I'm Too Important To Be Here: Once Upon A Time In My Life - Part 3
I wake up to bright sunshine. The room feels warm and comfortable, the sheets and blankets soft around my limbs and chest. I feel safe here, surprisingly. My roommate does not stir, does not make a sound, has not made a sound: He's good. Obviously they brought in the best of the best, since locking a high profiler like me into a psych ward is serious business. No more fooling around. I'll have to figure out who fucked up to get me in here, but knowing that quality people are on the job increases my feeling of safety, comfort, and security. I'll be out of here soon.
I spend a few minutes orienting myself to the surroundings. The window next to my bed, from which I expected the sniper attack to come last night, looks out into a courtyard which is surrounded on all four sides by rooms similar to mine. I later learn that this is where we will take our afternoon walks. Having been in many psychiatric hospital rooms I am struck by how colorful the one I'm in is. The bright yellows of the blanket are made warmer by the rays of morning sunshine. The light brown wood of the closets against the far wall, same.
Not hungry but knowing the usual routines, I search out breakfast. An attractive female nurse, a bit younger than me, whom I decide is going to be someone I can count on, tells me that the food is coming, I just need to hold on a few moments. She gives me a kind smile, and I feel even safer than when I woke fifteen minutes ago. Is she a lieutenant or a major? She's pretty damn hot, too. Well alright.
I try to put together the pieces of the very complicated puzzle that is my life. Last night I was tasered and arrested by the Portsmouth, NH police, brought to the local hospital for evaluation, then delivered to the State Hospital in Concord and admitted. Why didn't they just give L. to me last night like I planned, had hoped for, had been expecting for weeks now? I know she was waiting in a van just outside the hotel entrance when the cops put me in their cruiser. We were so close to being together. She must have suffered more cold feet, or maybe some higher up put a halt to it, but I know she loves me and wants to be with me. It's just a matter of time until all my dreams come true.
In the unit, the other twenty or so patients are quite obviously plants, there for my benefit. They are too normal and too friendly to be anywhere close to being sick enough to be admitted to a psych hospital. And the staff, with their military bearing, close cropped hair, and curt yet kind answers to my many questions, are working for whatever government agency is in charge of all this. I know they mean me no harm, so I quickly settle in to life on the unit. Three meals a day; at eight, noon, and five. Plenty of television, newspapers, walks, a bit of exercise in an adjoining gym, a few attempts at throwing a football around in the exercise yard just outside the ward. Not bad.
But I am a man in a hurry. Surely the Hollywood folks who have raised money for me will be upset that I am incarcerated. That I am being kept away from L., who has tossed aside her husband and life in Ohio to be with me. That I was nearly killed by some trigger happy local cops. I know that there is a sort of control room, located just off the nurses station, where the cameras and microphones throughout the unit are being monitored. I see the staff come and go from this room, looking over at me whenever they enter or leave. Are they in there laughing at me when I pick my nose, when I take a shower, when they watch me as I sleep? Do they think I'm good looking, or ugly as fuck? Are the nurses/officers all hot for me? Do the males all want to kick my ass for causing them to be given such a strange assignment?
A week or two passes, uneventfully. We all go about our daily duties; the actors playing their roles, for my benefit, and me trying not to take a swing at someone as I yearn for L. and for freedom. This is beginning to get old. Why am I still here?
One night, I know that L. is on her way to the Concord to get me. She is driving in from the coast, about an hour away. Whoever the powers that be are, they have decided to grant me my wish. I know this because one of the "patients" has decided to put on his green sweatpants. When he is wearing his red or yellow sweatpants, I know that nothing good is happening for me. It's a kind of code that this dude, whom I've never spoken to, has worked out. He is my lifeline, signaling me through his clothing when things are good for me and when they are bad.
Getting impatient, as it's nighttime. I hear chatter that L. has stopped at the local mall to buy lingerie at Victoria's Secret. Fucking lingerie! What is going on? Why doesn't she just come and get me the hell out of here? But she wants to look good for me on our first night together, and also once again is getting cold feet. Minutes pass. An hour passes. She has stood me up.
Fuck this, I want out. I grab my jacket, my empty wallet (from which the cash and ID have been taken the night I arrived by staff), and approach the nurse's station: I'm ready to leave. Right motherfucking now, man! This was not in their plans, they are not ready to let me go. They try to talk me into returning to my room. Cool, I'll chill out there while these pricks get their act together. After five minutes stewing in my room a couple of slightly built male staff members stand at my doorway and ask if they can come in. "Only if you've got good news." They come in together, and I am struck by the fact that they are scared, too. I am standing by the window in my room. There is a wooden chair to my left. I know this chair weights a good sixty pounds. If they piss me off, don't do what I tell them, I can do some serious damage with it. To them. To the room. "Calm down, we can't let you go. Not tonight." This is not what I want to hear. What about the green sweatpants? What about L.? I want to go now.
My blood boiling I demand to talk to the man in charge, whomever that is. I make my way to the hallway, inching forward as the staff, now numbering more than a dozen, are an arm's length away. I feel their terror, their energy, and know that I am in charge. They will do what I say if I just stay calm and cool. There is a way out.
A cop appears. He fingers his weapon, but again I know he is as afraid as I am, and that gives me strength. He wants me to come to an office off the main unit. I scoff: "You want me to come to a locked room? A soldier never puts himself in a situation he can't get out of. Get away from me!" Amazingly he and his mustache retreat. I AM in control.
This entire shit storm has gone on for maybe twenty minutes and I know my time is running out. I see the nurse, the one I met the first day, the one I have a crush on, and ask her what I should do. She suggests taking a pill. I oblige. But still no way out.
And then suddenly there are twenty arms around me. There is a blanket on the floor, and I am pushed on top of it face first. I scream, "I'm loose! I'm loose!", letting the fuckers know that I will not fight. They misunderstand, thinking I'm am complaining, and they tighten their grip. This is bad. Their fear has been changed to aggression, mine to submission. Where is L.? They carry me inside the blanket to a room on the unit to which the door has always been closed. I am placed chest down on a bed, into what I later learn is called a four point restraint. My arms behind me, each wrist tightly secured to the side. My feet secured as well. If I struggle I only feel pain, from the awkwardness and tightness of the restraints. This is not the way they are supposed to treat an important person like Joe Sweeney. Do they know this? Do they care anymore? Where is my L.? Where are my ass kickers, my protectors?
I spend a few minutes orienting myself to the surroundings. The window next to my bed, from which I expected the sniper attack to come last night, looks out into a courtyard which is surrounded on all four sides by rooms similar to mine. I later learn that this is where we will take our afternoon walks. Having been in many psychiatric hospital rooms I am struck by how colorful the one I'm in is. The bright yellows of the blanket are made warmer by the rays of morning sunshine. The light brown wood of the closets against the far wall, same.
Not hungry but knowing the usual routines, I search out breakfast. An attractive female nurse, a bit younger than me, whom I decide is going to be someone I can count on, tells me that the food is coming, I just need to hold on a few moments. She gives me a kind smile, and I feel even safer than when I woke fifteen minutes ago. Is she a lieutenant or a major? She's pretty damn hot, too. Well alright.
I try to put together the pieces of the very complicated puzzle that is my life. Last night I was tasered and arrested by the Portsmouth, NH police, brought to the local hospital for evaluation, then delivered to the State Hospital in Concord and admitted. Why didn't they just give L. to me last night like I planned, had hoped for, had been expecting for weeks now? I know she was waiting in a van just outside the hotel entrance when the cops put me in their cruiser. We were so close to being together. She must have suffered more cold feet, or maybe some higher up put a halt to it, but I know she loves me and wants to be with me. It's just a matter of time until all my dreams come true.
In the unit, the other twenty or so patients are quite obviously plants, there for my benefit. They are too normal and too friendly to be anywhere close to being sick enough to be admitted to a psych hospital. And the staff, with their military bearing, close cropped hair, and curt yet kind answers to my many questions, are working for whatever government agency is in charge of all this. I know they mean me no harm, so I quickly settle in to life on the unit. Three meals a day; at eight, noon, and five. Plenty of television, newspapers, walks, a bit of exercise in an adjoining gym, a few attempts at throwing a football around in the exercise yard just outside the ward. Not bad.
But I am a man in a hurry. Surely the Hollywood folks who have raised money for me will be upset that I am incarcerated. That I am being kept away from L., who has tossed aside her husband and life in Ohio to be with me. That I was nearly killed by some trigger happy local cops. I know that there is a sort of control room, located just off the nurses station, where the cameras and microphones throughout the unit are being monitored. I see the staff come and go from this room, looking over at me whenever they enter or leave. Are they in there laughing at me when I pick my nose, when I take a shower, when they watch me as I sleep? Do they think I'm good looking, or ugly as fuck? Are the nurses/officers all hot for me? Do the males all want to kick my ass for causing them to be given such a strange assignment?
A week or two passes, uneventfully. We all go about our daily duties; the actors playing their roles, for my benefit, and me trying not to take a swing at someone as I yearn for L. and for freedom. This is beginning to get old. Why am I still here?
One night, I know that L. is on her way to the Concord to get me. She is driving in from the coast, about an hour away. Whoever the powers that be are, they have decided to grant me my wish. I know this because one of the "patients" has decided to put on his green sweatpants. When he is wearing his red or yellow sweatpants, I know that nothing good is happening for me. It's a kind of code that this dude, whom I've never spoken to, has worked out. He is my lifeline, signaling me through his clothing when things are good for me and when they are bad.
Getting impatient, as it's nighttime. I hear chatter that L. has stopped at the local mall to buy lingerie at Victoria's Secret. Fucking lingerie! What is going on? Why doesn't she just come and get me the hell out of here? But she wants to look good for me on our first night together, and also once again is getting cold feet. Minutes pass. An hour passes. She has stood me up.
Fuck this, I want out. I grab my jacket, my empty wallet (from which the cash and ID have been taken the night I arrived by staff), and approach the nurse's station: I'm ready to leave. Right motherfucking now, man! This was not in their plans, they are not ready to let me go. They try to talk me into returning to my room. Cool, I'll chill out there while these pricks get their act together. After five minutes stewing in my room a couple of slightly built male staff members stand at my doorway and ask if they can come in. "Only if you've got good news." They come in together, and I am struck by the fact that they are scared, too. I am standing by the window in my room. There is a wooden chair to my left. I know this chair weights a good sixty pounds. If they piss me off, don't do what I tell them, I can do some serious damage with it. To them. To the room. "Calm down, we can't let you go. Not tonight." This is not what I want to hear. What about the green sweatpants? What about L.? I want to go now.
My blood boiling I demand to talk to the man in charge, whomever that is. I make my way to the hallway, inching forward as the staff, now numbering more than a dozen, are an arm's length away. I feel their terror, their energy, and know that I am in charge. They will do what I say if I just stay calm and cool. There is a way out.
A cop appears. He fingers his weapon, but again I know he is as afraid as I am, and that gives me strength. He wants me to come to an office off the main unit. I scoff: "You want me to come to a locked room? A soldier never puts himself in a situation he can't get out of. Get away from me!" Amazingly he and his mustache retreat. I AM in control.
This entire shit storm has gone on for maybe twenty minutes and I know my time is running out. I see the nurse, the one I met the first day, the one I have a crush on, and ask her what I should do. She suggests taking a pill. I oblige. But still no way out.
And then suddenly there are twenty arms around me. There is a blanket on the floor, and I am pushed on top of it face first. I scream, "I'm loose! I'm loose!", letting the fuckers know that I will not fight. They misunderstand, thinking I'm am complaining, and they tighten their grip. This is bad. Their fear has been changed to aggression, mine to submission. Where is L.? They carry me inside the blanket to a room on the unit to which the door has always been closed. I am placed chest down on a bed, into what I later learn is called a four point restraint. My arms behind me, each wrist tightly secured to the side. My feet secured as well. If I struggle I only feel pain, from the awkwardness and tightness of the restraints. This is not the way they are supposed to treat an important person like Joe Sweeney. Do they know this? Do they care anymore? Where is my L.? Where are my ass kickers, my protectors?
posted by joe sweeney at 10:14 AM
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