A month ago, I set out from "festering wound" which is what I call the Kern River Valley, the area being invaded by politicians who have named the area unsafe because of a dam which they are supposedly replacing. But as I have described on this blog these problems are so deep as the water is murky, and local residents have not a clue what these Sacra-meanto leaders will be doing next.
My foray finds me in the Orange County area where I grew up, in fact, staying right behind the house my family lived in.
It's been a trying month, I can only describe it as akin to the Meet the Fockers movie. I wrecked my friends car, almost took out her new washer with my comforter wrapping around and choking the machine then went onto spill a dark colored soda onto the mattress staining it permanently. And wrapping up my accident file, apparently it's not common to have guests in the neighborhood drawing and writing on their car.
I apologized profusely, as we do when things are so over the top. My friend of forty years has forgiven me, even though there was no intention on my part to actually harm her belongings, or startle the neighborhood with my 5150 moebeel now covered in free advertisements drawn or written by me.
But there you go, it's a start, even fraught with the accidents, I had one more thing to do, which was to get myself placed into the worst behavioral facility in the State of California, according to my friend and research assistant. F-
I didn't know going into the unit it was the type of place which caused my symptoms to increase, my peace of mind to splinter, and before I knew it, the staff was attempting to control what I could or couldn't do when when I left the facility.
Mood ring was burned to my finger by the time I got thru the medical check and headed into the hospital. I could not even follow a few short requests, such as sit down.
"Oh yeah, why?"
Then the staff came out from behind the counter and grabbed me trying to push me into the chair. I shifted and shimmied until they gave up, threatening isolation for my recalcitrant attitude.
It was a tough beginning, as the phlebotomist arrived for a blood test, but I took a mouth full of water from the drinking fountain, held it in my cheeks, then spit a small amount in his direction.
"That is it, I don't need this," he yelled as he receded from the scene. I didn't actually spray him, but the threat was there.
It is tough to talk about certain actions I took in the hospital that should be discussed.
That first night, a woman in the bed next to me was snoring. I commented that I was short on sleep, and I would wake her to tell her when it was too loud. Then I went to the nurses and asked to be moved, but they still were not over the chair incident.
The woman snored and snored, and finally I woke her up. "Please to God roll over" is what I uttered thru clenched teeth. She didn't want to have any responsibility claiming she can't help what she does in her sleep.
Then she got nasty about it, and TRUTH, before I knew it I was pelting her with sweaters and clothing.
Shocked she got up and ran to the nurses, who came charging to her aid. Me, naked except for a hospital gown, found myself grabbing the nurse and going for it. He came up reaching for me so I grabbed him first, and the fight began. His eyes were shocked as to how strong I was so he called for back up.
But I was wound up, always when someone attacks me, so I aimed for the balls, and even told him I would do it. Bruce Lee style I did indeed kick him in the balls. The fight was over as there were multiple people holding me down.
Wow, I said it, truth hurts, but that is what happened. I was dragged down the hall, burning my knees and feet on the ancient vinyl flooring.
This was not the end, as I logged in two more fights, and plenty of shots in the ass to put me out. I even faked a heart attack and stroke, when the word was they would be holding me longer than expected.
I told the staff, the truth that it was a panic attack, and that we are all responsible as they never even cared enough to check out my claims.
Ready to leave, I modified my behavior the best I could, so then the day came to leave. An hour away from release my anti-social worker told me I would have to get clean of all drugs or alcohol, attend meetings, go to a program daily which would replace what the hospital controlled.
I broke down crying, weeping for the loss of freedom. But I really needed to leave get back to my friend's place, I could not agree to these impositions. As it is I am under pressure to get a job and place to live, but this is unnecessary.
The tears streamed down my face, as I don't like life anyway, but to shackle me to the program was not an option.
"Forget it," I told them, "I'll just stay."
Suddenly the worker says,"well we can't keep you forever."
"Oh yes you can," I finished up with.
They took away my release and it was now all up in the air again. BUT...I had a Writ of Habeus Corpus in the court, and managed to remember to check on it. I found out there were some screw ups which made the hospital's position in less control.
Next morning, I kept on the trail to leave, but leave with my own agenda intact. The writ was in my favor, I left as a voluntary, so no extra hospital direction was needed.
Happy camper I was coming home the victor against such vicious control freaks. The cost of the program along with the time, is not helpful. But had I left that day I would be bound in a worse position of having to make meetings, group sessions, and a leash that if I didn't do it, I would be back in the hospital.
Oh yeah, these are the days, and more to follow. I'm at the library in Cypress, with two minutes left to write.
Laura Hart the bipolar american