My Darkest Hour Part 4 - Psych 101

Posted by BB | Labels: , | Posted On 07 January, 2010 at Thursday, January 07, 2010

I, Beloved Boyd, am a Gay Mormon Boy and everything I say here is the truth to the best of my knowledge:

After I got to the hospital room in the ER, I was told I would have to wait until about 9 for the social worker to come in and evaluate me. His recommendation would help determine if I would stay for observation or if I would get to go home. So I waited for 5-6 hours, I was able to get a little sleep but not much. 9 o’clock rolled around and he didn’t show up. So I waited for another 3 hours.

Isn't it great for a Gay Mormon Boy when the social worker misidentifies you? that's what happened to me.
Finally the social worker comes in and sees the same thing the cop saw. A young depressed kid who has “sexual identity issues.” As he was telling the Dr. this, I wanted to yell that the issue wasn’t my identity but rather my religion and my identity; that I was a whole other bundle of issues but I didn’t.

By about 2 PM I got transferred up to the psych ward. Now the benefits of going willingly with the gay cop meant that I went to a better hospital with a psych ward dedicated to those who came in on their own. That option was far better than the alternative of the criminally insane.

Patch Adams spent some time in a mental institution as well and came out of it for the better. Hopefully this Gay Mormon Boy can do the same.
Let me tell you something about a psych ward. They are filled with crazies. I am talking about legitimately crazy individuals. There was one partially sane person; she just couldn’t handle living alone. The others made me feel very uncomfortable. There was the old guy who was getting shock therapy; the catatonic woman; the weird conspiracy theorist; and the Russian woman spoke loudly to invisible people. I felt like I was in the Patch Adam's movie.

What we all had in common was that when visiting hours came around we all wanted to have someone there with us. I now know what a grandparent in a home must feel like waiting for people to visit because when I had no one to visit me for the first 45 minutes I was about to go crazy.

I have never liked shrinks and this one was no exception, I was dreading being the gay mormon boy on the therapist couch.
Eventually they came and brought my cell phone charger, which let me contact the outside world on my terms and not on theirs. I had spoken briefly with my mom from the hallway phone, but hadn’t really gotten to speak to her, now I could. So I called her up and told her all that had happened and we both broke down. I also called my step-mom and told her everything. I told my mom that I was sorry and was emotionally crushed by the pain I knew she felt.

After visiting hours and talking to my parents, it came time for talking with the shrink. Because I was the newest one, I went last and that meant that we met around 11:30 at night. I have never liked shrinks; I have hated many, and this was no different. But meeting with him was probably the healthiest thing I could have done. But that hour with him will have to wait until tomorrow.


There are 4 Words of Warning for My Darkest Hour Part 4 - Psych 101