[k0k0]

I haven't posted for a while mainly because I had to leave my group home (thanks to bedbugs and a house manager who steals my pudding/cheese). Now I'm a proud 30 year old man living with his parents. Anyway, this isn't about that. This is about my time in the mental place.

What lead up to it was me having panic attacks and generally being afraid to leave the house for more time than it took to get to the store and get food. It was probably brought on by my working from home and my general hatred of people. I called the EMS twice in a week because I thought I was having a heart attack (panic attacks). So I decided to check myself in to crazy central and stayed there for 25 days.

The hospital floor I was on consisted of 2 day rooms and 16 patient rooms. There were 2 patients to a room and the rooms were of good size. The big day room had a 26 inch tv and 4 large tables to sit at with 4 chairs to a table and also 3 sofas. In the very back corner was a small round table with 2 chairs. This is where I sat and did my origami most times. It overlooked an overpass where I could watch cars go by (fun times) and I put my origami on the windowsill there.

The staff consisted of nurses, techs, and psychiatrists. The nurses dispensed pills while the techs had to check on us every 15 minutes to see if we were alive(even while sleeping), write down what we were doing and what our mood was. What a boring fucking job. They also checked our vital signs every morning to make sure our blood pressure was cool. The psychiatrists would see us 6 days a week for about 4 minutes to ask how our pills were working or what was going on.

We'd get woken up every morning at about 7 for vital signs to be taken or blood to be drawn. Then at 8 was breakfast, 9 was our first group therapy session, 11 was another, then 12 was lunch. 1 was another group, 3 was another group, 4:30 another group and 6 was dinner. Snacks were dispersed 3 times a day. Medicines were given in the morning and at night after 8 unless it was an as needed medicine. The day rooms closed at 11. I really liked the order of it all. It was enjoyable to finally have a schedule that I could go by. I really did like the groups too. I felt like I could be honest with people there and I probably came of as dickish when I'd argue with people about their problems. Some relied on god too much and I was always in a mood to argue religion with them. Some of the groups we'd just play a board game or arts and crafts and others would teach us relaxation techniques. There were spirituality groups that I'd go to and sit in the back. The chaplin there really didn't like me and I could tell, even though I made no trouble during his groups.

My roommates were pretty interesting. I had 3 the whole time I was there. The first one was named David. He was in his 60's and his hands shook all the time. Despite this he had the best penmanship I've ever seen. And he pretty much stayed in the room all the time. He came out to eat or to go to a random group every now and then to say he was participating. But other than that, he'd sit in the room and write. David went through at least 60 pieces of paper a day. I never asked him what he was writing, but when I'd peek, there were complex math equations on the paper. He once told me that he wrote some fiction, but really liked writing science fiction too. Anytime I'd discuss anything with him other than that he'd just look at me and say "Riiiiiiight" like he understood but didn't care. His only flaw in my eyes was that he pissed all over the floor and seat of the toilet. I couldn't fault him because of how shaky he was. I was sad to see him leave about half way through my stay.

My second roommate was an old dude named Eric. I didn't get to know him for the first days he was there. All he wore was a hospital gown and it was really weird. I came to learn that he had no clothes he could wear there. I guess they found him naked or something. He did have with him several books, which I found amusing since he didn't have clothes but did have books. I got to know him pretty well by the end. He was in there because of stress. He was an ex stock broker from new york who had turned to crack and heroin. When he quit, his wife didn't and was taking all of his pills. He was trying to help her out by feeding her any pills he got for his problems so she wouldn't go into withdrawals. She even ate his heart meds. While he was in the hospital, she was in a hotel room slowly going crazy from withdrawals. He kept trying to get out so that he could get some pills and get them into her. Despite his frantic lifestyle he did teach me Buddhist stuff and gave me a book "When Things Fall Apart" which was a good read about meditation and shit. When he left, he was supposedly going to go get his wife some pills, then try and either get her into rehab or send her away to some friends in california so that he could get to family in new york and restart his life.

The last guy who was my roommate was the worst. And probably the reason why I left when I did. His name was Charles. He wasn't a bad person but he was constantly farting and his bowel movements smelled up the whole room for at least 4 hours. By the end I was sleeping in the day room under the nurses permission due to the stink he'd be letting out all night. I will never forget the awful stench. It was like a turd threw up and the puddle of puke took a shit. Terrible.

Anyways, is this shit boring? Should I even bother telling about the people I met or the things I encountered?