Deliverance

Deeply Disturbed

by Jim Pickett [originally published in Positively Aware]

You are meeeeyentalleeee eeeyelll. I don’t want you representin’ me in D.C. or anywhere with an untreated meeeeyental eeeyelllnyess...

So, where were we?

On the fairy-flip-out, Sissy Asylum, Hard Time for Henrietta storyline I last recounted to you about my bipolar-lite odyssey into mental illness a couple of issues ago ("Bi Bi Baby" in July/August), we left off with the harrowing scene in which I was playing docile, obedient patient to Evil Counselor Queen (ECQ) who had made abundantly clear in a drawl right out of Deliverance that he was deeply disturbed that I was intent on exiting the facility sooner rather than later.

Do you remember?

I had been chillaxin in the “lounge”on Day 2 with some of my fellow bipolar, substance abusing, depressed, disturbed pals playing another game of UNO when I was summoned into my chambers by ECQ for a little heart-to-heart and I guess you could say, “tough love”—but without the love.

He had been reviewing my chart and saw that on my first morning in the facility, I had marched my ass to the front desk and stridently informed the staff on duty that I was going to leave. This did not go over well, and there was a bit of an argument about my rights, and their responsibilities, and yadda yadda. It seems there is some liability with allowing suicidal patients out too soon—and while I had admitted myself, I was not in the position to say when the ride was over and fit to re-enter society. However, I did have the legal right to sign what is called a “5-Day” which says that they can’t force me to farm funny past five days if I no longer pose a hazard to myself and/or others at that time. I signed that baby, and it was noted in my chart and next to my name on the dry erase board in the nurse’s station.

“How dare you! You are meeeeyentalleeee eeeyelll. I don’t want you representin’ me in D.C. or anywhere with an untreated meeeeyental eeeyelllnyess,” hissed ECQ . He proceeded to berate me, telling me how fucked up and wrong I was to think I was better than anyone else, that basically I was a real asshole for not allowing myself the help I needed to get better. And that I would be going out into the world of HIV/AIDS, gay men’s health advocacy a sick man and no good could come of that for anybody. He was convinced that it was all about me doing the time, a lot of time. A mere five days was not nearly enough in his opinion.

He made me cry.

Read the rest.