part 41

Subj:    Home again.

From:   BoPeep

To:       MackAttack

Date: 3/20 2:54 p.m.


Dear Mack,

Well, I’ve finally topped the Fourth of July that I had with YOU.   Oh my god, you haven’t lived until you’ve been locked in a nut house for a while. How long as it been? …. a week and a day? ….a full moon cycle? ….an eternity. I really lost track of time in there. Days are still a little funny. Maybe it’s the meds they have me on. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m crazy.

Anyway, it was something. I’m back at home now.

You know, I’ve never tried basket weaving before, but I’m not s bad at it. And, we painted apples. YES, painted apple faces on apples. Isn’t that just charming? The guy next to me made his all black with big scary white eyes.   OH yeah, now that was quite upbeat.   I made a pretty face on mine. He decided that his apple would rape my apple….and started to pound his apple on mine, and then they took him away kicking and screaming.   That was pleasant.   In group therapy he said he had “anger issues”. Damn, I guess so.

So, Bo emailed you to tell you what was up. I am embarrassed at losing it so bad. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bombard you with email. You must think I’m nuts. Er, well, maybe I AM. (The belle of the psycho ward.)

Damn! I feel betrayed by my counselor, though. He said that the Doc was just a friend of his and was just there because he was on call. On call my ass. He was the head of the psych ward. He talked to me for all of three minutes, had me doped up and next thing I knew I couldn’t go home or have visitors, then they convinced me to sign a release to be there for…how long was it? More. I know it was more than a week.   I’m not even sure what day it is, or when I went in.

It’s all a fog.

The other people on that ward clued me in that I was supposed to be a danger to myself or others to get held for the 72 hours, or whatever it was. I wasn’t suicidal. I wasn’t talking about killing anyone. I’m so pissed off. Then this really CUTE doctor came and talked to me and told me how pretty I was and how much I’d been through and he asked me to sign another piece of paper. I never saw him again.   Fucker. I essentially signed myself into hell.   I was so fucked up on drugs that I could barely write. Hell, forget write, couldn’t even remember my name. It was like a bad dream.

I guess, I did make the mistake of saying that I was planning on throwing myself off the bridge, at sunset with rocks tied to my ankles. It had a nice imagery. Poetic. It was just a thought. Not like was going to do it, or anything.   No one can take a joke.

I was given a prescription for something…..three actually. One for sleeping and one for the “anxiety attacks”, and another for general depression. I will fill the one for sleeping, toss the other, and I don’t know about the third. I mean, if I was really suicidal why would they give me sleeping pills? Doesn’t make much sense does it? Or, maybe this is a way for them to allow me to really fix myself. It would be nice to sleep the eternal sleep. Must be better than the life I was born to.

Mack, it was really enlightening. I mean, I’m not crazy. I met some crazy people. I think my Mom is crazy, though. I think Gil is too. They’d fit right in there. Plus it’s all the free drugs you can swallow, pretty much. I’ve never been so high in my life. Seemed like every time you turn around some fat, pissed off nurse is trying to get you to take your cup of pills and drink your little cup of water.   I slept a lot.

Oh yeah.   I wanted to tell you more about that…..every few hours they gave me more meds. It was like pill city, and if you refused to the nurses got really mean. I saw them strap someone to the bed and literally shove the pills down his throat. I just tried to go along with anything they wanted.

There was one big ugly guy orderly (what is the difference between orderlies and nurses?) who the other patients told me to really avoid eye contact and everything of. They called him Big Willy, or Willy Wet-Pants. He was this big, big guy and he wasn’t that nice, he never smiled, not that any of the workers did. They were such assholes.

One girl who’d been there for a while, she was in the next room. She said that she had smiled at him, and had tried to be nice to him. But, it wasn’t good, because then he took some interest in her. She told me that he was a super creep. His thing was to give really rough rag baths with cold water. We had showers, an no one was bed bound, but he just would come in, and tie her wrists to the bed, and forcibly wash her. If another staff member came in, he’d say that she had been combative and pee’d her self.   It was totally forced. And, she….her name was Lizabeth, said that he.. practically rubbed her skin off in her “special places” (no really, it was her wording of it. I don’t know if I have that special of a place!). She told me to never look at him, avoid all eye contact, and never be nice to Willy.

One morning Lizabeth had all these big bruises all over her. The staff said that she had become a self mutilator, and wrote it all over her charts. In circle she said that big Willy had force himself on her, and when she struggled he had pinched her. The circle leader, this totally bride of Frankenstein woman, no seriously, her black hair had this massive streaks of white, and she piled it up on her head, and wore this totally retro, cat’s eyes 60’s style black rimmed glasses, and I swear, had never had anything in her vagina. Well, maybe dust, by now. Anyway, BoF just flipped out at Lizabeth and said that no orderly ever had sex with any patient, ever. That she was lying, and self-mutilating. That from now on she needed to be tied at night, to keep from further injuring herself.   Lizabeth started to cry, and that big ugly BoF just smiled and said, “see, you wouldn’t cry like that if you weren’t a dirty liar with a whore’s imagination.”   It was like a movie scene, Mack. All I could think of was One Flew Over the ..what was it, with…Jack Nicholson… I can’t remember. You know what I mean, though, right?

So, when Lizabeth was all tied up at night Willy would come into her room. She was afraid to sleep because he would come in and gently roll her to her side and give her an enema. She said the worst thing was to wake up feeling the nozzle go up her butt, and see Willy’s big grin looming over her. Then he’d sit down in the rocking chair and just watch and watch her. Lizabeth said that it was horrible. Her bowels would growl and she would clench to keep it all in.   And, Willy would laugh as she would beg him to untie her so she could use the bathroom. She said, sometimes he would….but he’d stand there and watch her, with his hands in his big baggy pants pockets. And, then he’d insist on wiping her, and then take her back to bed.   But, sometimes, he wouldn’t and when she couldn’t hold it in any longer, she would dirty herself and her bed. Sometimes he would just laugh and walk out of the room, and leave her there all night. Other times, he would give her a rag bath, and because she’d squirm, he’d spank her. She showed me the welts.   Mack, I asked her why she didn’t complain about it, file some sort of complaint.   She said, that at first, when she tried to complained to her doctors or the staff, they just said she was making it up. Willy had been an employee for many years, and he hardly ever took a day off. So, it was some girls word against this valued staff member. It wasn’t fair.

It really made me afraid at night. I didn’t ever make eye contact with anyone. Fro the most part, I just stayed in my room and kept to myself.   I never looked at Willy, though. I couldn’t even tell you what he looked like. Sometimes, I could feel him lurking around and watching me. Mack, it was really freaky.

But, Mack, I believed her. I really, really did believe her. But, maybe she was lying. I mean, how do you ever really know?

Anyway, then they moved her to a different floor and I didn’t see her anymore.

Anyway, I’m trying to get settled at home. Bo called me in sick to work for the first week, but swore she didn’t tell them anything. Just that I was really not able to come in — family emergency. But, after that, I don’t think anyone told them anything. I probably don’t have a job. I haven’t gotten up the nerve to call in. I mean, I’d have to fess, up, right?   I think not being employed is better than saying you’ve been in a nut house, don’t you?

Rodney has been super nice. He agrees that he thinks my counselor sort of handled it wrong. He gave me the number of a woman who he thinks highly of. I called her and have an appointment for later today. I’m really groggy still. I don’t know what all they had me on…but Bo had to help me walk out of there.

So, from my little “vacation” time there I know that I am NOT crazy. Not at all. I’m way sane. I’m so embarrassed that it all happened. I mean, I felt so out of control and powerless there. There was no way I could even talk to the outside world. It was like being in jail. My counselor came one day and I just refused to speak to him. I pretended I was asleep. God Mack, how do I explain at work where I’ve been?. I’d rather just quit and find a new job. Rodney says that it’s not bad and shouldn’t be embarrassing. That I should just look at it like I has a little emotional influenza. Bo is really sweet about it. She says that I was so freaked out that something had to happen. I’m going to take a sleeping pill and go sleep. I’ll write you when I come around again.





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