We talked a bit about the hero's journey, which is basically the lens I view the world through. He told a great joke which made me laugh. It went: what's the difference between a psychiatrist and a patient? The psychiatrist has the key! Indeed, there's a lot of overlap people crazy people and those who treat them. It was a relief to hear him say that his professional opinion was that I was not a danger to myself or others and he recommended I be released in 72 hours. When he asked me what I planned to do after the Army, I said was going to dig for dinosaur bones in Wyoming because it's something I've always wanted to do. He remarked that I could have been a general. I was tempted to explain why it is hard for guys like me to be career Army officers but decided to just take the compliment.
Sometime after that, I met with a trio led by an Army psychiatrist. He presented me with two documents. If I signed the one saying I came voluntarily, I'd be out in three days. If I signed the other one, I'd need to get a lawyer and I'd be there longer. There was something darkly amusing about having to state I came voluntarily to a place I was locked inside. That psychiatrist was great though. If we had met randomly, we'd probably have become friends.
The psychiatrist told me during one session that the only reason I got a top-secret security clearance was because the first 25 years of my life were squeaky clean. I tried to assure him that I'm a quiet, private guy and that I wasn't going to talk about Fight Club.
At least twice, I had to go into a room and answer many questions that were all variations of 'are planning on hurting yourself or anyone else?' Evidently state of the art mental healthcare in the 21st century consists of asking the same questions over and over. It seemed like I had to answer every question three times, akin to summoning Beetlejuice.
Another time, after spending several hours by myself staring at a blank wall, I was treated to a presentation on time management. There's something of a Monty Python skit in that.
I became friends with one of the other patients. He was some kind of Army electronic warfare specialist. As I heard more about his story, it became clear that he was neither suicidal nor insane. He was there because his command team wanted to punish him for requesting lots of religious exemptions. I forget the exact name of his faith, but it sounded similar to Seventh-day Adventists. There was another Arabic linguist there from the Navy. He didn't talk much and did seem genuinely depressed.
Well, the food was decent and there were plenty of crayons. Other than that, not such a fun place. The second day I was there, they let me wear the clothes I came in with and returned my copy of Paradise Lost. I spent most of the second day reading it. At night, I paced and contemplated for hours, particularly about the hero's journey. A big insight was that the key part of the hero's journey is the sacrifice. If you can let go of something you care about a lot because you don't need it anymore, a great feeling of peace results.
At long last I was released. It was funny that I was prescribed extra strength sleeping pills after being on suicide watch. A few months later, I wrote an email about my experience there and sent it to some close friends and family. I called it My Wacky Suicide Adventure. All of the exchanges and events described below are accurate, if not exact.
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I brought a copy of Paradise Lost with me. It's about the triumph of hope over despair. Do you know what they did with the book? Go on, guess. They confiscated it, because it was hard cover, and they were worried I was going to bludgeon someone with it.
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Her: List 3 coping mechanisms.
Me: [writing with crayon] brains, balls, cash
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Me: This place sucks.
Her: [sing-song voice] could be worrrrrse....
Me, thinking: Gee, thanks Nurse Ratched. That's *very* reassuring.
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Him: Straighten up your bunk.
Me, thinking: So...this is suicide watch?
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Me, thinking: Dear Penthouse Forum, I never thought this would happen to me, but there I was, jerking off into a toilet in the suicide wing of a psychiatric ward. I mean, I've rubbed one out in a lot of weird places, but this takes the cake.
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Her: What's your favorite animal?
Me: Cats. Because they're indifferent to human suffering.
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Me: A wise man once said: enough is enough. I have had it with these motherfucking snakes on this motherfucking plane.
Him: Would you like a Royale with cheese?
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Me: I find it very interesting that my drama queen antics got more attention than the actual suicides in my battalion.
Her: [nods and glances knowingly]
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Me, walking to the exit: In the words of the great philosopher Supertramp, goodbye strangers, it's been nice, hope you find your paradise.
Her: Thanks for the earworm, jerk.
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Do you know what they gave me when I left suicide watch? Go on, guess. Hint: extra strength sleeping pills. Figure that one out, because I can't.
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I use humor to cope. It's easier on the liver than booze. It was a traumatic experience, and it helps to talk about such things sometimes.
A particularly touching moment came when my company commander asked me to go to the gun club with a witness to verify that my guns were locked up. The female sergeant who came was a friend and I was awestruck at her composure. I've dated enough women to know that most would not react well to an invitation to accompany a recently released mental patient to view his gun collection. Alas, some months later we had a falling out which was my fault. Hopefully we can be friends again someday.
I spent the next four months finishing welding school. My unit was very cooperative in that regard. I was genuinely thankful that I was getting helped instead of hurt by them. Something very odd happened in December not long after my release. Class was over and we were cleaning up. A young woman was helping me. When I asked her name, she said 'Lex, rhymes with sex'. I found that odd. She said it in a suggestive way, and I've been on enough dates to know that women do not normally talk like that. It was also odd that she also worked at Fort Gordon and just so happened to be at the same welding school as me the same night I was there. I never saw her again after that night and wondered if she was some kind of agent sent to monitor me.
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