Ok, after being awake and taking drugs and not eating for a month you can imagine the shape I was in....or maybe you can't. It was bad for sure.
    My Mom couldn't believe that I had been on drugs. Remember, my Dad was an alcoholic so prior to sixteen I had always been vehemently against alcohol and drugs and anyone that engaged in them. I found out A very close friend of mine took mescaline once and I told him right away that I wanted nothing more to do with him as long as he was going to do drugs.
    It wasn't all that long after that I found out about my girl and my best friend  screwing around and I myself had my first "hit" of mescaline. Weird how things work out. Maybe I judged people to harshly and God let me experience that pain...ahh who knows, spilled milk.
    After being in the NH for a few days the doctors were talking to my Mom. "He's always going to be this way, he's blown his mind with drugs." "He's schizophrenic...no wait...manic depressive, yada yada. I think I exhausted their diagnosis manual. You see, as the drugs wore off and got out of my system I got better and better. The trouble was they had me on this un Godly dose of Thorazine and I think something called artane that in some ways I was more screwed up than when I came in. I don't know how they kept from killing me and wondered sometimes if that was their plan. That may sound incredible but there is a way of thinking that goes something like "they would be better off dead than in this shape." It wouldn't surprise me if that was at least some people's thinking.
   I would sometimes get stubborn and refuse my meds and staff and I would get in the ring and I would work out some agression, they would overpower me and shoot me up with Thorazine. I didn't mind the "quiet room" after the drug started taking effect....it was quiet and safe, unless of course you chocked or had a seizure or something like that, then they might find you dead the next day.
   You get the feeling when your in there that they consider you the refuse of humanity. Something to be "done away with", or medicated in to a submissive state. If your strong willed you will have a tougher time of it than others that are broken in some way and just don't care or even welcome the oblivion of the meds.
   Ultimetly, the "approved" diagnosis THAT time was drug induced psycosis. One doctor told my Mom that my kidneys didn't recognize the drugs as a foreign substance and just kept recyclying it through my system. Who knows. I just knew I was in emotional pain and drugs, alcohol, and sex helped....some.
   I've been in and out of therapy since that time so long ago. I'll go for a while, get frustrated about their in-ability to really help me and drop out. Over the years, Manic depression or Bi-polar disorder has been whats come up more than anything else. About five years ago, after seeking therapy because I just couldn't cope with this marriage I'm in, it came up yet again. I was just seeing a therapist and before even seeing them I told them, no Psychiatrist....don't even ask me, aient gonna happen. I don't want anything more to do with "witchdoctors" or "voodoo" medicine. After about a year, she convinced me to see this guy who was a pretty well known Psychiatrist and somewhat of an expert on Bi polar. I decided to give his meds a try. They don't make me "goofy" so I've been on them ever since. Of course, at the time I didn't think Thorazine made me "goofy" either so you be the judge.
    I don't know what IS wrong with me, but I feel like SOMETHING is. I know everyone isn't living a life of quite desperation, at least I hope everyone isn't living the way I do...in "yesterday."
                                      Will