#6—The Behavioral Health Unit: Part Two
Creation Date: 2022/12/01
Prep Talk—
To prepare for recalling time spent in the Behavioral Health Unit, I need to remind myself that I now know that once I was documented by this hospital, I was judged as being someone that has potential to be a disruption to societal norms. It is still not reasonable for me to believe that I, myself, can effect change in the behavioral health academic field unless I can get my experience out en masse to everyone everywhere. It is not an impossible feat to do. I can do it.
Although the experience of behavioral health related programs, services, and facilities still has a dark side to it even today, even after all the exposure the world-wide web has given to the ills of psychiatry since Sigmeund Freud's theory gained steam in academia, I believe that - after my experience thus far in Office of Mental Health affiliated programs, services, and facilities - there are genuine people who believe they can help. I applaud these people as much as the clients whom I have met at facilities that have let me know they had been receiving services in the facility for many years without seeing the outside world.
My focus should be on mentalities and my approach to situations, situations common and uncommon. My mentality is what allows me to make the best of the situation, acquire wisdom from the experience, hear out what the accademic professionals have to say. I have faith in Angels watching out for me because I know what I have been through in life, and I know there may be more challenges to overcome. Because my mentalities are becoming stronger in cognitive processes, whether in a situation of accademic singularity or in the multiplicity of companionships, and that I have even more faith in the Living God, in the Angels who seem to let me know they are in the area with signs, and in myself and virtuous living.
I am ready to relive the experience of the behavioral health unit at the same hospital I had left a few months before.
The Return—
I would argue that my own family members were given instructions by the hospital as to how to deal with me when I returned home after the first week in an Office of Mental Health facilities. This is of course pure speculation I should not explore further. I want to believe that no matter what my family has the best of intentions in terms of me having a proper outlook on life. It was my mother who asked me to talk to the woman on the phone I wrote about in Part One of The Behavioral Health Unit.
Yes, I was quite upset with my mother when I returned home because I was told I was experiencing delusions related to possible schizophrenia, and that the woman most likely did not exist. Like, seriously, I know I spoke to someone. I felt betrayed.
My mother never did seem to care much about the trauma I was visually and emotionally reliving leading up to the first time in the Emergency Room. She implored me to get over it in a stern voice. I felt as if she was trying to tell me it was my fault trauma kept visiting me in life. I was torn by her disposition to my trauma after I expressed that I missed the love of my life. She told me by yelling that I did not know what love was because I wasn't old enough to undestand love. After that, that was when I decided to seek academic professions to mend my shattered emotional state. And again, I still believe my family has only the best of intentions with me when it comes to better, proper living.
Police!—
My mom knew I was still dwelling on what she said when I returned, and I would revert back to a living state of singularity, spending a lot of time on the world-wide web researching the Behavioral Health system the Office of Mental Health has set up in my State. I didn't just research the system in place, but higher learning institutions for what coursework had to be taken to become an academic healthcare professional in behavioral health programs and services, what laws were on the books for professional malpractice in the event I found myself back in such facilities, and I also researched pharmacology drugs.
I was becoming aware in hastened research that there was a dark side to willingness to "trust the process" in place to receive health services. Programs seemed to be based on behavioral health theories from decades ago. Programs didn't seem realistic in terms of approach in my reasoning of the life experiences I had up until being thrown into chaos emotionally. I found researching that Police departments had the power to confine citizens at will if they felt like it. And the pharmacology drugs? The drugs had some side-effects. Sometimes not one or two, but a list of potential undesirable effects in order to balance out emotional states. To me, drugs with side-effects - speaking through academic wisdom - drugs with side-effects is rather unheard of in the medical field outside of the academic field of Psychiatry. Pharmacological drugs, to me, if a person was to consume them, more often than not it is because they are forced to as the clients right to not take it isn't even a right. Psychiatrists are aware of side-effects, yet they seem to believe that clients, in order to "balance out" should suffer undesirable effects simultaneously in the name of "better health". But, I digress.
Now, as much as it hurt me when my mother told me I wasn't old enough to know what love is, I didn't want to create a grudge. I would still believe she had the best intentions for me. So, I attempted to explain to her research notes I was acquiring on how services in behavioral health programs and facilities were, and what my experience was in there the first time. I now know there is something about the decades my parents grew up in that made her shutter at the thought I could possibly radicalize against Psychiatry. I would acquire wisdom as to why she became desparate for me to just accept mental health into my life and forget a Living God existed. Something I am unwilling to do - turn away from the Living God and His Son who was murdered by a democratic mob, tortured and crucified because He, Jesus, worked miracles and taught people how to live virtuously and love humanity in a time of immense tyranny.
My mother was freightened by my desire to effect change in how I would approach speaking against certain practices, and so one day she had enough of my research notes, and called the police to commit me back to the hospital. I was terrified. How could I work to effect change in the behavioral health system the Office of Mental Health designed if I was locked up for who knows how long this time.
When the police arrived I said not one word, and because I said not one word, the agreed with my mother that something was "wrong", thought it seemed more to me that it was not with the situation but with me as a man. That and my mother was audacious is letting the police know I was not continuing medication the hospital prescribed for schizophrenia. The eyes of the police when she said "schizophrenia" to them! They practically hightailed me down to the hospital, told the nurses in the Emergency room what my mother said, and the nurses got to work quick!
What I didn't research was what schizophrenia was. I was still livid over being called delusional. Delusional being something I researched and found that it was something like experiencing hallucinations. Like, I want to use some words to describe how I felt when I learned what a delusion was in my academic research when I returned home from the first time I spent on the BHU, but I won't. I want to maintain a healthy flow of communication if I can.
Intake—
The intake process was no different the first time. But, they explained to me that I should just "cooperate" and I wouldn't be strapped down to the bed with belts like the last time to have blood drawn. I was not speaking still, at that time. What I did do was sit on the bed upright, praying to Jesus they wouldn't strap me down with belts again. They seemed skeptic but drew blood while some muscle stood by, most likely in case I "acted out" - you know, whatever schizophrenia would turn out to be if someone wanted to enlighten me. I just sat there on the bed until they told me they didn't find any drugs in my blood stream and that I would be taken up to the unit shortly. A different guard was posted outside the waiting room this time. I was in there for what seemed like the same amount of time as last time. Again, I wasn't given drink or snacks after blood was drawn.
They would wheel me up to the "secure floor".
First things first—
Afer arriving on the unit, and having been wheeled to my chair, I got up and spoke. I told them I need a meal. It was like 9 oclock at night. Telling them I have not eaten since lunch, they seemed like they had "heard the story before". I told them what I needed and they came back with a children's milk carton and a peanut butter and jelly sandwhich. I was bothered by the adaquecy of the meal, but I made due until the morning. The Psychiatrist would be in when the next day came.
The Doctor—
When the daylight came I was "granted an audience" with the Psychiatrist I had met the first time, they seemed to have a disappointed look on their face. They asked if I wanted to talk. I asked him when I could leave. The first thing they said was "You're schizophrenic!" They asked about why I hadn't continued medicating since the last time we met. For me, the medications were awful. They had side-effects. My cognitive functioning was lacking after taking the "drugs". They proceeded to tell me to go through their program and I would have a decision on returning home.
I was still lacking in understanding of what the purpose these facilities served to the community. No, I hadn't continued medications. It was not beneficial or wanted. I did however experience the programs they deployed for clients on the unit. And no, I wasn't ready to tell staff why I was so emotional the first time I was there. but, I do like academia and the programs seemed like a good way to exercise the student in me to acquire more wisdom in how it can benefit my mentality processes as well as my memorial processes, potentially helping me overcome past traumatic experiences. If there is ever a day I overcome a life of traumatic experiences, I can live on for the next great adventure.
The Programming—
Programming started after speaking with the academic professional Psychiatrist. The same day. What I came to learn that inpatient programming at a Psychiatric Center affiliated with the Office of Mental Health is much different than on an Office of Mental Health affiliated Behavioral Health Unit in a general hospital, but I will leave my experience in those for other blog posts.
The programming was rather simplistic in design. It involved a lot of group therapy. The Psychiatrist overseeing the unit was scarcely available to talk with. I don't recall an dedicated academic professional Psychologist on unit iether. Though through my academic research prior to entering this unit the second time led me to believe that nurses took classes in the Psychology field as part of their degree programming at whichever college or university they attended. So, their academic professional title is a nurse, but play roles of Psychologists on unit when doing group therapy.
Group therapy is not at all robust in creating a more healthy mentality for future experiences. It didn't seem to incorporate "Prep talks" and "Pep talks" like I have experienced while living singularity or in the event of multiplicity. Group therapy was centered around the present feelings of individuals and how they were coping when not in group. When we weren't in group therapy sessions, there was a television with pre-selected channels to watch, books that were not educational, a Holy Bible (King James Version) locked away in a cabinet, and a few decks of cards at the ready if someone wanted to start up a card game or play "Solitaire".
Digressing back to group therapy sessions, it was "educational" for diagnosese among the clients as handouts of information related to a diagnosis was promoted by staff. When I write "promoted", the material that explained a diagnosis for clients to gander at was from sources that were "verified" and "acceptable" to the Psychiatrist and staff to present to the clients. This is when I finally got an idea of what Schizophrenia was - though my academia mindset and mentality when reading up on what the Psychiatrist wanted me to know is that "acceptable" information has a marketing aspect attached to the information. It's all about how the staff can get me to believe that what they are trying to sell me is legit. It wasn't until I returned to life in an academic institution years later that schizophrenia is not what the Psychiatrist and staff here led me to believe with their "verified" and "acceptable" documentation explanation of the diagnosis. My academic institution return and the information, knowledge, and wisdom I acquired therein through coursework I may discuss in future blog articles, but not at this time. I like to believe I have a certain method in place as I sit to write out my experiences in the Office of Mental Health's affiliated programs, services, and facilities. So, bare with me!
Schizophrenia documentation handed to me in this stay at the behavioral unit let me know I may be living out of "reality". But, I questioned why "reality" would even be in question. The question of why the way things are the way they are in the world I accepted as the life in Christ, Jesus, who was murdered by a democratic judge and mob jury a couple thousand years ago, who taught virtuous living so that tyranny in the world would crumble, and we could all live in a world-wide civilization. Christ, Jesus, was the begotten Son of the Living God, mortal, and was murdered for His teachings. My life in Christ, Jesus, I accepted into my heart and mind the moments I heard a Holy Mass proclaiming His life, death, and ressurection, and His ascendance into Heaven where He would make a place for us when our time came to depart into Heaven. No one is going to tell me that I am delusional in my faith in the Holy Word of the Living God and His Son's teachings. No one.
After reading the diagnosis, I wanted out of there immediately. I would not partake in pharmacology drug taking. I would not listen to what seemed to be a coordinated effort to manifest a diagnosis founded on accepting I hallucinated visually and auditorily. But they wouldn't let me leave because I wouldn't partake in drug consumption, because I didn't accept the diagnosis, and that I didn't accept that my faith in the way things are the way they are was a delusion that the Holy Roman Catholic Church preaches. They were attempting to manifest into my mentality that Psychiatry is authority on how to live, and that I would need to consume pharmacological drugs if I were to live in the community if I was released. They were conditioning my release with drugs, and I wouldn't do it because I knew how they were affecting my cognitive functioning. And because schizophrenia is all about delusions, the staff seemed to consider my authority of my own body and wellbeing, how the pharmacology drugs were affecting my cognitive functioning, to be a delusion as well.
Pep talk—
Christ, Jesus, is the light of my life and the world. The way things are the way they are is because He was the mortal Son of the Living God and He taught virtuous living to bring an end to tyranny allowing the world to enter into a state of world-wide civilization. He provided the way, spoke true, and lived the life He preached. This is life, "C'est la vie"!
Transport Ready—
One month after being in the Behavioral Health unit at the hospital, it seemed like staff and the Psychiatrist had enough of me preaching the teachings of Christ, Jesus, and my reluctancy to consume pills everyday. The Psychiatrist had a Psychiatric facility in mind to send me to and preparations had been made for transportation by ambulance to the facility. I had no interest, but state law requires Behavioral Health units in hospitals to keep clients for no more than 30 days, and they needed to allow them to go home or make a decision for admission into a longer care facility affiliated with the Office of Mental Health. I was given to option to return to my home because they were aware I would not consume pharmacological drugs to "balance" my "brain chemistry".
I was strapped to a geurny with belts, taken to the ambulance, and away I went for my first life experience in a long-term mental healthcare facility affiliated with the Office of Mental Health.
I will end this blog article by dedicating this to the clients who may have seen me naked on the unit after I had taken a shower.