I was on my way to the state hospital. I had finally experienced a flashback that lead to a correct diagnosis. I was depressed, not because of any biochemical imbalance but, because of post-traumatic stress as a result of being severely physically, sexually and emotionally abused as a child. However, my insurance was due to run out and my doctor was going on vacation so he signed the commitment papers to be rid of me.

I rode in the back of the ambulance for the five hour trip. One of the attendants drove while the other sat in the back with me to keep me from committing suicide. I had been so angry about the situation that just prior to leaving the hospital, I had told them I would kill myself if they tried to put me in the state hospital. I had no other threat that I could give that would have any meaning and this threat was the one that they could use against me. I couldn't win.

I slept on the gurney for part of the trip and just sat in the back for some of it. I carried on a conversation about the weather and other mundane things with the attendants because it made no sense to be angry at them. They were just doing their jobs and they weren't responsible.

When we got there, they held my arms to assure that I wouldn't escape until I had been properly handed over and made the responsibility of the state hospital. I immediately asked for use of a phone to call my wife. I was told I would have to wait until I was on the unit. I sat through a couple of hours of paperwork. I had nothing to eat on the trip and I told the secretary I was hungry. She called and checked with the unit. Apparently, I had missed dinner and would just have to wait. The secretary then asked another secretary to get me some crackers from the vending machine. The other secretary also had a half a sandwich left from lunch and at least it quelled my hunger.

After I was assigned to a unit, I was told to leave my things at the desk. I was frisked and escorted to a car by a security guard. He put me in the back and drove me to the unit. He left me to sit while he went ahead to report that I had arrived at the unit and to sign me in. I was released from the car and escorted in by three staff.

Since my papers hadn't arrived from administration yet and would not arrive until the next day, I had to sit through another two hours of intake and repeat all of the responses I had already given so the unit could start a file on me. I sat in a back room and couldn't see much of the unit. I was very tired but, I had to be properly processed in. The evening staff read me the rules and I was searched again. The staff debated whether to put me into hospital pajamas and gown right in front of me as though I weren't there. Finally, my things arrived and those were searched in front of me. My stuff was sorted into two piles -- one I would be allowed to use and another that was to be locked up. I was baffled at the arbitrary nature of their selection process. I had brought all of the stuff directly from the other hospital and had kept it all with me for over three weeks.

By the time they finished processing me, it was about ten o'clock and lights out time. I had asked to use the phone and was told that I would have to receive permission from my doctor the next day.

I asked for food and was told the kitchen had shut down for the evening and would have to wait for breakfast. I was placed on suicide precautions and was to be watched constantly until otherwise ordered by my doctor. I was to check in at the desk every fifteen minutes and never to be out of sight. I was to ask permission to go to the bathroom and would be escorted. If I didn't follow these rules, I would get in trouble and suffer very severe consequences. Judging from the screams coming from down the long corridor, I didn't even want to know what those consequences might be. I asked for the clothes they had just sorted and said I could keep. They asked what I wanted them for. I told them I wanted to take them to my room. When they told me where my room was, I took the few belongings I was allowed and checked out the room. It was barren and cold with only a single sheet. When I went out to request a blanket, they asked where I had been. I told them I had just taken my belongings to my room as previously stated and they were angry because they claimed they hadn't given me permission and threatened serious consequences. I was very frightened. They chuckled to themselves and told me that they would overlook it this time because it was late and I was new.

Since I usually did not go to bed until after one a.m. I asked if I could watch television to see the news. They said the television was shut off at ten p.m. which was the usual bedtime. So, I joined a couple of others who were still up and we sat in silence and smoked. I watched the change of shift and had to meet the over night nurses. They called my attention to the smoking policy. Smoking was allowed at night only if it did not disturb the other patients. I was grilled for about a half hour and given the rules again and threatened with consequences if I didn't obey. I quietly sat and smoked to relax after a very frightening day and after about an hour, one of the nurses came over and told me to go to bed. I asked to stay up because I didn't feel sleepy after such a difficult day and she said I must go to bed immediately. I did but, I couldn't sleep so I got up to go to the bathroom and then I went into the dayroom to have another cigarette. The nurse was outraged. I had not asked permission to go to the bathroom and she said I couldn't have another cigarette. When I pointed out that the rules said I cold smoke as long as I didn't disturb the other patients, she raged at me stating I was being manipulative and that I would be reported if I didn't go to bed immediately.

I asked for a blanket and was, after some reluctance provided with a rag worn threadbare by repeated washing. I was told to take good care of it because it hadn't officially been issued to me. The staff person who gave me this small treat was trying to present themselves as particularly nice for doing me this great favor. I was cold, tired, hungry and frightened. I spent a long time thinking about the events of the day. The screams still echoed from down the hall and I was beginning to assimilate all that had happened. The staff were trying to keep me alive and I was just trying to survive. With their gestapo tactics, I knew it would be a tough battle. If I weren't crazy or suicidal when I arrived, I knew that I very well could be if I were ever to leave. Just before bed, I had walked the corridors and knew that one of the biggest things I missed was the ability to walk without bumping into a wall or turning a corner. By the time I drifted off to sleep, the worst of the screams from down the hall had died down.

In the morning, I was awakened by an attendant banging on the metal frame of the bed. He shouted that I had fifteen minutes to get up, use the bathroom and vacate the room for the day. I hustled and got ready to face the day. The dayroom was buzzing with activity. Most of the other patients were already in the dayroom and those who weren't were being made ready by the staff. Apparently, several patients had physical disabilities and needed assistance. When I noticed several people in line by one of the doors, I asked a fellow patient what was going on. They shushed me and said it was the breakfast line. I got in line too. After standing in line for about an hour, the door opened and the line started to move. I was nearly half way to the door when one of the staff grabbed my arm and pulled me aside. He asked what I thought I was doing. When I said I was in line for breakfast, he was upset and asked who had given me permission to get in that line. I told him about how I had very little to eat the day before and was told the line was for breakfast. He said that since I hadn't been cleared by the doctor yet, I wasn't allowed to leave the dayroom area and that someone else would have to bring me a tray. He told one of the other staff how many trays were needed and to have some of the patients carry them back. Forty-five minutes were allowed for breakfast and it was over a half hour before my tray arrived. I contained a small scoop of powered eggs, a piece of dry toast and a small container of milk. I wolfed down the meager meal in the few remaining minutes of breakfast time remaining and I sat with the others who had trays brought to them.

After breakfast, there was nothing to do so I just sat and watched the other patients. They also just seemed to sit and pass the time. One young man ran around with an imaginary gun shooting everyone. He was frightening because of his loud and excited state. There were a couple who just stood or sat and drooled over themselves. A few were in wheelchairs and strapped in. The staff ignored all of us and were busily shuffling papers behind the desk. Only when there was an unusual commotion down the hall did one of the staff pay any attention. Apparently, one young woman had escaped notice and had gone into the bathroom and cut herself and was bleeding down her arms. Several staff went running down the hall and dragged the woman out to the day room area. They washed her arms and wrapped them in cloth and strapped her to the chair by a pole in the center of the room. She pleaded to be released but was left strapped to the pole until her doctor could see her.

One of the other women explained to me that she does this all the time. I could see her heavily scarred arms in the places where the cloth covering missed. The woman patient told me that being strapped into the chair and tied to the pole was a favorite punishment of the staff. It was usually effective because of the humiliation of being trussed up in open view of the other patients. The staff also used restraints, shackles and even strait jackets but couldn't in the case of the woman currently tied up because she was on such heavy doses of medication that she often had seizures and might fall and hurt herself.

I spent the remainder of the morning talking with my new friend. It was hard to ignore the screams of the other patients but, they were all nearly drowned out by the cries of the tied woman. She had to go to the bathroom and begged and pleaded as loud as she could to be escorted to the bathroom. The staff ignored her even after she wet herself. They only once shouted back that since she couldn't be trusted in the bathroom, she would have to sit there until the staff were finished with their paperwork and they could escort her to the bathroom. Several of the patients sat in the other half of the room staring at the blank television. My new friend said that some were too far gone on the medications to notice the television was off and others were just reserving their seats for later.

A few hours later, most of the others were in line for lunch. I sat with my new friend in her wheelchair and we waited for our trays. She said that she had been there for several months and although she had been in an auto accident, her doctor thought she was faking so, until she got out of the wheelchair, she would remain on the unit. Lunch was a single piece of balogna on two stale pieces of bread, a couple of wilted carrot sticks and another small carton of milk. My friend explained that the hospital saved money by skimping on breakfast and lunch and that dinner was more substantial. She could always tell when we were going to receive important visitors because lunch was better then to fool the guests but, we paid for it by having smaller meals for the next few days.

In the afternoon, the "good humor" lady came by. She was the occupational therapist. While others were given simple tasks to do, I was interviewed. She told me she had to perform an assessment on me. I looked around at the others and the tasks they were doing and in my most bored fashion, I told her that I had been a boy scout and cub scout and a troop leader and had performed so many of the simple tasks so often that I really wasn't interested in anything she had to offer. She then insisted that it was her job to do an assessment anyway so, I ran down my psychiatric history again and wondered what most of the questions had to do with my ability to glue popsicle sticks together. After she left, I was joined by another person who was the recreational therapist. She went over the same stuff I had covered three times previously. She wanted me to play badminton when I was well enough to go out into the fenced in enclosure. I repeated that I wasn't interested in anything this place had to offer. When she seemed offended, I politely stated that I had been a long distance track star in high school and I had held many responsible jobs my whole life. I had graduated with honors from college and had been student body president. I found nothing interesting or stimulating in any of the choices they offered and was really quite put off that they were treating me so childishly. I stated that I only wanted to be released and left alone. She took copious notes during my explanation and seemed to be satisfied when she finally went away.

I had asked everyone I met on staff to allow me to use the phone. I was told by all that I had to wait and ask my doctor. When asked when I could see my doctor, they all said they didn't know. Just as the physical therapist was finishing up her ten page report, I was asked to see the head nurse. I again went through my entire history as many more pages were filled. I already had a fairly thick file.

Late in the afternoon, I finally met my doctor. She was a small, young woman. She wore her lab coat with authority though. I again went through my history with great attention to detail. I was interested in studying her. Since she seemed to hold the power in this place, I thought it would be good to know more about her.

She proceeded to give me an MSE (mental status exam). I had heard all of this before and knew the correct responses which I gave. I also learned from the proverbs she chose that she had gone to school in the midwest and was new to psychiatry within the past five years. When I shared this insight with her, she was astounded but regained her composure quickly. She tried to take control of the session again and asked how I knew this information (which was correct). I refused to respond because it doesn't bode well for those who know more than their doctor in these places. She started asking questions about thoughts; thought control, thought insertion, mind reading, etc. to see if I had been guessing and by a correct guess might be sucked into revealing a system of delusions. When she had enough, she summarily dismissed me. Before I left though, I asked if I could use the phone. She didn't ask why. She seemed astonished that I was still there after she had made my dismissal so obvious. She said, without looking up, that we would talk about it. When I asked when, she really seemed flustered. She apparently wasn't used to being asked questions by patients and nervously glanced at her watch to reinforce the idea that she was busy and had others to see and they were waiting. Eventually, she gained enough composure to ask why. When I responded that I wanted to call my wife, she seemed very surprised. She didn't realize I was married and then asked a few questions about my marital relationship. Apparently, from the nature of the questions, she wanted to feel assured that I wasn't going to go berserk by talking with my wife. Although still unsatisfied, she said she would make a note in my chart and that I could check with staff later.

When I left the doctor, I joined my friend in the day room. We were soon joined by another woman. She was also new to the unit. She had just transferred over from forensic. She had injured her husband after catching him with another woman and she was convicted of attempted murder but, due to a plea bargain of temporary insanity, she went to the state hospital. She had been there for many years.

She was still very angry and bitter. She wasn't angry at her husband anymore. She was mad because she had been in captivity longer than if she had gone to prison. However, she had learned, as did the rest of us, that you must never show your true feelings to staff. If you laugh or cry, it will be considered proof that you are crazy. Depending upon your diagnosis, you will either be considered as laughing too loud or too hard or giggling inappropriately or, if you don't laugh, your affect will be too flat. The same applies to crying or other expression of any emotion. The label determines what gets charted and your behavior just proves how correct they are in writing how sick you are.
We all had to learn to only express ourselves minimally and then only with caution when the staff were not looking. We observed the young woman still strapped in the punishment chair. It was now the second day. We talked of her youth and the fact that she still hadn't learned to stifle herself when staff were around. She hadn't learned to play the game. She would. The staff could outlast her.

We studied the other patients and wondered if the young woman would turn out as some of the others had. Some had retreated into their own worlds, never to emerge again. Others were so dead that all the fight was gone forever. Some like ourselves had learned to keep our humanity bottled up inside and never let the staff see. We still retained our humanity but kept it on hold. We wished that the young woman could have enough strength to learn to bottle up her feelings until staff weren't watching. We hoped the young woman could learn to be a survivor before it was too late and she became too thoroughly brainwashed. If she surrendered, she wouldn't survive and she would be lost forever.

Eventually the subject turned to the staff. We shared our experiences with various doctors, hospitals and staff. They were slightly amazed that I had gotten to my psychiatrist. Usually, she was pretty much of a hard case. They laughed at how I had surmised so much from the proverbs. I then shared how to perform serial sevens backward form one hundred. I told them my trick was to subtract ten and add three. Therefore, each first digit went down by one and the second digit went up by three. I drew it on paper and they understood. I told them that they could easily subtract if the last digit was 7,8,9 or 0. Once they grasped the concept, they were thrilled. It was so easy to go from 100 to 93, 86, 79, 72, 65, 58, 51, 44, 37, 30, 23, 16, 9, and 2. We practiced until dinner. I told them that a favorite trick of the doctors was to change the first number to 101 or to ask for serial eights. Using the same technique, we practiced until we could all rattle off the numbers very fast. Pretty soon, others were joining us. They immediately recognized what we were doing and soon, just about everyone was practicing various combinations. It was great fun and seemed to boost morale just to have something this good as a secret from the stuffy doctors and other staff.

Finally, dinner time rolled around and I stood in line. As before, I was pulled out of line and when I said I had seen my doctor that day, they told me to sit and they would check my chart. I sat and waited. I waited and I waited. Dinner trays came for the others who could not leave the unit and still I waited. Finally, I got up and asked staff again. Apparently, they had forgotten me. So, after a hasty look at my ever growing chart, they delegated one of their own to escort me. He wasn't too happy about taking just one person and having to leave his precious paperwork. We went through the locked door and just up one flight of stairs. I turned out that the unit I was on had another identical unit on the second floor. I hadn't even known there was a second floor. The staff escorted me to the staff table and told those sitting there that I was to join the group for dinner and he left. The other staff at the table just looked at me with a mixture of curiosity and contempt and said tersely to find another patient to show me what to do. I asked at a couple of table and someone finally agreed to show me. It wasn't that the other patients were unfriendly. It was that they were scared that if a new person messed up, they might get blamed by the staff.

The brave volunteer lead me to the miniature cafeteria style line and showed me how to get a tray, silverware, and paper napkin. Then I proceeded down the food line. There were grilled ham and cheese sandwiches, cole slaw, tuna fish and Jell-O for dessert. There was a juice dispenser with only the orange juice side working but I was grateful for something other than lukewarm milk. I quietly asked about seconds and my escort said they allowed seconds if you finished everything else first and on time. Also, you had to show the staff your tray to confirm that you had eaten all the first time and then, you had to get permission which was sometimes denied.

I was watched very carefully by staff. After a short conference, one got up and came over. He seemed angry. He growled at me and asked where I had received permission to eat with the metal silverware. I told him I had just picked up what was there. He made a tsk, tsk sound and said that the staff had asked each other and none seemed to recall that I had been taken off of suicide precautions, so I had to eat with plastic. I quickly finished under his watchful eye and skipped seconds. Somehow, in my fear, I had lost my appetite. I returned the tray and the silverware with the staff person carefully counting my single fork and spoon and we returned with the group downstairs.
That evening, the atmosphere changed dramatically. When I asked why, one of my new friends said that Chris was working. Apparently, he was one of the good guys. He opened the pool room and allowed us to play billiards. Since I still hadn't called home, this seemed like a good time to ask. I did and I finally was able to call my wife. We were both in tears but, I had to keep mine hidden from staff. I asked how it was going in getting legal help to get out and told her the place was a horror show and that if I didn't get out soon, I'd go crazy. I asked about the kids and kept returning to getting out. She was frantic but, kept reassuring me that she was doing all she could. I kept telling her how miserable and oppressive it was there. I told her about how the staff kept changing the smoking rules and how everything seemed to be done on a whim designed to break our spirit through the inconsistencies. I told her how the staff did little things just so you couldn't do anything right and thus batter you into submission by psychologically abusing you. My wife cried and bemoaned her helplessness. I told her I'd call again tomorrow and said good-bye. I quickly composed myself and went looking for my friends to pass the evening hours.

Just as I got to the table, I was called over to the nurses station. The head nurse asked me to sit and answer a few questions. It turned out that I was not quite through with paperwork for the day. She had to do an assessment also. I again went through the usual history. I covered the work and psychiatric history. She asked more pointed questions because, she had the advantage of having read my file first and saw the assessments done by others throughout the day.

Apparently, I was getting into too much trouble. When I inquired, what trouble, she responded that I hadn't eaten enough dinner for starters. She said that I shouldn't have left the unit for dinner. I shouldn't have given the previous evening shift a hard time about smoking. I shouldn't have used a blanket that hadn't been issued to me, making more cleaning work for the laundry crew.

I shouldn't have done so many things that I soon understood that nothing I could do was right and that every move I made had not only been carefully watched but documented permanently to prove my sickness. Finally, I shouldn't have been on the phone and she asked what had happened on the phone to upset me so much. I told that it was just that I missed my family so much. She then asked about medication. I told her I wouldn't take any since I had recently discovered the true nature of my distress. She told me that the doctor had ordered medication for me and that I should take it. Again I refused and she continued to try and persuade me with her tone getting more and more threatening and angry. Finally, she dismissed me so suddenly that I was surprised. As I rejoined my friends, I kept casting a wary eye toward the nurse. I was afraid that in her anger, I would suffer some consequences. Finally one of my friends told me to stop looking at her. If I continued to glance in the direction of the nurse, I would be considered paranoid. I quickly focused on the card game at the table but, I was sure that everyone could see me visibly shaking with fear.

It rolled around to ten and bedtime. Since Chris was working, we were allowed to stay up and smoke. He joined us and told us that since all the real crazies were in bed, we could stay up for a bit as long as we were very quiet. By then, I didn't trust anyone on staff but, I welcomed the chance to adhere to my usual schedule. I didn't know if Chris was playing good cop, bad cop or what. It would turn out eventually that he was just another regular staff and this was his way of getting us to open up and be more honest. When we went to bed, he would write in our charts anything we revealed in our momentary lapse and this would be used against us just as would any other items noticed by other staff. I grew to hate Chris more than the others because at least the other staff were openly oppressive while Chris was devious. Chris, by being nice on the surface would give a bit of hope and then watch while that spark of hope was dashed.

When I went to bed that second night, I was so exhausted that I fell right to sleep. Even the screams didn't keep me up. I had already grown somewhat used to them. As I drifted off, I thought about all that had happened and realized that if I didn't get out soon, I'd be lost like some of the others. I had already begun to wonder if I had the strength to be a survivor. My final thought was a chuckle about how I had taught the other patients to perform serial sevens. Maybe I would survive after all.

The next day was more of the same except that the assessments were done by interns. I was also pressured into taking the drugs. I didn't give into the pressure but it was relentless throughout the day. The only variation in the daily routine was that it was shower day. The young woman with the scars on her arms was released and during her shower she found a comb and cut her arms again. She was placed into the punishment chair again after being out for only a few hours. It seemed that this was her way of fighting and showing the staff that she still had some control over herself. I wanted to go and ask her but, my friends warned me that it was against the rules to talk to someone in the punishment seat and that I would be punished in a similar way by being tied to the other pillar in the room.

The next day, I did get to ask and the young woman said that this was her way of fighting the emotional pain she felt and getting back at staff. I could relate. I had injured myself in small ways to divert my attention from my emotional pain. I likened it to stubbing a toe when you suffer from a headache. The pain in your toe makes you forget the headache. She also said that by keeping staff busy minding her, she was getting their attention diverted from the rest of us so we could get a break. I thanked her but, wondered if that was really wise that she should suffer so. She said she didn't mind too much and it allowed her the opportunity to laugh and cry and scream and feel better when she was attached to the pole and she felt it was a fair trade off for her. It all made so much sense. We laughed, me a little and her a lot when she pointed out how she was manipulating staff and getting even without them even knowing it.

The afternoon of the fourth day, I had a staffing. I went into a room and found myself directed to take a seat at one end of a very long table. I was alone at one end and at least eight staff were at the other end. They spent half an hour discussing my case with my doctor leading the discussion. Then, I was invited to join the discussion and respond. It was very intimidating. These strangers, who knew nothing about my life were about to pass judgment on me. My fate was in the hands of these people who saw pathological signs in every action. In college I had faced stern panels but, never anything quite so frightening as this. I hardened myself to show as little fear as possible and we proceeded.

They had my thick chart sitting in front of them like an open indictment of my life. They started with another mental status exam. Apparently, they wanted to check something. I might have done too well on the first or else, maybe they wanted to see how well I was able to respond under the pressure of so many carefully watching eyes. I did very well. They then asked why I had attempted suicide and ended in the hospital. I responded that I had behaved stupidly. They bought this answer even though I was responding to the part about landing in a hospital and they heard the response as an answer to the suicide attempt. They asked if I wanted to leave. I said that I did and they immediately countered with my threat of suicide just before being transported to the state hospital. I said I had only issued the threat as a threat and not something to be acted upon. They confronted me again with my past suicide attempts. I thought quickly and as smoothly as I could, I said that I had changed my mind about suicide because the trauma of being so suddenly separated from my family had made me realize how much I loved them, missed them and would hurt them by my death. This seemed barely plausible to the group and they continued to grill me for over an hour. They would take turns asking questions and kept returning to check what I said about committing suicide. There were questions of the sort included in a mental status exam interspersed with questions about my work history. The recreational and vocational counselors asked questions about their respective areas of concern. These questions were followed with thinly veiled threats such as, what will you do for recreation if you are here for a long time. How will you occupy your time over the next nine months? I carefully deflected those questions with my hope that I wouldn't be here that long. They reminded me that the decision was not mine, but theirs alone and they must be absolutely convinced. The unstated threat here was that nothing I could say would convince them. I then asked when I could be released. They said that they would have to discuss it and they would meet with me again in a week or so.

I was shaken to realize that my case wouldn't even be considered for another week but, I realized how lucky I was. Some of the others on the unit only had their case heard once a month. It was easy to tell those patients. They were the ones who begged the doctor for a moment of her time every time she passed through the unit. After I was dismissed from the staffing, I realized how lucky I had been. They had asked the kind of double bind questions that trapped just about everyone and somehow I had almost instinctively survived. They asked the type of question such as, "have you stopped beating your wife?" These questions produce the double bind of having no correct answer. If you respond yes, then that means you did beat your wife and if you answer no, it means you still do. I responded to this type of question with answers like, "I can hardly have stopped a practice in which I never indulged." I felt very lucky to have escaped their traps but, I was still trapped in the worst of hell-holes for at least another week. Again, there was no way to win against this system of oppression.

Later when I checked, I found out that I had been taken off of suicide watch and could therefore eat with most of the others. I also could use the telephone. Although I was happy for these privileges, I realize how absurd it was that I should be happy that these people had granted me such little concession as my basic right to use the phone. Use of the phone was supposed to be a right not a privilege and I should have felt angry that I was being treated so badly. It only proved to me how oppressive they were that I felt the opposite of what was normal because of their brainwashing and intimidation. I faced life on the unit with just as much pressure to become compliant and surrender my will to theirs by taking the drugs they were constantly pushing. I didn't feel wrong and I knew it so I didn't give in to them. I didn't want to fog my mind and become a walking zombie like some of the others on the unit. The drugs seemed to be solely for the convenience of the staff. They not only robbed the patients of their soul, they made people more compliant -- i.e., more susceptible to their brainwashing. Those who gave in would become so dependent on their fix of mind numbing drugs that they would not only give up hope of ever leaving, they wouldn't know or remember how to survive if they did leave.

I called my wife with mixed feelings of happiness that I had passed a test in the staffing and yet with some despair that I might be in here even longer. She had good news and bad news. The good news was that she had reached legal aid and connected with a lawyer who would help. He had referred her to another attorney in Pueblo who also worked for legal aid. The bad news was that since it was coming up on a weekend, he wouldn't be able to see me for another few days. Everything in my small world of living on the unit seemed to have a good side and a bad side. I could take the drugs and seen through a haze, the unit could be more tolerable. On the other hand, I could retain my senses and the pain and suffering would be felt full force. There is simply no way to win in a situation like this.

My wife again cried because there was nothing more she could do. I, on the other hand had already learned to very carefully moderate my feelings to guard them against the staff. Like the lie that was everything else on the unit, feelings that were seen were only a lie. The staff accused the patients of delusion but, it was the staff that were fooling themselves that they were there to help and could actually, by their horrible practices help anybody.

To aid the attorney, when he contacted me, I began to take notes. This was a dangerous practice. The staff became very nervous about being observed by someone else. It was okay for them to observe others because, it was what they believed was their job. But, when someone else observed them, it was paranoia. I took the chance because, I felt that it could work to my benefit if it got me out even one day sooner. The next several days blended together in a blur of insanity -- not from me or the other patients, but from the crazy and arbitrary ways of the staff.

The only relief was when I called my wife for updates on the situation with the attorney. Several days later, I was thrilled when she reported having actually spoken with him. He would see me soon and if I were as together as I she had told him, my release would soon follow. A very disturbing event happened on the outside. My wife said she would come to visit but, she would be coming with my brother. I was shocked. How had he found out where I was. He was part of the horrid family I had left behind in Ohio and I had broken off contact with them several years before.

The family I left behind in Ohio was the perpetrators of the physical, sexual and emotional abuse that had so recently been recalled in a painful flashback. They were directly responsible for my suicide attempts which were designed to end my emotional suffering. It turned out that the hospital had searched my wallet under the guise of looking for an insurance card. They had found my mother's phone number and called her without my knowledge. I was outraged. They had called, without my permission or knowledge, the person who was the source of my emotional distress. I felt an even greater sense of violation than I had previously believed possible. Apparently, out of some sense of perverse curiosity, my mother had sent my younger brother to spy on me. I had to be very careful not to let my emotions show to any of the staff when I was perhaps so close to being released. I had to stifle and let my wife visit with my brother.

When she saw me in that place, she cried. She observed first hand what I had been describing. When she wanted to tell the staff off, I had to stifle her because, they would only take it out on me after she left. She had nightmares about that place for the next ten years. It only took one glance for my wife to realize that I was ready to strangle my brother and everything he represented to me. So, she very carefully manipulated herself between him and me. I didn't want her to leave. She was the only sane thing in an insane place and yet, I couldn't wait for my brother to be gone.

A couple of days later, I was scheduled for another staffing in the afternoon. Before that time however, the attorney arrived. I was bursting with excitement but, he kept me at arms length and told me to keep cool. I immediately understood. It wouldn't do to give the staff reason to hold me when I was so close. I mustn't get too visibly excited. I patiently waited while I watched the attorney perform his magic. He wasn't intimidated by the staff at all. The staff were visibly upset when he demanded to see my chart. They tried everything they could to obstruct him from viewing my chart but he became even more insistent. Finally, he demanded to see my doctor. When she finally arrived, he demanded to see me in private as provided for in the law. She didn't seem to know how to handle someone who stood up to her and questioned her authority. She finally relented and I leaped for joy inside. I had just witnessed a victory over a bully by my advocate.

We met in a private room and he asked me a few questions and then suddenly asked how soon my wife could come and get me. I was going to be released. He knew it from the moment he looked at my chart. I said that she could be down in the morning and then we sat and talked for a little bit. I asked him what I had done to be released. He then showed me my chart with the warning that I wasn't supposed to see it and I must not let the staff know. He explained that I had done so well on the mental status exam that there was no legal reason to hold me. I showed no evidence of mental illness that would hold up in court. In fact, I had done better in taking the mental status exam than most doctors would and he said that he would love to get them to face the same type of questioning on the stand. He had done this before and none of them had ever done serial sevens as fast as I had. We joked about how this might mean that I was more sane than the doctors and others running the hospital. He said it would take about a half an hour to convince the doctor to release me and that I could then call my wife and be released as soon as she could get me. I thanked him and told him I would be patient while he dealt with the details.

My wife cried with joy when I called her and said she would be down in the morning. I remained calm, not quite believing it was true that I would be leaving here. Within the hour, the nurse called me over and said I could leave in the morning and that I could have open grounds privileges for the rest of the day. Another nurse called me over for my staffing and I refused. She became outraged and began ranting and raving until the other nurse told her I was going to be discharged. The nurse who was upset remained upset because I had spoiled her routine. I didn't care and when I went outside, I was thrilled. I was tempted to run but, I was sure it would be viewed as an escape and I would then be held again on new grounds. I didn't want to give these people any possible reason to hold me for even one moment longer. Being outside in the sun for the first time in over a week triggered a migraine headache. When I went back in, I reluctantly asked if I could go to my room and lie down. The staff sensed that they still had some power over me and the ability to make my life miserable. They said the rule was no one in the rooms during the day. I went to one of the more sympathetic staff and asked if I could go to one of the seclusion rooms where it was dark and quiet. They agreed but, only if I were stripped and put in restraints. They explained that those were rules governing the use of seclusion rooms. I knew this was a lie but, I couldn't fight the made up, arbitrary rules of the staff. So, I just suffered. One of the fellow patients whom I hadn't previously met gave me a couple of aspirin that they had stashed. I appreciated the smuggled gift almost as much as I appreciated the overwhelming compassion of my fellow patients as compared to the heartless staff. I understood that these two aspirin were very valuable and might have taken two months to be able to obtain them and then successfully hide them away. That they had taken so much effort to protect made them even more precious and probably helped my headache as much or more than any medicinal value they contained.

I sat in silence filled with awe at the fact that as little as a week earlier, the staff would have instantly put me in seclusion for as little as a wrong look. And now that I was to be released, their inhumanity wouldn't allow me a little relief. Instead, they tried their hardest to make my remaining few hours as difficult as possible. They seemed to relish the fact that I was suffering with a headache. They would only give what medication the doctor had prescribed and that didn't include aspirin. Even at the end, they were trying to get me to take their mind control drugs. The staff were very upset that I was leaving. They were absolutely sure I was very sick and needed to stay for at least another six months. They felt that by being released, I was personally challenging their superior knowledge and expertise. They knew better but had lost. I would survive and despite the best efforts of the staff, I would be free of their sadistic ways. They were perhaps afraid that I would report them to some authority for the way they practiced their inhumane psychological, physical and verbal abuse in controlling patients.

I was upset at the arrogance that they displayed by believing they somehow knew me and what was best for me better than I did. I marveled at the complex ways they felt that they had to assert their superiority over their helpless charges at every turn. From my college psychology courses I had learned the depths to which come people will sink to compensate for their shortcomings and feelings of inferiority. The staff at the hospital could have made a wonderful case study. If I had not been living through the situation, I might have found some comfort and amusement at the thought of the staff being guinea pigs for some study of perverse pathology. I was surprised that the other patients and myself essentially all agreed on this point. In fact, the patients were the only ones who seemed to understand and openly acknowledge the atrocities committed by the staff. The staff seemed absolutely impervious to their own delusional system and the course of their actions. The patients all had rational reasons for their actions while the staff seemed either blatantly sadistic or out of touch with reality regarding their actions.

I managed to cope with my headache until the earliest possible moment to go into my room and lie on the bed. Despite the pain, I was so excited to be leaving tomorrow that I eventually drifted off to sleep. I awoke the next morning and was instantly subjected to harassment by the staff. They insisted upon drawing my blood. I refused and they gave me a line of crap about it being hospital procedure. I responded that I was leaving and that I wouldn't spit on them if I thought they could get any use of it. For my display of not being quite contrite enough, they wanted to put me in seclusion and restraints. I just laughed at them. I saw the humor in them not allowing me to lie in a seclusion room for a headache last night, but they wanted to place me there for refusing to cooperate with an unnecessary procedure in preparation for my discharge.

When my wife arrived, she experienced, firsthand, the mindless brutality of the staff. She observed the staff converge on a patient who was apparently just laughing. The several staff crept up on him and caught him unaware. They wrestled him to the ground and after brutally holding him with his arms locked behind his back, he was injected. Within moments, he stopped struggling and just lay there on the floor. the staff got up, brushed themselves off and returned to regular routine without a backward glance. I explained to my wife that this was normal for the unit. Apparently, this person had refused his drugs. We then went to the nurses station where we were subjected to about an hour and a half of questioning. The nurse wanted to know of my plans once I left. I told her it was none of her business. She checked through my clothes and other belongings just as she had upon admission. I didn't understand why. If I was leaving, I could get anything sharp or whatever as soon as we left the hospital grounds. It seemed there was just some harassment value in putting me through this final procedure. My wife was doing a slow burn but, still very much intimidated and afraid by the scene she had witnessed upon her arrival. As a final discharge procedure, the nurse wanted me to sign a piece of paper that said I'd had a wonderful experience at the hospital, that hey had helped me, that nothing warranted any concern on my part regarding the treatment I had received and that since I was mentally ill and my perceptions might not be as sharp as they might be, I would never hold the hospital accountable in any way for anything they might or might not have done. My doctor walked through the unit and I tore up the paper in front of her. She ignored my action as if she hadn't even seen it and asked me if I would be willing to take my medication. She apparently thought she was being nice by offering to discharge me with enough drugs to hold me over for a couple of days until I could get my own. I ignored the doctor until she left and I urged the nurse to hurry with the discharge process.

We were lead to the exit by a staff member. We carried my possessions and the discharge papers. As soon as the staff unlocked the door and we were outside, we embraced. I had survived! I hurried to get to the car. I just wanted off the hospital grounds. We went to the first fast food place we could find and I ate my fill for the first time in too long. We talked freely and laughed and cried long and hard. I remarked about how the streets went so straight for so long. I had never noticed before. I had taken so much for granted and now had to readjust to being on the outside again. I never appreciated the beauty of the outside as much as I did that day. I ranted to my wife about the horrors of being in that place. I told her of the attempts of the staff to brainwash the patients and pressure them into complying with their so called treatment. The coercion and the abuse were so pervasive that I suspected even the staff succumbed to their own methods. Eventually, many of the staff would become immune to what they were doing because there brainwashing even worked on them and they would believe they were doing a good job in caring for the patients.

I drove the several hours home and I thrilled at the music from the car stereo. I played it loud in an effort to drown out the memory of the screams on the unit. I spoke with a vengeance to my wife who understood that I was experiencing the thrill of speaking as I wanted just to feel what it felt like again. If I wanted to curse, I could curse. If I wanted to laugh, I'd laugh. If I felt like crying, I could cry. My experience was worse than jail. In jail, they could take away some of your physical freedom but, in the hospital, they not only restricted your physical freedom, but your freedom to think, feel and express within the normal human range of emotion. This severe deprivation was the most damaging and lasting of the emotional abuses perpetrated by the staff. It was also the abuse the staff would be least likely to understand that they were practicing.

As I recalled the suffering, humiliation and indignities that were forced upon the patients by the staff, my face contorted with rage and my fist twisted into tight balls of fury. Except, that no one could see. It would take a long time to overcome the effects of the oppression. It would be a long time before the grimaces would again be able to have the release of the physical gesture to match the silent anger that brewed within. In just a short time, I had learned to keep my true feelings from revealing themselves to the outside world for fear that someone could and would report them as evidence of some imaginary disorder. I took a long time to learn that all of life need not be the lie it was in the hospital. I had survived. I had not yet learned to do anything more, such as live.

The trip home with my wife was punctuated by attempts to explain what life on the unit had been like. I talked as much out of a sense of outrage as out of a need for the catharsis of release. I spoke of the fear, the trauma, the chaos and the constant need of the staff to have the patients hurry up and wait. I talked of the way a person might stand at the nurses station and be completely overlooked and how this discounting feels and how destructive it is to the human spirit. I spoke of the dehumanizing effect of only seeing us as labels, cases or case numbers rather than as people. I told her of the chaos created by the totally arbitrary nature of the rules imposed by staff. I spoke of the intimidation created by so many staff sitting against a single patient at a staffing. I told of the coercion and pressure to comply with forced medications and not to complain, especially if it hurts. It was almost as if the staff didn't hear complaints anymore -- as if they likened the pain to the pain of an antiseptic where the pain is just an indication it is working and doing it's job. I described how small the world was. I told of how little activity there was and how it reduced the world to just food and cigarettes, waking and sleeping. I shared how we had to hurry up and get in line for food, for medication, for everything and then, we had to stand in line, often for over an hour, just because we were expected to do everything for the convenience of staff and when it suited them. I told of how the staff practiced brutality in more than just the physical control. The staff would knowingly commit soul-murder through the drugs. The staff would dehumanize the patients by treating them as asexual blobs of flesh to be treated as meat is treated to prevent the growth of bacteria. I spoke of the group therapy where the staff treated us like small, foolish, ignorant children which robbed us of our dignity and self-respect and stripped us of whatever self-esteem we might have. I bemoaned the injustice of the psychiatric system which was able to take away my liberty with the full force of a police machine. Given the inexact nature of psychiatry and their labels, I was outraged that they could lock me up, take away my freedom, transport me several hundred miles from home, build a case against me, create a permanent file and then, when I was cleared by an attorney, I had to pay for my own way home and just forget that time had been taken form my life. I had to forget that there now existed a record which, although it was proven incorrect -- that I was not holdable, would, based upon their say so live forever. I wanted the record purged but, that could not be. I raved that I and other patients had to pay for their bad judgments while they paid nothing for their crimes against humanity. I sobbed through my observations of the brutality perpetrated by the staff and wondered at the double standard that condoned what they did but condemned me for the act of wanting to die. My desire was a thought and I marveled at the fact that our society was blind to the fact that psychiatry was our modern thought police and allowed to get away with such atrocities.

Just as I wound down a bit, I would start up again. I started to talk of my feelings. I shouted of my hatred of psychiatry and the system that granted psychiatrists such godlike power. I felt I knew how criminals felt, only more so. Criminals had to have at least a basic case proven against them with facts and the rights of criminals were protected. I had been stripped of my rights by arrogance and ignorance. When I spoke of suicidal ideation, I meant the thinking of the act which is common to every human, not the impulse which creates the act itself. Why were the ignorant staff so unaware of basic human behavior and needs and if the staff had this knowledge, why did they not use it in a helping way. Were they so filled with malice and hatred for their fellow human beings that they were only able to find fulfillment in sadism? There were patients who didn't survive the soul murder who would say that they had a good experience. They would say they were better based upon the brainwashing they received. They would be brainwashed by the staff to say the staff were good and did good treatment and then the staff would believe these brainwashed victims and use this evidence as proof of their ability to do good. It was absurd.