CHAPTER TWO

"How can something which happened over thirty years ago still affect me now? why do I hurt? The pain is real. This isn't just a dream!"

She explained that all of the feelings of hurt couldn't come out when I was little so, they remained inside gradually building slowly over the years like a pressure cooker until, they finally welled up like a bubble in the here and now.

After we had talked for a while, she went to the nurses' station to report. I felt a little bit better but, far from all right. I went into the patient lounge and the other patients who were worried about me gathered around to ask what happened. Although I didn't fully understand, I explained as fully as I could. They were impressed with the optimism that I conveyed because I would now be able to get the proper treatment now that they knew what was wrong with me.

The aspirin was taking effect and the pain was greatly diminished. I just tried to relax and watch some television with my fellow patients. I noticed several staff coming down the hallway toward the television room. Somehow, I knew they were coming for me and I again became anxious.

Indeed, they came directly to me. Barbara explained that it was nearly time for shift change so, Melissa, the head nurse, who was working a double shift, would be here if I had any more trouble that evening. I was also told that I must move out of my room at the end of the hall to one of the rooms directly across from the nurses' station. My spirits immediately dropped. I liked the room at the end of the hall. It was the only one with a private shower in the bathroom. I felt as though I was being punished and I couldn't figure out why. I thought that I had just had a great breakthrough and now to be punished? What for? It didn't make sense but, there were the two male mental health workers standing there with the nurses, obviously prepared to carry out the order no matter what my wishes.

Rather dejectedly, under the watchful eye of one of the staff, I packed up my belongings and moved to the new room. Near the nurses' station, there was a huge board with everyone's name on it that indicated such things as privilege levels. I noted that I had been dropped to the most restrictive; confined to the unit with fifteen minute checks, just like suicide watch. "Why?", I wondered. What was going on? What did I do so wrong^?

I lay down on my new bed and tried to relax and just accept the inevitable. However, I was feeling very anxious and the feelings were growing stronger by the minute. Suddenly, it started to happen again. I crawled under my coat and doubled over in pain.

My sense of time became distorted and I have no idea how much time passed in the present but, it was an eternity from my past. I was again about three years old. After being tied to a highchair, mom had tried to force feed me. When I was unable to eat, she untied me and punched me in the stomach repeatedly until I threw up.

When Melissa checked on me and found the state I was in, she gently urged me back into the present. We then went into the nurses lounge to have some privacy while we talked. She listened while I again related the story of my previous episode and she had a tear in her eyes. When I told her how mom had punched me in the stomach until I vomited, she finally understood the connections from earlier in the day. The bit of hair from the child's doll triggered the memory of my hair being pulled out during the first episode. The second episode was triggered by the nasty tasting belch at dinner time.

As I told her of my memories, I kept my head down. I was embarrassed at my inability to control these events and the feelings that went with them. When I did glance up and saw the tears in her eyes, I lost it. For the first time in many years, I cried. I sobbed like a baby because her tears somehow meant that she really cared. She could relate to my pain and was truly there to help me. This was more than just a job to her. She not only cared about people, she cared about me and my hurts.

I had so much pain and suffering stored up that it seemed like I just cried and cried for hours. Melissa was a great healer and she held my head and when I pulled back, she held my hand until I had released what seemed like years of suffering. I must have used up an entire box of tissue.

Several times, I felt guilty about letting this perceived weakness in my character be so openly revealed. I tried to stifle the emotions that were pouring out but, Melissa gently prodded me into not stuffing the feelings. At her delicate urging, I kept on crying until the flood of tears eventually seemed to come to a natural end. I was exhausted and she got a cold washcloth and helped wash my face. I wasn't very sure of myself and I questioned her motives so, I asked her why she cared. She said that she just liked to help people and that I obviously needed help. Her caring started the flood again.

Eventually, weary with all that had happened, I stopped crying and with her assistance, she helped me up and let me rinse my face. We talked a bit more about why my room was moved and why my privileges were reduced. She said that was done so that staff could be more readily available to me and so that they could protect me. I really was delusional. Although my parents were hundreds of miles away, I told my wife and the staff several times over the next few days that I was sure mom was going to get me. I believed I had seen her and I was also sort of breakthrough, I felt very betrayed when the psychiatrist refused to believe it.

All of the hurt and mistrust came rushing back. I fell into a severe depression again and the suicidal impulses returned with a vengeance. I had opened up enough to trust the staff, only to have that trust shattered by the doctor. While I had previously had some contact with psychiatrists, I was soon to embark upon a new episode of abuse which must be overcome before I could even start the oddest toward my own recovery from the damage of my past.

My insurance was running out and coincidentally, the doctor was preparing to go on vacation. Since these two events were so closely timed, I was quickly becoming a liability. As the clock was running down on my life, the doctor was making plans for my disposition. The choices were few. I could either be discharged or I could be sent to the state psychiatric hospital indefinitely. He chose to wash his hands of my case by discharge and then off he went on his vacation. I was again abandoned as I had been so many times before as a child.

It was very hard to say good-bye to the staff and my fellow patients. They had all witnessed the breakthroughs and the pain I was going through. At times, my sense of self destruction took some very twisted turns. I scalded myself in the shower. Sometimes, I scrubbed my face so hard that the skin came off leaving my face a mask of scabs. The staff knew that I was
merely struggling with a hurtful mom from the past and trying to maintain some connection with the present.

Everyone else felt so optimistic that I could be helped that they also had a difficult time saying good-bye when the time came. It seemed that everyone but the doctor knew what would happen once I was left to my own on the outside. However, the doctor had the final say in the matter. It was a very tearful farewell.