I was so angry when I finally realized where I was that I was somewhat violent. I would fight at the drop of a hat. I especially took on some of the staff who acted more like gang members than care givers or attendants.
    I guess that's why they decided to let this little psycho bunk in my room. I don't know what happened to him but ALL he wanted to do was fight. He didn't weigh 98 pounds soaking wet but he sure thought he was ten foot tall and bullet proof. I had a little scuffle with him after they locked us in for the night. He tried to choke me so I kinda threw him on his bed and said something like , stay there or I'm gonna have to hurt you. I slept with one eye open that night, and we got through that. The next morning we are all at waiting in line for breakfast and I'm talking to him and trying to be really nice. I figured if we're gonna bunk down in a locked room we gotta have an understanding. He seems to listen and his features even seemed to soften a little so I thought I was making progress, I was pretty pleased with myself. I turned my head or something and this guy clocks me, pretty good to for a little fella and away we go. I only hit him a couple times cause I didn't wanna break him.
    Everybody gets mad at ME! Some of the bigger guys are about to kick my butt (or try) and I can't figure it out. What the heck was I supposed to do?
    He wound up being moved off the ward. I'm glad too because being locked up at night with him was surreal. Keep in mind I wasn't thinking all that straight either....he could have wound up dead. Or worse yet, I coulda. That was my first fight but not my last by far. I always said, if given a choice between "the nuthouse" and prison, I'd take prison.
                       Will