,” it is fine. You are FINE, Miss Melissa.”

I looked over at the cuff reader and noticed there was no result read.

This was all so strange.

Suddenly, she said, “Will you excuse me a minute while I grab my water. Will you be okay, it may take me a minute- want me to grab you one?”

With an audibly quivering voice, I returned, “Yes, thank you.”

She stopped for a brief moment and winked with her compassionate eyes then she exited the room.

Although the moment experienced just then with Elizabeth was awkward, I couldn’t be distracted by dissecting her words and meanings. Game on. I had to be quick.

As soon as I heard her exit, I knew I had four minutes, maximum, to accomplish what I had to do next.

I began to exit the office from the back door. As I got up I saw her note pad. It was certainly hers because the top of it stated, “From the desk of Elizabeth Kovinski, R.N.”

I quickly took a pen and left a note to her.

“I am so sorry, Nurse Elizabeth. Please forgive me.”

Then, with the keys and the scrubs I made an extremely quick exit through the office.

The back side of the office hall was unfamiliar. I knew I had to avoid the front vending area, where she and any other staff might be. But, the elevators were near that area. I peeked behind a convenient column to check for any movement. Then a quick hop to the other column, and I waited for her to enter the front part of the office.

As soon as I heard the office door close, I knew it would be minutes before she noticed I wasn’t there. Then, it would be several more minutes of her searching for me until she noticed her keys missing and could call security. I ran on my tip toes of the rubber house shoes until I spotted the staff elevators. I heard the office door open again. I was struggling with the tape around the keys and finally decided to just chew it off.

It finally released and I tried the gold key, hurriedly, and it fit. The sound of the lock opening was my reassurance. I knew if I could EVEN get off of this floor I would be safe.

The elevators opened. I stepped in, pressing the “door close” button repeatedly until finally it closed. Rushes of emotions overcame me as I unrobed and clothed myself in the scrubs. I tucked my pajamas inside the tiny garbage dispenser of the elevator. I looked at all of the floor selections- 18 all the way to “L” for Lobby and decided going directly to the main lobby would certainly be questionable since there was not a lot of traffic at this hour.

I randomly chose the seventh floor.

I got off, found the nearest bathroom, used it then tried to freshen myself up. I knew to tear my hospital bracelet off and flush it. So, I did.

I waited in the stall to make sure no one was following me. I was church quiet except for the pounding heart beats that felt like they were shaking the stall partitions.

I was about to leave the restroom and finish my journey to my final escape on the lobby floor, when I heard the dreaded announcement. “Code Pink, I repeat Code Pink…”

Damn. That meant all of the elevator activity would be frozen for at least a while.

I remembered I was in scrubs.

Maybe I could pass as a tech? Luckily, off of the corner wing on the seventh floor was a hand held bandage cart left unattended by someone. I didn’t guess why or what it was for I just took it with me to the staircase. This prop will make me look more believable.

As I glanced down I saw an ID badge hanging on the inside. Could I be so lucky?

 I looked at the picture and the name. Tammy Lynn Christopher. She looked enough like me for it to work! After a more careful glance I noticed her eyes. Obviously, after careful review, she had a lazy eye. Her left eye looked into her nose as her right eye stared forward. Wow.

My breath and energy was becoming depleted by floor three. So I stopped there. Before exiting the stair, I peeked around. It looked like business as usual. I scoped the elevator to see if there was any movement going on and it seemed that the elevator was open for business so I hopped on.

Suddenly, I heard behind me, “Excuse me….are you from the 19^th floor”?

I was certain I was busted. My thoughts immediately went to a scenario where I pushed this woman and continued on because I WAS NOT STOPPING NOW.

She continued…,”Have y’all had any luck finding your patient yet”?

“No, I am still looking”, I said in my lowest register and most mature enunciation. She looked at me and I smiled nervously looking back at her. Carefully making sure one eyeball was looking at my nose while the other wandered around.

All the time hoping they would not stick and be forever that way. Damn Tammy Lynn Christopher eyes!

“Have a good day”, she said exiting the elevator.

WHEW! She thought I was staff. This gave me the confidence I needed to continue.

I boarded the elevator to the lobby floor. As the doors opened and I peered out, I noticed officers and security scattered all around. Obviously looking for a patient. They may be harder to fool, I thought. A security guard spotted me, I was sure of it. I carefully kept my Tammy Lynn eye on my nose.

I continued on to the lower level, assuming it was a garage. Maybe that would be easier. It HAD to be.

As the doors opened I peeked out to see noting. No movement and few cars. I suddenly felt the breeze from the night air caress my face. I took a deep breath in. It felt surreal. This was the OUTSIDE. The air crisp and so refreshing it almost made my lungs burn.

I felt freedom well within my grip.

It was a bit overwhelming. I was shaking as I continued walking towards the only exit I saw. Lost in my thoughts and soaking in what I had long forgotten, I was interrupted by brisk footsteps. It was a security guard. I started walking faster as did he. He said in a low voice, almost a whisper, “stop young lady, please stop.”

I continued walking and began crying because I knew he knew. I just can’t give up now I thought and started walking faster, so did he.

“MELISSA, STOP

His calling me by my name startled me into stopping. I slowly turned around to imagine him radio-ing the police and finally capturing me. He was out of breath. I would run quicker if that happened. I knew that I would not, could not stop. I was prepared to take anybody down that got in my way. I didn’t want to hurt anyone but, YES I WOULD.

To my surprise he was smiling, kindly, and had a piece of paper in his hand.

“Here”, he said. “ Damn, girl! You killin’ me. You runnin’ like the wind.”

Then he gently directed me by a tired shaking point to where I was headed, the exit.

 I did not question this as I followed. Then he slowly and compassionately handed me the piece of paper in his hand and he whispered, “Good Luck, little lady.”

WHAT JUST HAPPENED? I was bewildered and confused. It was almost like a dream that I was about to wake up from and be back on the 19^th floor.

But, I didn’t.

As I continued walking I opened the note. As I did, a ten dollar bill fell out. I picked it up, put it in my bra and continued to read the note.

I was so confused. The note read:

“ Melissa,

Whenever you read this you have left the unit. I am amazed at your strength. I don’t blame you at all. You did the only thing you could do. You see, when a certain organization realizes they have made a large error that could result in major legal consequences, they are careful to cover themselves. In other words, you might not have ever gotten out. As a minor, it was not legal for you to be held in a locked ward with only adults. The only exception is when there is serious circumstances, which never would have applied to you, honestly anyway. I do not know how you were able to ever be admitted, probably an oversight.  But, so you know, someone had called the Hospital Administrator and notified them that she was filing a suit on your behalf with the National Child Advocacy Center. It wasn’t me, though. Oddly, it was never filed, but caused the Administration great internal worry. It was a matter of time before your circumstances might have become very unfortunate. Sometimes, this place steals more sanity than it replaces. Across the street there is a Circle k. There is a payphone by the door. I will have contacted your Aunt Maggie by this time and she is expecting your call. She will meet you there. I had been expecting you to do this. Your Aunt Maggie said you would probably find your way out before she could get you out. She said you were the strongest and most brave little girl. I agree. You certainly are one of a kind. One day you will have a remarkable story to tell!  P.S. Don’t worry about taking my keys; they were intended to be your set, anyway.

Best wishes,

E.”

I was stunned.

I kept walking.

I saw Aunt Maggie’s car from the farthest distance. I guess Elizabeth called herself. I couldn’t sit still to wait on her to drive to me so I just started running. She stopped the car in what seemed like the middle of the road. She immediately jumped out and hugged me, sobbing.

We held each other for what seemed like hours. I was scared to let her go. She felt so much like home to me and smelled like the familiar scent of my Great Bonnie’s house. Normally, I hated the smell of cigarettes and “White Shoulders” perfume.

But, not today.

I felt like I could melt into her. I had never been so happy to be sitting in her Corolla.

The way home was full of more words than could be spoken. She said Mom was getting off work early and we all were gonna go to Great Bonnie’s and eat early breakfast. This all sounded so good I couldn’t even believe it. She was asking me all about every experience. I was trying to explain to her in between my own questions.

She explained how the whole family could not get me out, even mom.

The hospital paper work was legally binding. But, after my “friend” got in touch with the Advocacy Center, they were beginning to file a motion to have me released.

“…and all because of the bravery of your sweet friend, Lisa”, she finished.

“Lisa”? I didn’t even know a Lisa.

Aunt Maggie continued, “Yes sweetie. She knew you from up there. She called us and told us all about it, she said she couldn’t let it go until she knew we were on it. I assured her that we were. Honey, you KNOW us we have been crazy over all of this! Great Bonnie damn near got into it with the Mayor, Aunt Moonie almost lost her job, And…well anyway Praise Jesus!”

“What? I DON’T KNOW anyone by the name of Lisa, Aunt Maggie”.

“Hmmm. Maybe it wasn’t Lisa. All I know is that she said you two met up there and she…”

I interrupted her.

“Oh my God, it was Lexi.”

“Yes, Lexus, that was it .Like the car.”

I sat in silence the rest of the way home. I was overwhelmed by relief and a little sadness for Lexi. She was more brave than I was, obviously.

She was the one to really rescue me.

I decided that day I would rescue Lexi as well.

Maybe I would keep these scrubs. Just like Elizabeth said, “funny how they can be of many uses”……

We continued down the interstate home. I was so ready to see my family. My crazy, and sometimes Krazy family that I loved, even Mom. Maybe this experience had changed her in some ways. No more did that thought leave my mind, I began noticing car horns honking. Aunt Bea looked over at me, “Oh my Lord.”  We both laughed hysterically all the way home.

Everyone apparently was “horny” that day. Especially me.

Written  by: Melissa Shackelford Hinson Shackelford, 2012/2013