I just want to shave...

After the morning meeting, we all shuffled down the hall towards a large room that doubled as the cafeteria and the family visitation room.  The walk down to the cafeteria was a journey of wonder and excitement.  Would we have crepes?  Belgium waffles?  Salmon and capers on New York bagels?  The anticipation was enough to break out the lorazepam.  

But before making it to our destination, we would stop by a small room to get morning medications and have our vitals taken.  On the first day, I asked the tech taking my blood pressure for a razor so that I could get the week of growth that was overtaking my face.  Without looking up at me, the young lady told me that I needed to ask the charge nurse for permission at the morning meeting tomorrow.  

Permission?  

Oh, that's right; several of us in here want to kill ourselves.  Alright, not terribly unexpected.  So I had to wait another day.  Damn.  Having completed my newly increased dosage of Zoloft, I was continuing my journey to see what culinary delights awaited me.  

As I entered the cafeteria I was disappointed not to see a buffet line or a carving station.  No large table of cut fresh fruit.  What I find was a lovely spread of pre-wrapped cinnamon rolls and juices in small cups, similar to what you would use for a urine specimen. And when I say pre-wrapped, I mean the kind you see at a 7-11.  Nothing that might require a knife, because, well...its a knife.  And we all know how much damage one can do with plastic ones.  Ok, I suppose if you are really determined, you could manage a good welt with a plastic knife.  

Lets fast forward to the morning meeting on day two when we are all going around and talking about our goals for the day.  When it was my turn, I said I wanted to get a razor so I could shave.  

"You need to position it as a goal"

WTF

"I just want to shave."

"How can you make it a goal?"

At this point, I now feel like the monkey tied to a music box, holding up a cup for coins from passerby's. 

"Would like to build the trust of the staff to gain access to a razor."

"Nice job, lets see how the day goes."

Clink<sound of coins dropping in cup>

At the end of the day, I was given 5 minutes with a razor under the watchful eye of one of the techs.  And just a word of advice, dont expect to get a shave similar to the quality of a Gillette.  Think of using your wife or girlfriend's razor that they use on their legs for the past month.  

The point of this posting was the reality of being in a psych unit; you are there to show them that you are making progress, not so much about actually making progress.  Once you are past the stabilization stage and you are no longer a danger to yourself or others, you are there to show them that.  This was a difficult one for me.  It began to feel like a giant power struggle.  And until I was ready to accept that, it would be a very painful stay.  

Having said this, if you need help, get it.  Dont do this alone.  Some people need the safety of a psych unit.  And frankly, I guess I did, too.  But know going in that its not a magical place where people are there to heal you.  They are there to "stop the bleeding."  They want to get you safe and out of crisis and get you out.  And along the way, treat you a bit like a trained monkey.