June, 2007: Resignation

After nearly 4 years of full time employment in Mental Health, I resigned from my  position in June, 2007 in order to launch a more commited career in Theater and in random odd jobs. Below you will find a few real-life stories (with fictitious names) of what I confronted in a locked Mental Health Rehab. facility for those inquiring minds and those interested in pursuing work in Mental Health. Unfortunately, I began writing about the highlights of my week the last few months of my job, but one day down the line I will return to this wonderful and wide spectrum of human behavior and will continue my writings.  

Doug & Revelations

Humble natured Doug looks like the consequence of one too many LSD trips, with frazzled mad scientist-style hair and an apocalyptic face of frozen terror, slightly hunched over and walking the hallways with a bible tucked around his waist at all times. Paranoia is his daily battle. He moves slowly, is oftentimes found lying down and inadvertendly blocking traffic, or can be found prostrating before the Nurses Supply Closet as if the door is the gate to Paradise. The other day I timed him in the prostrated posture for over 20 minutes. He also has a mission to tear out the Revelations portion out of every bible in the world.

In my office, there are always at least 75 bibles. I try to collect as many bible donations and have them on tap all day long since they’re popular. Doug managed to tear Revelations out of at least 25 bibles so far (probably more) before we tracked his method of trading bibles with us in order to delete Revelations. Everyday, for over 6 months now, Doug will ask for a new bible at least 6 times throughout the day. Sometimes he’ll even ask for a Koran. But the last two times he received a Koran, he would return with it a few days later nearly shredded and in several piles: “I’m sorry, so sorry, it was blackmail. It was blackmail…” Those images of Doug returning a razzled Koran and using the term”blackmail” are rare indelible memories, his puppy dog eyes of adored disappointment, and arms gracefully reaching out to give me piles of torn up Koran as if handing over a long loved creature.

    

      

Firedancer from Nevada City graces Facility.

A gracious night of firedancing and F.O.F.A.F (Friend Of  A Friend), a band of that performs bi-monthly at the facility (with yours truly as lead vocalist) tickled the clients into a slippery night of dance and honest goofiness . Check out a clip of the backyard performance here:

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=km4b_txDRao

The show proceeded into the Dining Hall (minus the fire) afterwards and featured blanket dances by a client, moderate poledancer style moves, and clients freestyling on the mic, as  the saxophone massaged a launch to jupiter, the guitarist wove paradise back into our minds, and the electric bass spread our hearts into mansions of silky bedsheets.

The Dining Hall pulsed with a rare gravity of liberation as laughter, music, and motion met like ex-lovers re-learning how to make magic together again.  

Pinky Streaks the Facility.

An unusual case of the giggles gone wild featured Pinky disrobing, and streaking the facility for several minutes, uncontrollably laughing and taking brief breaks to imaginally breastfeed a baby doll in her left hand. 

A few minutes earlier, I knew something was brewing when I discovered her giggling at the end of a hallway ,fully clothed, but sucking her two fingers which appeared to have been pricked and bleeding. I escorted her to the Nurses Station and discovered that she’s intentionally prolonging bleeding “because its so delicious and so much fun.” She said this several times while laughing. The next few minutes were devoted to a Nurses unsuccessful intervention and growing guffaws of laughter which climaxed with her jumping over a wall, grabbing her doll, and running around the facility for over 10 minutes. 

 Pinky is called Pinky because she only wears pink. Everything she owns is pink. If its not pink, then its a baby doll. She also has special mythical volume mode within which activates when she’s on one of her slippery tangents of either extreme laughter or robust rage.  Surprisingly, she can sustain an extreme for over an hour and is capable of destroying property with Alexander The Great caliber.

Luckily, this time she agreed to be escorted to her room (after about 7 minutes of being jogged after by a few of the staff ) and agreed to receive an injection and proceed to the bathtub. In her room; however, it was a few moments of playtime for her before accepting the injection from the Nurse. This consisted of more uncontrollable laughter while she hid behind a curtain, and intermittently revealed either a small pink stuffed animal ( a puppy) or a picture of superman (complimented by screechy voices for the characters). A few of the staff (that haven’t assumed the docile medical gaze yet in their careers) tried hard to refrain from laughter, as did I.

Pinky finally calmed down and received her injection, took a bath, and presented as a perfectly functional and coherent person for the rest of the evening.  

Paul Identifies Apparatus in My Brain!

Standing with a gentle, reassuring smile, bedside grandpa voice Paul intercepts me in the backyard:

Paul: Hi. You know, I would like to figure out the scientific apparatus they’ve implanted in your mind. It’s very interesting. Unique.

Me: Oh… Which one would that be?

Paul: (moving in/ whispering with grandma secret revealing posture) If I tell you, you won’t believe me.

Me: Um, either way, you should tell me.

Paul: Hmm…okay. The feds. The police. They put an interesting one in your head and to tell you the truth, I want to study it.

Me: What part of my head is it in?

Paul: (looking at my brain pensively) Right to the left there. Yup. And you know what, they’ve put several different types of apparatus’ on me too. Normally they put it in my knees though.

Me: Why would they do that? I mean whats in it for them?

Paul: So they know where I am all the time, I guess.

Me: But why the knees for you? Why just the knees?

Paul: I knew you wouldn’t believe me.

Me: No, I’m just wondering why just the knees for you. Have you asked them why they do knees for you and brains for me?

Paul: I have. Several times actually.  They keep shrugging and saying, “It’s just the way it is. It’s what we do. It’s just what we do” (holding 3rd grade style shrug and exagerrating pose for an extra 5 seconds)

Me: That’s it? They won’t tell you anything else.

Paul: That’s it. It’s just what they do….But like I said, I’m interested in the complex apparatus they implanted in you. That’s a real good one (chuckling).

Where extreme terror meets fireside relaxation…

It is a tonality of voice that instantly massages one into fireside relaxation/ bedtime fairytale story mode. When he speaks, you will be transported to a world of soothing crackly fires, an innocent warmth,and cozy toes that will yawn with ancient relief. Eternal sedation will become comprehensible to the human spirit. He is fairytale bedtime grandpa voice and his name is Paul.

Even the sight of Paul will trigger the feeling within that prods relaxation. He carries himself like Homer Simpson but in slow motion, and his eyes capture the intention of deap sea scuba diving off the coast of New Zealand.

 The overwhelming contrast of his voice and what he says is what makes Paul pure magic. Following is one typical delusion of grandeur that Paul experiences.

Paul: Hi, I need someone to help me. (instantly I could hear the cool crackly fire, the blankets, and my mood embark into fairytale promises)

Me: Sure. How is it going Paul?

Paul: I just got shot twice with a stun gun by some guy dressed in black on the roof. 

Me: Oh. That’s horrible. Where did it hit you?

Paul: Right here in the chest.

Me: You mean right here? (pointing at spot). Does it still hurt?

Paul: No, the pain is all gone now, but you need to help me.

Me: When did all this exactly happen?

Paul: About two minutes ago.

Me: Paul, if you were shot with a stun gun just now, you’d still be in pain. And there are about 40 people outside that would witness this. I’m sure a few of them would notify staff. (By this point, I am partially intoxicated into sleepylands, in the complacent abyss of fireside relaxation, and struggling to fight off the sedative effect of his voice.)

Paul: I’m better now, but you need to help me with the parking lot. (a pause) The Italian mafia is outside. There’s a lot of them this time, and they’re trying to take the cars….All 65 cars. All the cars in the lot are mine. I don’t want them anymore.  But I’ll take a cashier’s check  right now to cover the value of the cars. 

(By this time, I’m hearing Sinatra’s Strangers In the Night, and I envision popping open a bottle of cab wine)

Me: Hmm… I can’t do that for you, Paul…hmmm. I was just out front and I didn’t see any mob looking characters. Plus, one of those cars out there is mine. How about an easter egg chocolate and we’ll have the nurse check out your chest to ensure you were not hit with a stun gun?

(Paul takes the chocolate)

Paul: I knew you couldn’t help me.

(Paul walks away)

“I want that haldol dripping down my esophagus…”

Larkin is a laid back man who spends most of his time in his bed, half the time lightly banging on the wall. If he’s not in bed, he’s softly joking and giggling with others in the hallway. He rarely attends groups. When confronted about banging on the wall, he says in an adoringly whiny and crackly voice, “I’m doing okay.”

The other day, Larkin was banging real hard on the wall, and I was asked by a Caseload worker to enter his room and see what’s up. Lying flat on the bed as if he’s paralyzed in a posture like the lead character  in the Princess Bride (the bed scene where he can’t move for a bit), Larkin raised his voice and was yelling by the end of the statement, “I can’t stand him…my roommate….He hasn’t showered for days, he hasn’t eaten for days. ..I need him shipped out immediately. I can’t stand this anymore. He never eats anything. I need him out of here. He doesn’t brush his teeth. I want him shipped out of here.” When reminded to focus on his own treatement plan, Larkin continued protesting. The following is what occurred:

 Caseload worker: You can’t keep banging on the wall or yelling. Do you think a prn* would help?

Larkin: No. I want him shipped out.

Caseload worker: We can’t do that. Do you think a shot would help?

Larkin: (smiling) A big shot, yes, a shot of whiskey…. a couple of them actually.

Caseload: If you keep this up, we’ll have to put you in restraints-

Larkin: (still not having moved at all) YES! That’s what I need. I need to be handcuffed, strapped down. Handcuff me please. Put me in restraints. I need to be in restraints right now.

Caseload worker: Will that help you calm down? Do you want an injection?

Larkin: (with a smooth demeanor) I need an injection too, yes, a lethal injection. Mmmmm. Give me that haldol first. I want that haldol dripping down my esophagus. mmmmm, there’s nothing in the world like that sensation, dripping down…

I could no longer refrain from laughter so I walked out of the room after this. Larking still hadn’t moved his body, as if he owned the situation. In the end, Larkin was left alone. No injection. No restraint bed.

* prn = “as needed” in latin and commonly refers to anxiety relieving medications prescribed by psychiatrists that are always on tap for clients.   

Darek’s letter to Shakira

“Dear Shakira,

You left me in the cold, said I would grow old out of you, and without us two, don’t act like you can’t hear me, don’t act like you don’t know how I feel inside about you, I’m sorry about all them words I said about you on the internet, you have left me, and left me to take showers cold and wet.  Was it you in that one car I saw you in? Or was is just me going crazy? It doesn’t matter where I’m at now, but it’s because of you I’m sunny, baby girl. I’m sorry, so sorry. I apologize. May be some day we could meet eachother. I heard you were engaged. I hope he treats you right. I hope he loves you as much as me.

    How can you cope with being so successful? I’m not even attracted to myself. That’s why I hit my mirror image.  Why did God make you pretty? And me so ugly? This letter isn’t intended to hurt you, it’s intended to hurt me even more. It’s more along the lines of writing 20 letters that never got to you. I’m sorry if I hurt you. My mind always thinks of you. No one here. No one to give an ear. You don’t even inspire me anymore. You make me feel lonely. I have no one to hold on to and I say I love you. I’m not even sure.

I just don’t want the stunt double but I don’t know. This might end up like that eminem song with dido about you never responding to my letters. Eventually, I’ll kill myself, hang myself. Slit my self with a razor blade. This isn’t funny. This isn’t funny. I want to die. I want to die. Oh God, I I want to die. What should I learn? What should I do? I won’t love you if you won’t love me. Get out of my mind. Stay out.

- Darek                            body ian a hairy ek (indecipherable)….”

Darek was gleaming with joy and smiling large when he entered my office and handed my assistant the letter to read. He later said he would never kill himself.

“I feel suicidal, can I get some candy?”

Richard tried to hang him self the other week with sheets, but was unsuccesfful because the facility is virtually hang proof. The last time someone successfully hung themselves was about 5 years back on a tree branch in the backyard. Since then, all branches have been clipped for about 5 meters up all trees. So when Richard was caught in his dullified med side effect attempt to kill himself, he was transfered to acute. After a few days, he returned to the facility.

Suicidal ideation is a big deal in this world of mental health, so when its  expressed, the client is placed on a special needs round and monitored throughout the day. Richard confronted me with, “I feel suicidal, can I get some candy?”

me: If you get candy, you wont be suicidal anymore?

Richard:(drymouth and eyes wandering) yea,  it makes me not want to kill myself.

me: let’s sit down for a second. ( i reach for the candy drawer and give him a green ball of candy)

Richard: (smiling) mmmm

Me: You want to talk about what’s making you suicidal? I all ears.

Richard: I don’t know, but I just need candy, all the time. I’m not suicidal anymore. I need to eat candy.

He then exits. Richard checks out a lot of Islamic books, never reads them, and spends his time in the hallways observing traffic. 

——-

Off to other news: I was working on an assessment with new client Darek who believes he’s a wizard that controls the sky and “Shakira is waiting for my call. Can I call her? I promise it’ll be quick. First, we can get her number off the internet.” Darek has a rich smile and is the type of person that was probably always suspiciously giggling in the corner during Kindergarden class.

One of the questions I ask is during an initial assessment is, ”What are 3 fears you have in life?” One of Darek’s answers was, “Dying on a girl’s tongue.”

I inquired further and he proceeded after two minutes of contemplation: “I’ve always been afraid of dying while kissing a girl, that’s what I mean.”

Me: how would you die?

Darek: ( a look of bright terror) First I’d fall asleep while kissing her then melt into her warm tongue….um, then die (Darek re-enacts death phsyically- vortex motions with his hand in slow motion, eyes wide open.)

I insisted that this is a highly improbable scenario and that he’s safe from death via melting on tongue. After a long moment, Darek concludes with zombie features, ” This is how I think I’ll go. …I’m not joking. This is probably it….I will melt and die into a girl’s tongue….” Darek becomes teary eyed and is about to begin crying when I suddenly remember that I have a piece of cocoa via chocolate on my desk. I don’t normally solve challenges with chocolate or candy but I had to distract him.

Me: Darek, I have some great chocolate.

Darek: (as if in a theatrical rehearsal and suddenly out of character) YES! Can I have some.

The mood dramatically shifts from horror to giddy story-tellings, as we share chocolate together and Darek begins telling me about how he controls lightning bolts.

Fish Don Dies.

Don, the facility fish, shares a fish bowl with Kathy, the other facility fish; Don and Kathy are also the names of the facility directors. The fish bowl is a vocational prep duty and a client feeds the fish regularly. Last week, Don the fish died. Again.

 I work near the fish bowl. This is the second time that Don has died. Different fish. I was waiting for director Don to saunter into my office in his lazy boston accent and complain about the death. 

“Why the hell do I keep dying and Kathy never dies. Damn.This is not fucking fair.” Don embarks on a rocky monologue, with pensive please-fill-in-the-blank moments. This is a big deal. After moments of dissatisfied brooding, he finally grabs a  large shaker off my desk, and moves over to the fish bowl. “That’s it, what does it take to kill Kathy, huh!” He begins shaking the round shaker viciously in front of the fish bowl while gently growlingat Kathy the fish. Don then leaves the office. This will be Don’s third re-incarnation.

Onto recent behavioral news on the client end: During Dual Recovery Anonymous, the group was getting real with life stories involving heavy drugs. It was then Mark’s turn to speak. I was a little anxious because the last time I saw Mark, I had exited a bathroom and he began yelling at me from down the hallway as if I killed his family:( ” You punk ass asshole, I’m gonna take you out. I’m gonna take you out!” – makes gang signs with fingers and then lots of incoherent yelling ,spitting,and finally staff escorting him to his bedroom).  That was the first time I saw Mark. Mark was smiling this time and I had never seen him smiling. He then took a dollar out of his pocket, waves it around theatrically, then puts it back in his pocket. He proceeds with an intoxicated smile, “I love woman…you know. They’re so sweet. They make me smile and love and love. I smile, you know. YOU KNOW, I SMILE AND LOVE WOMAN! ALL OF THEM! I LOVE LOVE. SWEET MMMMM. so yummy. yum” He then gets soft, “I do love woman. Their sweet faces…Their sweetness. mmmmm…” Mark then continues with his love for woman monologue and concludes with walking over to a younger woman across the circle and attempts to hand her a dollar with an ultra smooth and genuine smile. At such an unusual moment, I can only observe and wonder what will happen next. The girl stares at the dollar in Marks hand. The group cues in, some adjusting chairs to get a better view. Then, it must have been an eternity that passed, with all eyes frozen on the dollar, Mark’s hand frozen in anticipation of Pamela receiving the dollar, Pamela with innocent eyes wondering what the hell is going on. Will Pamela accept the dollar? We all waited. Then, Pamela took the dollar without saying anything, someone yelled “when is cigarette break?” and Mark sat back down in silence. Mmmm.

Diaper Boy Strikes Again.

He is an enlightened man with giddy spirits who involuntarily fuels the pharmeceutical curiousity of psychiatrists.  He leads a humble life that cherishes large diapers, long naps, and fast mumbles.  He is a personification of infinite side effect medications. Who is this man and why does he wear a diaper on his head?

He is Diaper boy. A phenomena. A reservoir of abstract momentum and floppy white diapers. No one seems to know what it takes to make him coherent. His meds are always changing. He has been on several types of meds over a few years and has been in and out of the facility over 4 times. His name is Manuel. And when he’s awake, he loves to wear a diaper on his head. Extra Large.

Diaper Boy doesn’t make any rational sense and rapidly mumbles and laughs a lot, like a mexican charlie chaplin in fast motion. Sometimes, a few words will be clear but this is rare. Recently, the staff have been intrigued by his ability to obtain diapers since they are hard to get. The facility always has large diapers in stock for the incontinent folk, but these diapers are locked away. It’s a sacred stash as I recall when working the NOC (graveyard) shift a few years back. It’s a crisis among the staff. How is  Diaper boy getting his diapers?

 I will be investigating this more thoroughly in the upcoming week for you. For now, I will retell of a minute of clarity in Diaper boy’s speech. I was on my way out in the final work minutes of my day on friday. Diaper boy was standing in the hallway  in a Madonna caliber pose, pants down and pointing at his jeans in neon light blinking intermittence. I was about to open the front door and leave for the day, but paused for a moment to stare at this amazing performance of physical commitment. I was hoping the miracle cherubs would make Diaper boy comprehensible to me for a brief instant. It has happened before. I listened. Diaper boy then shrugged over and over, pants still down, ushering at his pants as if asking for something. ”hey hey hi hey hey…” Yes Manuel? And then after a moment, it happened. Diaper boy, with no overt tension, asked for something and it made sense.

Diaper Boy: “hey…(mumble mumble mumble), don’t you think it’s time for a belt eh? (mumble mumble mumble)”

I smiled, gave Diaper boy a highfive and said I’d help him get a belt on Monday.

Olympic Dive into Rosebush

The present blog covers highlights of my day at work in a locked pyschiatric facility in the United States. All provided names are anonymous for purposes of confidentiality.

 Today I witnessed an unusually liberating motion- a large man take an olympic style dive into 5 meters of rosebush.

   My intervention began a few minutes earlier when I heard Rick screaming, ” I need a fucking cigarette. Cigarette! Cigarette!” Rick had ran out of cigarettes and was lying on the floor in a seizured mode and kicking the main front doors. Two staff, including myself presented Rick with an option of getting fresh air in the Activity Office patio. ” I want a fucking cigarette….cigarette. Ok fuck! fresh air.” After a minute of shaking his legs and screaming, the area was cleared, the thought of restraint bed was lingering among the staff glances, then Rick was proceeded to the patio and immediately booked it towards the tall fence. We decided to jog after him, but Rick then found a wet corner of cement to lie down on and get soggy in, refusing to move for a moment. After being escorted then to a chair, Rick stared at the chair for a minute, then at the plants, then chair, plants, chair, plants, and this is when it hit me. Something inside said, something amazing is about to happen and I can’t stop it. Or rather, I don’t want to stop it.

  Rick then leaped like a leopard at a gazelle and in mid-air assumed olympic style diving prowess. Fantastic!  He was way up in the air. The world froze. A cosmic scale reverence for Rick consumed me as I silently chanted on his dolphin-pointy leap. Soggy jeaned Rick then landed into a massive bunch of rosebushes and refused to move,  his face suddenly as cute and serene as a baby sleeping in a crib. Rick is about 210 pounds.

The next 30 minutes were spent on getting Rick into a restraint bed as he yelled “gatorate, cigarette, water” about 17 times.

This was the most magical dive I witnessed in my life. Rick finally received a cigarette a few hours later.