Chapter 4: Shit Starts to Get Real In A Way That's Not Fun For Anyone

"No one listened to me!!!"

"Mary... Mary, calm down.  Mary!"

"No one listened to me when I told them I'd been followed for SIX MONTHS!!!"

These were the dulcid tones I was treated to while waiting for lunch to begin.  I had not been given "cafeteria privileges" yet, despite having eaten in one since 4th grade, so - take-out in the day room.  A large orderly came into the room and was like "uhhhh... we're just gonna wait here until... until things settle down."  I shot him a thumbs up and returned to my copy of American Gods.  Mary continued her tirade against the poor pharmacist just trying to distribute mid-day meds through the window.

"No one listened to me!  My psychiatrist was having me followed for 6 months!  And the medication irritates me!  I'm going to report all of you!  And all the medical students are violating HIPAA!!!"

Now since I didn't have cafeteria privileges, I also couldn't leave to go to the on campus gym.  That kinda bummed me out, since I was then assigned to the alternative activity group which consisted mainly of old farts and people so conked out on meds they wore blankets and brought pillows with them everywhere.  The instructor popped in a video - a VHS, not a DVD - and we were all treated to the delights of.... chair yoga.

The instant I saw it pop up in all its pastel, early 90's aerobics glory, I thought "wow- you guys are just really throwing in the towel here, huh?"  It looked like it had been thrown together in the basement of a church by an overly enthusiastic instructor who probably eventually got tired of trying and just went into porn.  Anyway - chair yoga is just that - yoga while sitting in a chair.  If you're prone to falling or 107 years old.  Everyone else slept through the class except for me and an 86-year-old ex-attorney with hairbrows (eyebrows so long they're growing past his forehead and providing a convincing toupee at this point).

Waiting (again, because all we did was hurry up and wait) in the other day room, a young man in a Guy Harvey shirt, John Deere camo hat, Sperrys and more tribal tattoos than I'm sure I could see or count comes in - a walking Parrothead/redneck/preppy conundrum by the name of Bubba.  Because of course his name was Bubba.  And most of the people in there had attended enough "Hi, my name is (blank) and I'm addicted to (blank)" meetings that the awkward social interactions melted away.  It was a very frank "Hi, what's your name" and moving on with the typically intrusive conversation or questions.

Bubba:  You in for CD?

I had learned a few of the acronyms - ECT was electro-convulsive therapy, PHP was partial hospitalization program, AMA was discharging against medical advice and CD meant chemical dependency.  I shook my head in the negative.

Bubba:   (in a drawl that could have been Middleburg or North Carolina for all I know) My mom says I gotta stay here another 5 days!  And I just paid $500 in rent, ain't that some shit?
Me:   Bummer.
Bubba:   My doctor gave me suboxone, you know what that is? (I shook my head no)  It helps with withdrawals... anyway, he done gimme this stuff, but now he won't give it to me no more.
Me:   Why's that?
Bubba:   (sighs)  I was sellin' em. I mean, he gave me a few chances.  He gave it to me the first time, and I sold 'em.  And then he gave me another chance, and I did it again.  Then he gave me another chance... and I did it again.  He gave me another chance, and I did it again...
Me:   Well, you can't expect him to keep giving it to you then.
Bubba:    Yeah, but this is bullshit - I can sit at home and detox for free, I don't need to be here...

I beg to differ, sir.

I learned many things in my time here, including  how to avoid the cafeteria food and its subsequent gastric side-effects, or what I like to call Fiery Midnight Shit-Fest 2013.  The med-room gestapo won't hand out Imodium unless your shrink prescribes it, so I stopped eating a majority of the cafeteria food after the 3rd day.  Stuck to the prepackaged snacks, bottled water and any fresh fruit they brought in (which did NOT help with Fiery Midnight Shit-Fest 2013).

So now I'm tired from being woken up every 15 minutes at night for "checks", hungry, probably dehydrated from FMSF2013, forced to co-habitate with about 40 straight-off-the-magic-carpet crazies and a handful of "we the jury find the defendant" whackos, cut off from my family and friends and the outside world, and expected to concentrate on my already extremely fragile mental health. And have to do a convincing, creative song-and-dance to try and limit my stay. 

*cracks knuckles*  Good thing I went to theater camp - let's do this.