The Camaraderie Is Inconsistent at Best
I assumed friendships would spawn quickly and I would be received warmly, as another soldier in the army of the mentally misguided. Unfortunately, lots of mental patients have social anxiety, or even worse, compulsive violent outbursts.
For example, with Tony it took three weeks to get even marginally close. He admitted to being “born shy.” Which made it strange when he stabbed me with a pencil, narrowly missing an artery in my leg. Later, he confessed he believed I was a messenger from hell. With his conflicting medications for sadism and bipolar disorder, our friendship was difficult, and, as I said, inconsistent at best.
Staff Psychologists Don’t Try to Have Sex With You as Often as You’d Think
This was particularly frustrating. My mental health was superb coming in, so if a doctor had been the slightest bit of an opportunist, there was plenty to prey on. Still, I got nothing. There was no “Let down your guard, Chris” or “You need to loosen up.” Or “Your sublimation is overwhelming your responses. Should we just have sex to help you let it out?” Maybe these doctors should just admit their own pent-up sexual desires. How long will the dam hold? We all need to feel wanted.
The Food Really Is Pretty Decent
I watch what I eat and had reservations about food in a mental institution. Surely, I thought, people whacked out on behavior-altering drugs and consumed with self-doubt wouldn’t have much time to worry about their diet. I was mostly wrong. For one, the food is generally good. Often it’s aesthetically stimulating, balanced in both flavor and color. This, I assume, is to convey balance in life, which we should all strive for. Eating right also can stimulate the mind, though stimulating the minds of active schizophrenics still seems odd. If I ran a mental hospital, the patients would mostly get Top Ramen to save costs, and because it is generally uninspiring, though it can look like a brain. For mental patients to ponder the state of their own brains, I suppose, could be healing. It also affords them the opportunity to visually grasp their own lobotomies.
Suicidal People Tend to Be Downers
I always considered suicide to be a spontaneous thing, at least when done efficiently—like misdirected second-degree murder, a crime of passion against oneself. The propensity for an outburst, however, is not easy to see or diagnose. Most of the suicidal people I met were quiet, adrift in their own depressing world. Maybe thinking about killing yourself depresses people?
The collective pondering of lifelessness makes mental institutions miserable. In fact, they can be so gloomy you wonder how people can stay, or show optimism at all. At least I didn’t see any of those annoying “cry for help” cases. What would they do, cry for more help? Man, what more do you want, you’re in a hospital. That would just be selfish.
Straitjackets Are Bad, but Only Because of the Itching
This is true. I wanted a taste of the strait jacket. I was curious. Like doing Disneyland without hitting Pirates of the Caribbean, no trip to the loony would be complete without some bondage. To get that, I had to feign crazy. I pulled out “old reliable,” acting like Siamese twins fighting over an itch. When that failed to draw the attention of supervisors, I downed sixteen Paxil, which I’d won in a poker game with a flush. Worked like a charm. They put me in a jacket and I guess I even looked crazy with all the thrashing around, but that was because the wool irritated my chest hair. Perhaps the Paxil heightened my senses, or maybe I should have shaved my chest. Anyone can be fanatical with an untended itch.
Extremely Limited Fashion Sense
There is something maddening about monotonous, boring clothes. The state-issued attire is generally drab, certainly nothing to write home about, assuming I was allowed a pencil. In color, they consisted mainly of whites and grays. Occasionally some dark green. Jeans were common as well, but without belts, a fashion no-no when they can be used to kill someone. In my day I’ve been called eclectic in my fashion sense. I even cross-dressed before Boy George got hot. None of that here. This was just another place where I did not fit in. Further, the slippers and belt-less pants limited accessorizing.
You May Find It Somewhat Difficult to Leave
People in mental hospitals are pretty normal. In fact, they’re just like my family. They’re quiet, or loud, moody, addicted to drugs. They hold grudges. They have all of our tendencies, but they recognize their problems and want to fix them. Either that or they’ve been committed for psychotic behavior, attempted murder without motive, schizophrenia, paranoia, or multiple-personality disorder.
The main problem in trying to leave is convincing people you don’t need to be there after committing yourself and displaying many of the same traits as the other patients. I’m working on it.
