At the time, I even felt proud that I couldn't be figured out, because that meant there was still hope. Medication did not take away or control all the pain and confusion, but I discovered that alcohol did. I would take to my room in privacy almost daily and drink away all problems. Drinking would numb me and put me in a safe, secure, familiar, and always accessible world. Cigarettes were also a way to fit in and at least feel a little bit normal.
At about 16, I was hyperactive and started a new medication. One evening I was so jumpy that my mother and I called the doctor, who said to take another pill to calm down. So I took it and became twice as jumpy. Then I called another doctor for confirmation, and she told me that the pills themselves were making me feel this way. I was ready to jump out of my skin, and I begged my mother to buy me alcohol to numb it. It was unbearable; dying was a pleasant thought, as it would end this hell I felt locked in my body.
By my senior year of high school, I was desperate, so I volunteered to go into a psychiatric hospital. My therapist recommended this, and I agreed, with no idea what I was doing. I was with about 25 other children between the ages of 10 and 18. I actually felt pretty well off in there, seeing the array of challenges and problems everyone else had. The first time, I stayed about a month. After a few days, I noticed how almost all the other children would come talk to me when they were upset. They all opened up to me and would take any advice I gave them. The hospital staff wasn't too fond of this, wondering how I, another "crazy patient" could help anyone. They mirrored my inner self-created prison. Now it was real and frightening.
One night, the reality of where I was hit me, and I broke down in my room, crying, "Why me?" over and over. On my first day, I witnessed four restraints, where the staff took patients who were out of control, wrestled them to the ground, injected them with Thorazine, and strapped them onto a bed in the quiet room until they calmed down. Then it was probation - no phone calls, no visitors, no TV, no leaving your room, and "leave the door open" so a staff member can watch you around the clock. I loved my freedom, so I made sure this never happened to me.
The frustrating part of all the hospital's rules was that they were enforced by people who I could clearly see had many problems themselves! I could see this, being gifted with the ability to "read" people. My family and friends from school would visit me, lending great support. I spent my 18th birthday in the hospital, and I even missed my senior prom. I did not feel like a man. I had plenty of reasons to feel sorry for myself. I remember saying, "I will overcome all of this and then show all the other children how to do the same. I know there is a way."
