The Sixth Floor: Chapter Four

I was back at home now, but nothing had really been resolved. I didn't get the kind of help I needed, mentally. I was just basically incarcerated for a few days. My problems were still there,and I was still depressed.

I started having trouble sleeping. I was tossing and turning all night, and having crying spells. My wife noticed and one night ,without my knowledge,had arranged for me to be
committed to another hospital. The police showed up in the morning and notified me that they were taking me to the hospital and if I came along peacefully , they wouldn't handcuff me. So I went along peacefully,so as not to be handcuffed. Hey, I may have been crazy,but I wasn't nuts!

I was taken to a different hospital ,this time. a little closer to home. about 35 miles from home as opposed to the 60 or so miles the first one was. It was also a smaller hospital. I think it only had 3 or 4 floors,not 6. but it did have a loony ward, I mean a psychiatric ward. That's where I was going.

I knew the routine. They took away all my clothes and my dignity,gave me blue paper jammies & slipper socks to wear,and locked me up in the quiet room for the first day.

The next day, I got to mingle with my fellow crazies. I also got to have a meeting with the psychologist ,who put me on anti depressant drugs for the first time in my life. She also diagnosed me as "bipolar" for the first time in my life. bipolar is a newer term for " manic depressive disorder".It doesn't mean that you have two white bears,one at the North pole and one at the South pole. Now I had a name for what I probably had been suffering from for most of my life, or at least since my teens.

I really didn't want to be there ,and tried to sign myself out again,like I had gotten away with the first time. This time, though,they had a " hearing" right there in the hospital. It was more like a kangaroo court. They had a judge , a couple of other people in suits, and the psychiatrist,and me. I didn't even get to speak on my own behalf. It was over in a few seconds. I felt like I was railroaded! The doctor was asked if she felt I was a danger to myself or others. she replied ,"yes", after she had spent all of five minutes alone with me. And so, it was determined that I was to remain there , "involuntarily committed" .

While I was in there , for I think, two weeks, my wife had gotten me on social security disability. I was now considered "mentally disabled". I was at the same time,ashamed
of myself, and relieved .I was relieved because some of the financial pressure was off of my shoulders,while I tried to recover.

I can't recall any humorous stories from this hospital stay. I can't really say why. Maybe my silly side was suppressed by the anti-depressants, or maybe I wanted to get out of there so bad, that I was concentrating on getting to the next level of nut house graduation.

They have " levels" in these places. When you are first brought in, whether voluntarily or involuntarily, you're on level one . you have minimal privileges on level one. You cant wear your own clothes,you can't go in the kitchen. Usually on day two, you get bumped up to level two. You can have most of your own clothes, minus belts, anything you may have had in your pockets,and your shoes.

If you behave yourself and follow all the rules: take your meds, go to all meetings everyday, get out of bed on time,make your bed. attend to personal grooming,participate in group therapy sessions,etc... you eventually get moved up to level three. Once you get to level three,they let you have your shoes again. you can go in the kitchen, and you're allowed to go outside on supervised walks just next to the hospital. The best part of level three ,is they start discussing your release date, which is usually two or three days away at this point.

When I got out, I was set up with an outpatient service. An agency called MHMR,which stood for, Mental Health / Mental Retardation. I was just Thrilled to be lumped together with the mentally retarded! MHMR would oversee my anti-depressant medications,
through their doctor.(who was also the doctor who was at the hearing where it was determined I couldn't sign myself out.) They also set me up with a therapist ,who I'd see twice a week,to start.