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sorchawenchIn my years of therapy, I have sat in many chairs and confessed my deepest secrets. But one chair in particular crosses my mind more frequently.
It was 1989. I was 14. Locked behind the doors of the Riverside Adolescent Psychiatric Unit, in Riverside Ca. My parents brought me here when they no longer knew how to deal with my suicidal obsessions, my anxiety, my self hate.
I was a typical teenager, but for those deadly shortcomings in my brain. I was in unrequited love with a handful of movie stars, I'd cut my teeth on Star Wars, had a hidden stash of My Little Pony's, and I knew that greater things waited for me.
Bon Jovi for example. Gods....I loved Bon Jovi.
I'd like to say that my stay was something for Hollywood to desire, that I roomed with the 80's version of Angelina Jolie in Girl Interrupted....but no. We were just a bunch of scared, crazy kids....with problems bigger than us, larger than life, and completely out of our control.
I had two Psychiatrists while I was there. One, provided by the Military (I'm an Army Brat, after all), and based in my home town. The other was a Doctor based with the hospital itself.
Every other day one of these men would lead me into an office, have me sit in the brown leather chair, and they would lure the secrets from my lips, the fears I'd expressed to no one, the desires I had, the dreams I kept close to my heart.
I usually saw Dr. Taylor. He was based with the hospital and was a Child & Adolescent specialist. He was easy going, fun to talk to, understanding, and patient. I have blacked out my other Doctor's name, I fear out of a necessity to remain sane. He was the complete opposite of Dr. Taylor. He was demanding, he was harsh, he was not patient. I was afraid of him, even though all he had ever done was leave a bad taste in my mouth, but I was afraid of him to my very core. For purposes of this entry, let's call him Dr. X.
I had been on numerous medications already in my 14 years. Trying to find the magic pill to make the demons go away. But the right cocktail had not been found. So in yet another attempt to gain control, my doctors prescribed me Prozac. Then Dr. Taylor went on a week's vacation.
Great pill, Prozac. Energy, relatively upbeat mood, mostly no weird side effects. Just a growing sense of paranoia that went unrecognized until THAT afternoon......
That's when it all came to a head. The orderlies led me down the hall for my therapy session. I was let into the room where Dr. X sat waiting for me. A wide desk separated us, as I dropped into the familiar brown leather chair. Dr. Taylor never sat behind the desk. Dr. X ALWAYS did.
Things get fuzzy at this point. But the one thing I recall with crystal like clarity was Dr. X telling me that if I didn't shape up and get with the program soon, he was going to have me committed to a State Psychiatric Facility. I was terrified. I was also pretty damned paranoid at this point anyway and to my 14 year old mind, that meant I would never be able to see my family again. And again, with crystal clarity, I recall my reaction.
I recall becoming enraged at his off handed attitude at handling my life. I was convinced that he was the root of all my troubles. And so I decided in a snap moment to get rid of him. I was 14.....logic is not a strong point in 14 year olds.
The chair I had been sitting in flew across the room, across that desk, and slammed into the wall on the opposite side. Dr. X screamed and ducked. I just screamed. The door burst open and I found myself being taken out of the office and placed into the seclusion room. The door was locked. I was left alone with my fear and rage.
They let me out after a while. Everything from that time is fuzzy and distant, but I know that I never saw Dr. X again. Dr. Taylor returned from his time away and in our next therapy session, suggested that maybe we should wean me off the Prozac. I readily agreed.
He never mentioned the incident with Dr. X. Never mentioned a State facility. I was eventually stabilized and returned home. Not cured, by any stretch, but better able to cope at that point.
I occasionally think about that time of my life. Wonder at the level of crazy in a 14 year old girl. Wonder about the Doctor who tried to help. And wonder if Dr. X ever improved his bedside manner or does he now work with furniture, bolted to the floor.....
It was 1989. I was 14. Locked behind the doors of the Riverside Adolescent Psychiatric Unit, in Riverside Ca. My parents brought me here when they no longer knew how to deal with my suicidal obsessions, my anxiety, my self hate.
I was a typical teenager, but for those deadly shortcomings in my brain. I was in unrequited love with a handful of movie stars, I'd cut my teeth on Star Wars, had a hidden stash of My Little Pony's, and I knew that greater things waited for me.
Bon Jovi for example. Gods....I loved Bon Jovi.
I'd like to say that my stay was something for Hollywood to desire, that I roomed with the 80's version of Angelina Jolie in Girl Interrupted....but no. We were just a bunch of scared, crazy kids....with problems bigger than us, larger than life, and completely out of our control.
I had two Psychiatrists while I was there. One, provided by the Military (I'm an Army Brat, after all), and based in my home town. The other was a Doctor based with the hospital itself.
Every other day one of these men would lead me into an office, have me sit in the brown leather chair, and they would lure the secrets from my lips, the fears I'd expressed to no one, the desires I had, the dreams I kept close to my heart.
I usually saw Dr. Taylor. He was based with the hospital and was a Child & Adolescent specialist. He was easy going, fun to talk to, understanding, and patient. I have blacked out my other Doctor's name, I fear out of a necessity to remain sane. He was the complete opposite of Dr. Taylor. He was demanding, he was harsh, he was not patient. I was afraid of him, even though all he had ever done was leave a bad taste in my mouth, but I was afraid of him to my very core. For purposes of this entry, let's call him Dr. X.
I had been on numerous medications already in my 14 years. Trying to find the magic pill to make the demons go away. But the right cocktail had not been found. So in yet another attempt to gain control, my doctors prescribed me Prozac. Then Dr. Taylor went on a week's vacation.
Great pill, Prozac. Energy, relatively upbeat mood, mostly no weird side effects. Just a growing sense of paranoia that went unrecognized until THAT afternoon......
That's when it all came to a head. The orderlies led me down the hall for my therapy session. I was let into the room where Dr. X sat waiting for me. A wide desk separated us, as I dropped into the familiar brown leather chair. Dr. Taylor never sat behind the desk. Dr. X ALWAYS did.
Things get fuzzy at this point. But the one thing I recall with crystal like clarity was Dr. X telling me that if I didn't shape up and get with the program soon, he was going to have me committed to a State Psychiatric Facility. I was terrified. I was also pretty damned paranoid at this point anyway and to my 14 year old mind, that meant I would never be able to see my family again. And again, with crystal clarity, I recall my reaction.
I recall becoming enraged at his off handed attitude at handling my life. I was convinced that he was the root of all my troubles. And so I decided in a snap moment to get rid of him. I was 14.....logic is not a strong point in 14 year olds.
The chair I had been sitting in flew across the room, across that desk, and slammed into the wall on the opposite side. Dr. X screamed and ducked. I just screamed. The door burst open and I found myself being taken out of the office and placed into the seclusion room. The door was locked. I was left alone with my fear and rage.
They let me out after a while. Everything from that time is fuzzy and distant, but I know that I never saw Dr. X again. Dr. Taylor returned from his time away and in our next therapy session, suggested that maybe we should wean me off the Prozac. I readily agreed.
He never mentioned the incident with Dr. X. Never mentioned a State facility. I was eventually stabilized and returned home. Not cured, by any stretch, but better able to cope at that point.
I occasionally think about that time of my life. Wonder at the level of crazy in a 14 year old girl. Wonder about the Doctor who tried to help. And wonder if Dr. X ever improved his bedside manner or does he now work with furniture, bolted to the floor.....
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no subject
on 2014-07-09 07:48 pm (UTC)no subject
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on 2014-07-12 02:46 pm (UTC)This really jumped out at me. You'd think that a psychiatrist would know bedside (chairside?) manner. *shakes head sadly*
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on 2014-07-12 10:40 pm (UTC)no subject
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on 2014-07-13 08:26 pm (UTC)A therapist could never make their client/patient feel that way, ever. I'm sure the drug change didn't help, but you probably forgot that man's name for a reason.
<3
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on 2014-07-16 04:30 pm (UTC)Thanks for reading!
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on 2014-07-14 08:24 am (UTC)no subject
on 2014-07-16 04:31 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2014-07-14 11:48 am (UTC)Lucky you didn't connect when you tossed the chair, although you probably didn't think so at the time.
As for what Dr X is doing now, not your circus, not your monkey.
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on 2014-07-16 04:31 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2014-07-14 12:44 pm (UTC)I think more than that, it's Hollywood's idea that the mentally ill are somehow "sages" who see things differently, or are rebels, or are, at the very worst, eccentric and prone to screaming fits and nervous tics (this doesn't count the serial killers--they are a whole different thing). I saw an indie movie set in a hospital that treated its patients as human, but the illness as crippling (which is why they were in the hospital to begin with), and I almost cried in relief.
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on 2014-07-15 08:52 pm (UTC)Nicely written.
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on 2014-07-18 12:04 am (UTC)