u u c c i nuu ib
reoruary b-12, 2015
Commentary
Page 13
Dizzy Dan’s Hologram: Part III - Psych Ward
BY DAN NEWTH
Dan N ew this a Street Roots vendor and periodic
writer This is fin a l o f three columns, told
through his perception o f events surrounding his
recent attempted suicide and recovery.
it all. One saving grace I have is the ability
to laugh at myself.
n the way to the psych ward, I had an
Back at my private room, I risked faking a
entourage of a security guard and an
shower. It was touch and go; I was so dizzy I
intern. They didn’t talk to me much,
almost blacked out. At least my smell and
but I did get one chuckle out of the security
appearance was less offensive. Looking in
guard. They wheeled me into the psych food was great) and an explanation of the
the mirror m y eyes had thick black
ward. A woman was standing in the hall camera in the room.
indentations under them. My body was very
staring at me, and I nodded toward her
When the orderly left, I slowly sat up in
toxic. I dressed in the scrubs given to
because my speech was still slurred, and her the bed. I felt weak and dizzy. I managed to
residents and made an appearance at the
mouth dropped open. She seemed to
wobble into the bathroom. I had hoped to
morning community meeting.
recognize me. I might have resembled some
take my first shower in three days, but there
The lead counselor led the meeting that
ghost from the past.
was no way I would be able to remain
morning. Everyone checked in to some
I was checked in at the desk and given a
standing. I decided to try in the morning.
degree, It was obvious some residents were
private room with a wonderful view. The
There was a sign inside the bathroom door
in profound despair. Despite a recent
thought crossed my mind that this« was ;
that read: “Most falls happen when you
suicide attempt, I was not the worst off
going to cost money I didn’t have. I suddenly think you’re safe.” I didn’t feel stable at all,
here. We were asked to name a favorite
became psychic. I saw bankruptcy court in
so I guess I was safe. I felt like I would black dessert. My brain was so slow I couldn’t
my future.
out making my way back to the bed. I spent
think of one. The woman who had stared at
The staff in the psych ward worked in
the rest of the evening and night in bed.
me when I came into the ward mentioned
teams of nurses, social workers, counselors
I woke in the morning to the
carrot cake. When she said that, I
and orderlies. They ran an efficient,
announcement that breakfast had arrived. I
piggybacked on, her idea, adding cream
compassionate, and for me, effective u n it.
tottered out and picked up a tray, said good
cheese frosting. One young woman
But I was yet to discover this.
morning to a few other residents and ate
commented that some of the residents
An orderly came into my room, I was
the delicious breakfast. For a “nut” house,
hadn’t taken a shower and smelled. An older
lying on the bed, and he started with the
this sure did resemble a bed and breakfast.
woman, whose hair looked a little greasy,
usual series of questions.
A resident invited me to the morning
became defensive, asking if she was being
“Do you know why you’re here? Why did
meeting. I said I might go. I didn’t have my
referred to. She left the meeting crying and
you try to commit suicide? Do you want to
bearings yet. Everyone seemed polite, as if
would continue to cry for two days.
harm yourself right now? Are you planning
walking on eggshells; one never knew what
Fifteen minutes after the community
to harm yourself in the future? Do you want
might set off the new case. I was unsure of
meeting ended, a process group began with
to harm anyone else?” Answer these
both them and myself. My ability to monitor
the same lead counselor. I found out some
questions correctly and they unlock the
myself disappeared when I became mentally
of the people I had thought were staff were
bathroom dporfor you. Answerthem wrong
exhausted, and I seemed to get exhausted
residents dealing with mental process
and you might end up in restraints.
every day after a few hours work.
dysfunctions — truly overwhelming. Most
What I had thought was a sleeping pill
I have yelled at customers, panhandlers,
folks here exhibited the dichotomy of
(Trazadone) was actually an antidepressant
fundraisers and scammers while selling
strength and fragility, and what really
and anti-anxiety medication. I didn’t want to
Street Roots; Ihave been ordered to leave
resonated with me was our common human
hurt myself or anyone else — well, maybe
the Street Roots office; I have caused
spirit. These folks seemed like kin. The
the Koch brothers, butno one else. I was • disturbances on TriMet buses and yelled at
psych ward became a very human
rewarded with access to the toilet: The
police officers when they answered the call.
experience for me. We practiced some
orderly explained that I was not allowed to r I worry that I am in the early stages of
mindfulness activities, four-square breathing,
leave until the court reporter met with me
dementia, a disease my father and his
meditation and the practice of bringing
to determine if I would be committed. There mother died from. I deal with PTSD,
yourself back to the moment. When the
was paperwork, a basic explanation of daily
anxiety, depression, chemical dependency
world is starting to crash in 6n you,
schedules, optional groups, meal menu (the
and paranoia, and sometimes I think I know
sometimes your only defense is the ,
CONTRIBUTING COLUMNIST
■
B e tte r
h e a lth
ŒNTRALCITY
Transition
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distraction of the now.
They also had other therapies that
incorporated creativity and mindfulness: art
therapy, music therapy, dance and
movement therapy and my favorite,
horticulture therapy. Any creative activity
combined with mindfulness can be part of
the process of recovery (alsb known as life).
Writihg these columns is a big part of my
recqyery. I have done decades of group
therapy and individual counseling. I thought
the root of my problems could be cured by
thinking it out, and only when my brain is
functioning well.
Immersing yourself in a creative process
reaches to a deeper part of yourself over
time than mere thought can. It can be a way
to reach self-actualization, establishing self
esteem, a sense of purpose and a safety net
for darker days.
I met with the psychiatrist, who seemed
to be more of an administrator, and
answered his questions, but I never had the
feeling he was listening. He did prescribe an
antidepressant for me. I met with the court
reporter who, instead of committing me,
told me I was free to go. Go where?
I met with a social worker who tried to
hook me up with continued mental health
care and a place to stay since my wife didn’t
want me back home. However, she could not
find a mental health provider who would
accept niy insurance. The only housing she
' tbhfd^firid wa’s referral to a homeless
shelter. It was three nights on a mat on a
floor.
My insurance tends to pay mental health
services slowly. The mental health providers
that accept my insurance tend to be all
booked up. The mental health system is no
longerSNAFU (situation normal: all fucked
up) it is FUBAR (Fucked up beyond all
recognition) and yet here I was in a private
room of a psych ward with a wonderful view.
My next step was to be homeless.
health
www.healthshar@oregon.org
Transition
Projects
Ending homelessness and achieving self-sufficiency.
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