May 23, 1994
"This is not a hospital! It's an insane asylum."
Hot Lips - MASH, The Movie
Thirteen years ago today Maggie and I got married at Corpus Christi in downtown Sandwich. And now I'm divorced and in a mental hospital -something I did not imagine on that long ago Saturday in May.
Yes, here I am a prisoner - a prisoner in an insane asylum. My cell is Room 119 and I'm suicide watch - constantly being checked by nurses and aides. Never have I had so much attention.
I read once that one of life's most important lessons, that usually comes wrapped in disappointment, is that we must all discover, sooner or later, happily or unhappily, that our original certainties of life require radical revisions. And as to what will require radical revisions in my life, I haven't a clue. But I'm sure my doctors will provide me with a list that is long and thorough. I just hope the list comes with simple, easy to follow directions.
At my meeting this morning with my psychologist, Doctor Kerr, I found out that my body was discovered by a chambermaid at 12:30pm last Monday afternoon. I knew this from someone else but not the time until he told me. He then told me that about twenty-four later, around 12:30pm Tuesday, I opened my eyes for the first time - it was only for a few seconds but it was the first positive sign that I might survive. And over the next forty-eight hours, my vital signs gradually improved and I slowly emerged from my coma.
As much as I like my doctors and the nurses and aides here, they are driving me crazy, or is it crazier, with all their questions. And it's the same questions over and over again. Why did yoy try to kill yourself? What made you do it? Didn't you know you could have gotten help? What are your plans once you are allowed to leave? Do you still want to die? Do you still have thoughts of suicide. Ad nauseam.
When all these questions started on Saturday, I made the mistake of telling someone or maybe everyone, that my suicide attempt was not a childish plea for attention nor a cry for help. It was simply a deliberate desire to die. And that I still want to die and still think of suicide.
Well, they were not answers the staff wanted to hear - and those answers just led to a barrage of more questions, each more pointed than the last as they tried to probe deeper into my mind to gather my thoughts. So, my first radical revision, I now lie. When asked if I still want to die, I answer no. Smiles all around, everyone's happy and content - for Tom is showing improvement.
I may be crazy but I'm not stupid and I've always been a fast learner. And this is what I have learned - if I told them thee truth, they would never let me out and I would die here of old age. This is one place where the truth won't set you free.
The one question I can't answer, can't even create a lie for is this - what are your plans once you are allowed to leave? I always answer, I don't know - and I don't. When I took the overdose of pills last week, my plan was - I die, my family buries me. Simple as that! there was no back up plan, no option B, no second choice. I was so certain of death that I never, not even once, considered the possibility that my attempt would fail. Now. I'm alive, in a mental hospital and I'm suppose to come up with plans for when I leave. Plans? I haven't a clue
One of the odd things about the mess I'm in is that my attempt to cancel my suicide, to make it appear that my death was accidental, fooled no one - not even for a minute. I have learned that the EMT's who came to the motel guessed suicide immediately. Obviously, instead of disguising my attempt, I
left clues everywhere. What they were, I do not know.
But it's far too late to worry about what went wrong last Sunday. My life is still a nightmare spinning out of control - but for now, at least, I'm safe and secure. In a certain way this place is a haven, free of pressure, responsibilities and obligations. As much as I want to leave, there are moments I'm glad I'm here. Although I will admit this to no one, I know I belong here.
Last night Joan, a nurse, came into my room. She told me that suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem - and that through the mind's many moods, a person can come to an understanding, a belief, that he is planning and acting rationally when he is in fact thinking and behaving irrationally. And there is help for me here. She made sense and I understood every word. I realize that sometimes good intentions and ideas can be poorly conceived and badly executed. But what if the problem is permanent and suicide the only solution? What then, dear Joan? What then?
The pain and depth of my depression and despair was so intense, so severe, that death became my only viable option. I saw suicide as a sane solution - as rational as taking a couple of aspirin for a headache or hangover.
But now I am being told that my suicide attempt is an indication of poor judgment - that I have a troubling mind that lacks soundness, an inability that has made me a danger to myself. Thus I am in an asylum because I am mentally unstable. And I know that to be true - it is a frightening thought.
12:45pm Cape Psych Center _ Hyannis, MA
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