The adult me had taken a break from remembering—envisioning it as a temporary respite in a wild mental land. But, now it was time to pick up my thought sword and begin fighting through the past again. I had this notion that I was beginning to get towards the end of my ability to be shocked. (I don’t know that I was right.)
* * * * * * *
(1972)
School was amazing. I was attending Western State Hospital High School on the grounds. I thought it was somewhat impressive to attend high school given I was 14, but the location belied the advancement.
(1972)
School was amazing. I was attending Western State Hospital High School on the grounds. I thought it was somewhat impressive to attend high school given I was 14, but the location belied the advancement.
The girls went to school with the boys in an old school bus every morning at eight. The classes lasted 50 minutes each. To me, the most striking thing about the school was that each class had only three or four students. One day that first week, I paid close attention and noticed that my biggest class had five students. For a kid that came from a school that mostly had over 30 students per class, this was hardly school at all.
I wasted no time putting myself in front of the pack with the teachers. Apparently, it had been a good many years since any of the teachers had seen a student that was motivated. At least one teacher, Mrs. Bullard, treated me with a kind of awe. It excited her to be able to teach someone who wanted to learn. It made me sad. I thought Mrs. Bullard was a nice woman and wondered why she taught here.
* * * * * * *
“J.”
“Oh God,” I thought, “not again.”
“My name is Lucifer.”
“You’re a friend of Sasifraz’s, right?”
“No, Martineau’s.”
“Oh great, that’s supposed to make me feel better?”
“More gibberish,” I thought, “no wonder I’m in a mental hospital.”
“Go away.”
“But, I’m here to help you.”
“Go away!” I sent him back to where ever he came from. But after several nights of not sleeping well, I went to the staff for help. (My mistake.)
* * * * * * *
They gave me a shot of Sparine—Carolyn and another counselor—in the butt. Carolyn, one of my favorite counselors, told me that no meds had been approved for me yet. Sparine was approved over the phone by Dr. Van Pattern. When I brought up the issue of not sleeping, I didn’t know what I was getting into.
After the shot, they put me to bed. As far as they were concerned, that was that. It wasn’t that for me.
* * * * * * *
Pain coursed through my body. My arms and legs felt like they were being stabbed with spikes. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. I knew it was late, but I didn’t know how late. Within minutes, Mary Bolton, the graveyard staff, walked by and looked in on me.
I was terrified of the woman. She was very tall, large, and imposing. In any dealings with me, she had always been very gruff. I attempted to ask her what was wrong, but I couldn’t move. Bolton just looked at me and walked on down the hall. I was frightened. There was nothing to do but wait. I drifted back into a dark sleep.
* * * * * * *
In the morning, I could barely wake up. Bolton kept coming to get me out of bed. I was normally up and ready to go. It never occurred to Bolton that something was wrong.
Finally, I made it to the front desk to tell the staff I didn’t feel well. Walking up the hall, I couldn’t see the floor below my waist. It all looked like snow on a television set. I walked up to the counter and put my head down on my arms. I fell asleep just standing there.
They came and moved me telling me I had to go to school. I moved over to a chair in the day room and fell asleep sitting in the chair. They got me on the bus and to school. I couldn’t imagine a more difficult time to try and function.
In Mrs. Bullard’s class, I had a biology test. I told Mrs. Bullard I’d had a hard night. She looked at me with sad eyes as if to say, “Why you?”
“Why me, indeed,” I thought, “I guess it happens to the best of us,” and fell asleep at the desk.