looney bin fun

So, I was sitting in my livingroom, talking to my son, about what, i do not remember. Suddenly, I was siezed by chest pain, wrist pain, sweating, and incoherent thinking. A few hours before, I had a moment when I could not figure out how to start the car, and I couldnt putt he steps together to sweep the living room floor.

I was convinced, absolutely convinced, that I was having another heart attack, or perhaps a stroke. Fairly quickly, my thought process cleared, but the pain remained quite severe, and I sent my son for help. Some very calm neighbors called an ambulance, and I went to the hospital.

They found absolutely nothing physically wrong. So i asked for a referral to a psychologist or psychiatrist, thinking that it was a problem with my mind, or perhaps my penchant for self-medication was messing me up. (Just OTC stuff, no narcotics or street drugs) I was told that I could not have one, they could not refer me to a shrink of any discription, I had to go thru "Crisis", which is apparently the ONLY way to get an immediate referral to mental health professionals, and the only way to do that was to let them send me to a mental hospital for "observation". I was scared shitless, still fairly convinced that I was dying, so I agreed, under the condition that I was NOT agreeing to be committed, and that I could leave whenever I wanted. that assurance being given, I agreed, albeit with a slight bit of angst.

While there, I slowly lost my conviction that I was dying. I arrived at Acadia on thursday night, and did not see an actual doctor until Tuesday afternoon.

While there, we had "group meeting" every morning, at which we were asked probing, consistently pointless questions, and were told what to expect for that day. Monday morning, I was told I would be seeing a doctor that day. This was very relieving to hear, as it was the whole reason I had agreed to go.

A lesser reason was to cease taking my OTC meds under controlled circumstances. There were no negative effect from not taking them, except that the pain I was taking them to treat came back like a freight train. Oddly, this lack of significant effects from cessation has not reassured anybody that my taking them was essentially benign, proving their objections had no basis in reason or reality, just in fear of the unknown, I have chosen to respect their emotional hesitance and not restarted the OTC med regimen despite the nearly crippling pain. I have been told that I do not really respect the emotions of oters, so this is an experiment in that direction. No idea how long I can put up with it, but I am trying.

Anyway, on Monday morning I was told, by a creature named Wayne, that I would see a doctor that day.

Several hours later, Wayne informed me tht he had decided I didnt need to actually see a doctor, I could just see him, a Nurse Practitioner. I refused. I was not there to see a nurse, but to see a psychiatrist, and wasn't really willing to compromise on that point, as I had already come this far. When I told him i considered what he had told me that morning a lie, he changed his story. It wasn't really HIM that decided I could skip the doctor, it was both him and the Doctor together. When I told him that really didn't much matter to my conclusion that he had lied to me, and now he had lied twice, he changed his story yet again, saying that the DOCTOR had decided he was too busy and had asked Wayne to divide up the case load and had put me on Waynes list. With the lie count now up to three, I gave up on Wayne, told him I would wait as long as necessary, ande had a snack to calm down.

Are you out there, Wayne? I am searching for your e-mail address because I have not yet told you how I felt at your deception while I was at what I considered a vulnerable point,. I will find it.

The next morning, during "group", Wayne made the mistake of asking us all if we had any issues that needed to be dealt with. So I told him. He had lied to me, in front of everybody in the "group" and lost all credibility, and as I had been told by a mutual friend that he was a good guy who actually cared, I would give him the chance to regain it by admitting error and apologizing in the same forum he had lied to me in. He couldn't do it, or wouldn't do it, and told me that it was an inappropriate forum in which to address the issue, and that i should stop talking in front of the other patients about it.

He refused to speak to me for the remainder of the day, but I did get to see the doctor. With a referral in hand, I asked to be discharged, and since I was there voluntarily, they of course said yes, and i left.

In order to get a referral to a psychologist, I had to sign myself in to a nuthouse (Acadia hospital in Bangor), and now I have to put up with all the stares and worried looks and stigma that comes with it. I had to stay there for almost a week. All this just to get an appointment.

The actual appointment will not be for six weeks to three months.

Result of the stay: a somewhat plausible explanation of what happened to me: PTSD sufferers frequently suffer flashbacks, or are force3d to relive their traumatic experience3s, in real time, again and again. The Doc thinks i was reliving my first heart attack. As this is a mental disorder, there is no way to conclusively prove this.

At no time was I ever a danger to myself or anybody else. My son performed admirable in what he thought (as did I) was a major crisis, and my neighbors did me the great favor of comforting me while I was waiting for the ambulance, as well as calling the ambulance and looking after the Kid till Deb came home.

I cannot in good conscience tell anybody else who thinks they need psychological help trust Acadia hospital, seek other alternatives first. And under no circumstances believe what they tell you in a looney bin, they have no respect for your feelings and expectations at all, they think you are crazy, stupid, and must be calmed down, even if it means lying their asses off to you. maintain your goals, insist on being treated honestly and forthrightly and realize you are still human, regardless of how they treat you.

Penis Joke

I have a friend who wants to go to special forces training because it will turn him into a finely crafted weapon of survival and destruction. I informed him that a weapon is a tool. If he wants to have real power, the thing to be is the hand that wields the tool. He thought it was a penis joke and didn't listen. Now he is completely screwed. So i guess he was right, it WAS a penis joke.

Answers to questions I have recently been asked,

1) are you insane

Probably. What you have to understand is that from INSIDE insane, things look pretty much normal.

Technically, the answer has to be "yes". I suffer from PTSD, i suspect i suffer from a lot of other things, too, but because of the way I am, objective answers are quite difficult to obtain. In a pinch, go with "yes", treat my words as coming from a crazy person and dismiss their significance. I dare you.

2) does the answer to the previous question automatically make everything you say dismissable and valueless?

Only when I am wearing a clown nose.

Are you out there, reading this? Because if you are, know this: I am willing to talk about it. I am also willing to promise that as far as it is in my power to do so, I will prevent harm from happening to you as a result of simply talking about it, whatever it is. a different perspective might help.