The problem with "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest"

I am not sure that I have previously shared this but when I was in college, I worked in a psychiatric ward. I was a psychology major but having to go through statistics pretty much made that impossible.  But then working on the psych floor kinda put the nails in the coffin.  I had a hard time letting stuff go after my shift.  People find themselves in psych wards for a variety of reasons from med stabilization to self harm.  But people dealing with serious trauma can also find themselves in a psych ward.  And hearing of the trauma was often times too much for me.  

Psych floors in hospitals are essentially a temporary stop, while a plan for care is created.  My title was Mental Health Technician which is a glorified bouncer.  I would check vitals and do bed checks, while assisting with tasks for the nurses.  But the exciting part of the gig was when someone needed to be strapped down to a bed, typically in the ER.  Police would bring someone in, usually in handcuffs.  They would take the cuffs off and wish us luck as they went on their way.  Getting a kid into a bed wasn't too tough but sometimes there was someone who was tripping on PCP or drunk and delusional and they were a bit more of a challenge.  Especially if they were young and strong.  Oh, the stories I could tell...

My issue with working on the floor was seeing people that who had few options.  Some were terribly abused by someone and were incredibly broken.  Watching families come in and come to terms with the fact that they were unable to help or even care for a loved one was not easy.  But there was some really interesting things from working there.  Like learning of how terribly maligned shock therapy was.  

Back in 70s, a movie came out called One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest starring Jack Nicholson.  Was very popular and won a bunch of awards.  It was the story of a guy that was put into a psychiatric hospital. He games the system and pulls off a bunch of stunts and comes to a rather depressing ending.  But it did a massive disservice to the psychiatric field.  In fact, there were several but the one I want to discuss is ECT(electroconvulsive therapy), or shock therapy.

The film shows the main character being strapped to a bed and being given shock therapy. His body violently convulses as the electricity rushes through him. Well, that may have been how it was done in the past, but it is no longer accurate and because of the popularity of the film, it's how people see it today.  

ECT is often used with severely depressed patients that have not responded with other methods.  How exactly does it work?  Quite honestly, science can't give us a straight answer how or why it works.  But for many people, it does.  And it is incredible.  As a Mental Health Tech, part of my job was to assist with ECT.  I would see people who were seemingly at the end of their rope.  The docs had tried just about everything and nothing seemed to help.  So ECT was often a Hail Mary pass and it was amazing.  

We did ECT two days a week; Tuesdays and Thursdays.  People would come in for treatments on those days.  I would stand on one side of the patient and someone on the other side to make sure they didnt roll off the bed or something like that.  The doc would place some paddles on their head and give them the electricity.  Kinda like how the movie portrays except for a very important step; before the doc gives the juice, an anesthesiologist would give some medicine to help the patient go to sleep for a very short period and to relax their muscles.  This way, there was no thrashing and no fighting.  The patient was asleep for it.  The patient would tense up for a few seconds, maybe make a slight fist but then go limp for maybe 20 seconds.  They would wake up, sit for a minute or two, get up and on their way out the door. 

But this was the cool part, it was like a light switch was flipped.  They were often bright and pleasant and talkative.  Like, immediately.  They had just had a controlled seizure so they were often tired and would go sleep for a bit.  But it was really something to see.  Sometimes they had some confusion about what day it was or something like that.  Sometimes, it took a few sessions before it would work but when it finally kicked in, it was truly incredible to witness.  

Look, I get it.  The entire idea can be scary and the movie does not help.  But that is not how it is.  Perhaps it was once upon a time.  In fact, I am sure it was.  But dental procedures used to be done without anesthesia but we have made some advances there, too.  

My point to this one is that if you are being presented with this as an option, give it some serious thought.  I am not a doctor, I am just sharing my perspective as a literal bystander.  And yes, there are possible side effects and all that crap.  But sometimes, you need more help than therapy or antidepressants.  And again, if someone is suggesting you need to go get coffee or pray or get out of the house, as well intentioned as that may be, they are wrong.  You cannot do this alone.  You cannot pray away diabetes and you cannot sit in Starbucks, waiting for cancer to leave your body.  

Just don't give up.  Keep fighting.  There are better days ahead. I promise you that.  Don't make any decisions based on an old and very outdated movie.  If you want to see a good Jack Nicholson movie, check out About Schmidt, one of his most underrated films!

Asking for help

 This has to be one of the best ads I have ever seen:

Here is a another good one:

As a society, we have made up this stupid notion that being strong means not asking for help.  It's just plain stupid.  I don't get it.  Because we can't see our emotions, they aren't real?  But a broken leg is somehow different?  

I can see the bone sticking out and since I am not an orthopedist, I better go talk to one.  

But lack of expertise in how the mind works is somehow different?  The person that has gone to school for eight years and has been working in the field for even longer doesn't know more than me.  Um, thats not really correct.  

I normally wouldn't pitch or promote something but I think this one is different.  Go check these guys out; https://www.betterhelp.com

 

Bad day

Today, I had a bad day at work. Nothing catastrophic, but a bad day. I got jumped by my boss, who I think is feeling heat from her boss. You know how this goes, shit always rolls downhill. 

I have had quite a few bad days recently. Actually, quite a few bad months. Maybe it’s time for me to look elsewhere?

For a brief moment, I considered checking out. And then I immediately thought of how that would impact my family.  One of the great gifts of my attempt a few years ago was Theresa asking me who would walk my girls down the aisle.  Go back to one of the other posts where I share that one.  That has stuck with me.   Make no mistake, suicide is selfish and only thinking of yourself.  So you need to occasionally remind yourself of that.  

Depression sucks. It just plain sucks. It’s not like breaking your arm and everyone wants to sign the cast. (Do they still do that?)  I had Covid last year and was getting calls and texts from friends and family.  No one ever knows what the hell to say when it comes to depression. 

Hope you're feeling better soon?  

Soap box moment; please stop with the cut and paste posting in Facebook about how you will put on a pot of coffee and sit with anyone that is struggling with depression. Its a nice sentiment but its such bullshit. You wanna help someone?  Reach out to someone you haven’t heard from in awhile and ask how they are doing. Don't just wait for someone to ask for help.  Its like watching someone down and waiting for them to ask for help.  It’s not someone else’s job, it’s yours. Be proactive.  Ok, I am done.

I guess my point today is to be mindful of how your actions will impact others.  Suicide is permanent.  You take the easy way out and let everyone else pick up the pieces.  Thats pretty crappy.  I know life is tough, believe me.  But will this matter in a year?  Will the shit you are dealing with today still be a problem?  Yeah, sometimes it will still be.  But don't make a permanent decision for a temporary problem.

And for the rest of you, stop with the cute little bullshit about how you will always be there for your friends in need.  If you really mean that, pick up the phone and reach out to someone that you haven't herd from in awhile.  Say right now what you wish you had said if you were standing around someone's casket. 

The people you see at Wawa...

I get up around 5:00am each weekday and drive up to my job about 30 miles from my house.  Its a hellish drive, takes about an hour and a half and two hours in the evening.  DC traffic is the devil.  So each morning, I stop and get coffee, typically at a nearby 7/11 or Wawa.


In the fall of 2018, one blurry-eyed, chilly morning, I pulled into Wawa and found a parking spot next to a police car.  Nothing unusual, just a couple of cops in their squad car, chatting.  I got out and went in to get my cup of rocket fuel to get through the drive.  While pouring, police officers came in.  One of which was the female officer that spoke to me in that commuter lot last July.

<gulp>

I am not sure that I have ever been "triggered" before so I was never certain what that meant, until that very moment.  Standing at the coffee counter, I was instantly transported back to that moment in July of 2017.  Feeling the sweat and heat of that day, sitting in my car, pressing the gun against my head.  Overcome with despair and hopelessness that rocked me to my very core.

The officers immediately walked to the coffee counter and began pouring cups for themselves.  They continued to chat about someone in their department that was requiring everyone to complete additional training that neither felt was necessary.  They did not appear to notice me soaking in everyone word spoken by the two of them, but the woman's voice was drilling into my brain.

They were chatting about someone they worked with and how they had an issue with something this person had said.  To be honest, that was about all I could make out.  I just could not take my eyes off that woman.  

As I sat in the car that July day, soaked in sweat and panic as the SWAT team began to take their positions around me, her voice was like a lifeline that I couldn't decide if I should take.  I knew that the day would not end well, regardless of what I decided.  But her soft approach was welcome after the previous officer's more direct and hard tone.  She seemed to be empathic to the mess I was in and less threatening.  I guess her approach just spoke to me and encouraged me to take the path of less bullets flying into me.  

Within moments, they paid for their coffee and were back in their vehicle.  I instantly regretted not approaching her and thanking her for her help that day.  I wanted her to know that for all of the shit that they likely deal with, her work that day was greatly appreciated not only by me but my family, as well.  

Pretty sure the people behind me are getting pissed at my slow pace.  I snapped out of the moment I was sent back to and finished up. 

I know that I will forever carry the events of that day and look forward to not panicking as the anniversary of that day approaches.  But until then, I will alway be watching for that officer as I get my morning cup of coffee.  

This isn't about anything other than the person and his family...

Last night, amid all of the Twitter frenzy about Trumps tax avoidance, there was a story that, while not getting the same attention, was getting traction.  Brad Parscale, former Trump campaign manager was hospitalized for suicide attempt.  

https://www.cnn.com/2020/09/27/politics/brad-parscale-hospitalized/index.html

I have to admit, I struggled with whether or not to share the link.  I am in no way, shape or form, a Trump fan.  And my post about this is not about Trump or a commentary on his campaign.  I am not wanting to draw attempting to Trump or the man at the center of the story.  But in reality, it's just me, you and a half dozen bots reading this blog so I doubt it's going matter much.  

First of all, I grieve for Brad and his family. Being at this place in his life and then to have it plastered all over the Internet must be a nightmare.  Right now, he and his family need to focus on him and getting through this crisis.  He isn't even out of the hospital.  And now, 64 million of his closest friends know about this.  Instead of thinking of what brought him to this place, I cannot help but believe that he is thinking about damage control for his own reputation, let alone for that turd he worked for.  Of course, I am speculating but I do remember having to get a hold of a phone so that I could explain my absence from the office without raising too many eyebrows.  I imagine that Brad may be thinking the same.  

And the news is usually playing in the day room so its not like he isn't aware that the world knows about this.  

Right now, there are some on the left that are taking joy of kicking Brad while he is down and seeing this as an analogy for the Trump campaign.  And that is wrong.  This is not about Trump.  It's about Brad and his family.  

Leave him the fuck alone. 

At some point, I imagine that Brad will make a connection to Trump and losing his job as campaign manager this summer to his current mental health.  And that is a pretty fair connection.  We tend to wrap our self identity to our jobs and to fall so hard and so publicly will, without a doubt, have an impact.  But this isn't about politics.  Its about a human being hurting in a way that can destroy oneself.  

Be a decent person and stop talking about Brad.  Say a little prayer for him and his family. 

Welcome to the psych unit

My intent of this post is to simply share my experience and memorialize it.  Since there are about two people who have read my blog so far as well as several thousand Russian bots, I am just gonna tell it like it was.

As I set out that morning to do what I intended, it never dawned on me that I make not be able to do it and there would be aftermath.  If you are suicidal, you are not thinking clearly and the depression makes it nearly impossible to see past your nose.

After the several hours in the ER of being asked if I was still thinking of hurting myself and what insurance I had, I was finally taken into the psych unit.  This is where it just got weird and surreal for me.

When I was in college, I wanted to be a psychology major.  I wanted to help people and all of that crap.  So I got a job as a behavioral health tech in a psych unit of a medical hospital.  It was a really interesting gig where I assisted people receive electric shock therapy (fascinating and has a totally undeserved reputation), help move patients unable to help themselves, and tie people into beds who needed a shot in the ass.  And by shot in the ass, I mean a shot of thorazine or some other medication so they stopped trying to hurt me or others.

Really incredible experience but it helped me see that I didn't want to work in psychology.  A lot of the people in psych units as you likely are aware) experiences a horrific amount of trauma and I had a hard time letting that go.  And working with the kids was especially difficult.  But that is a story or another day. Anyway, I did that for 3 years until I got a degree in art.

So back to being moved into the psych ward as a patient.

Psych units are pretty drab places, not high of the hospitals list of places to invest in. They are typically pretty sparse so there isn't much for someone to hurt themselves with.  The hall is lined with furniture is huge so it can't be picked up and thrown.  But there are lots of copies of last weeks newspapers and Better Homes and Gardens.  As well, as a 2 year old copy of Sports Illustrated.

I was greeted by a young lady who took me into a small room to get vitals and run down the rules. As if the humiliation had not been enough that day, the hits just kept coming.  Why was it humiliating?  I couldn't tell you. The young lady was nice.  No one was bugging me.  But I was almost old enough to be her dad.  I had been in her very same position 30 years earlier.  I knew the drill. I just it was the realization that I was no different from anyone else that I had ever taken into a small room and gotten a set of vitals and asked if they were still thinking of hurting themselves.

It was now around 6 pm and I had not eaten all day.  Or had much to drink and since I had perspired several gallons so far that day, I was getting pretty dry. I asked for some water and she quickly got me a small tan pitcher filled with crushed ice and water and a styrofoam cup.  Once she gave me the water and the schedule, she asked if I wanted anything to eat and I said no and rolled over on my metal frame and thin layer of cotton, pretending to be a bed and mattress.  I then slept for the next 12 hours like I hadn't slept in years.

I went out to the day room and met my new housemates.  It was a large room with big ugly chairs around the walls and tables in the center.  There was a television up near the ceiling tuned to some home remodeling show. There were about 12 people in the room of various ages.  I was not the oldest nor the youngest.  I found a seat against a wall and began to soak it all in.

After a moment, a young latino man sat down next to me.  He introduced himself as Melvin.  I shook his hand and immediately got nervous.  Why?  I have no idea.  He was a bit rough and had a tattoo under his left eye.  I guess because I really don't run in circles with folks that have facial tattoos.  I was much bigger than Melvin and its not like the psych unit is a type of fight club.  I guess it was just the fact that someone approached me out of the blue.

Melvin asked me why I was there and I kind of grunted that I had a heated discussion with the SWAT team.  That immediately got his attention.

"No shit?"  I think I knew that throwing the SWAT team in there might get a good reaction and Melvin did not disappoint.  "What happened?"  By then, a large woman walked to the center of the room and said good morning.

"I am nurse Helen and I want to go over a few things for our new folks.  We start every day by discussing our goals for the day, get vitals, and then we go to breakfast and begin groups.  We do not spend the day in bed, we need to see you and we need to see you participating.  Your involvement, or lack thereof, will be shared with your physician."

Well, she seems pleasant.  

Everyone then went around the room saying a goal they had for the day.  For most, it was attending a group or speaking with their doctor.  I found it to be condescending.  Just say something that they want to hear.  She got to me and asked what my goal was for the day. I looked at her blankly and said I had no idea.  She looked at her clipboard and then back at me.  "You just got here last night?  We can skip you for today.  But be ready to share a goal for tomorrow."

Tomorrow?  Oh hell no.  I better be gone by noon today.  

She then moved on to Melvin, still sitting next to me who gave a goal of talking to his social worker.  After she finished going around the room, everyone got up and began filing out.  I didn't know what was going on so I stay seated.  Melvin had begun walking towards the door, turned and asked me if I wanted to get breakfast.

Not too sure that I am gonna see an omelette or carving station but what the hell, so I got up and followed.

Ok, more later.  I recently learned that someone else is actually reading these who, I do not believe to be a Russian bot so welcome to my head.