My Habeas Corpus

It kind of feels too hard to try to explain all the little things that happened after June 17th. There was the drive home. Stopping meds. Living in fear. Being in my childhood room and feeling trapped. Nightmares from stopping medication. Eating less. Being thinner than ever. Not sickly, but for me much thinner. Having my brother tell me he was afraid for me. Him looking at me and telling me I was not myself. You cannot imagine what it's like having people tell you that you are not yourself. My brother told me I was scaring him. It was strange, this thing where people were scared of me. More than anything it made me scared of people - Terrified of people. People lock you up. People put you in handcuffs. Family demands you live as only a drugged up version of yourself. I heard this message from the outside world. Hey, YOU, you don't get emotions. You are not responsible with them. You don't get to feel. Feelings are your weakness. It's too risky. If you act out, we will...

Preamble If you ever decide to come down with a mental illness, a momentary degradation nearly akin to catching a cold, a brief spell wherein one experiences symptoms that are out of the norm, I would highly suggest first giving up all spiritual convictions, practices, rituals, supernatural belief and hope. In a mental ward, these things will only damn you. My callous nature, those nihilistic tendencies switch into autopilot as I near the moment of the past and consider the cost of seeking to uphold my belief system. I remember the moments when it shatters. They say I'd lost logic, my ability to rationalize, so what was it to let go of my connection to unseen? A mere loosening of the grasp of hands clasped in prayer? Abandoning, after all, my parents' religion, their denomination and all that went with it, wasn't much to lose, was it? Fucking rhetoric, daggers and a little spiritual warfare. Maybe some undigested meat bits sipping into dreams. These cold words come f...

It's 2019 and I am safe at home. The air is quiet, still, peaceful. My home is mostly orderly. I see my things where I expect them to be. I have a closet with my own clothes. I have food in my refrigerator. There is a lock on the door, and no one will come in that I don't invite. It's just me and the pup. It's night. We are alone, but we are safe. We are free from harm, from anyone yelling at us. I have agency. I come and go when I please. I have a schedule I made. I sleep and wake. I work, I play, I watch tv. The ground is firm, reality is secure. I am free. 2004, Day 2 in the Hospital This is the first time waking up with a needle stuck into my arm. I am coming out of a deep, deep haze. I don't quite know where I am, and there is that disorienting feeling of not being sure exactly how I got there. They were taking my blood for tests and doing vitals. I think they did some intake tests, the day before but I don't know what it was. That part was a blur. I do k...

Maybe if I tell this here, I will never ever have to tell it again. Maybe one person will say, how come no one saved you or helped you. Or, maybe I'll just be able to stop crying about it. I hear the cops talking on their walkie thing. They say, "Raleigh, Durham Hospital, we have a code 43." What is a code 43? Why am I in handcuffs. I don't want to be wearing these. Two cops walk me in a busy ER. Why am I here? What did I do? What do they want from me? I am so so scared. I try to leave, I don't want to be there. I am scared. I ask to leave. They ask me to put on a vest. I blindly do what they ask. It's a straight jacket. The cops check me in. The intake nurse and cop turn to me. The nurse says "Do you know where you are?" Me, "The hospital." The nurse, "Do you know why you are here?" Me, "No." Nurse, "What year is it?". Me, "2004." Nurse, "Where do you live?" Me, "Where do I live? ...

The events that happened the week it all started make me sick every time I recall them, but I keep replaying them. In about 4 days these things happened. So here they are: Day 1: I return to camp. Heartsick that I have no where to go once camp is over. I am trying to understand that my family is not there for me. I don't know how I will pay for anything. I don't know what work I will do. I am letting go of the idea of college, but passing up on education for emotional distress is confusing. I keep weighing the choices. At camp, I get back into running. I've never been a hard runner and I was doing 6 miles a day. I was eating less, because the guy I liked had introduced me to the diet he used to train soccer players. I was in the best shape of my life. I felt beautiful and broken. I'd stood up to my mom. There was some freedom, even if the consequences were unbearable. Day 2: In the morning we do swim tests and I receive my lifeguard certification. Later, we have a b...

I've said it, thought it so many times. It all started over a fight about sweeping the floor. The destruction of my life, my mind, the havoc that would follow began with an argument about sweeping. A simple house chore, right? Clearly not something that would warrant the extreme reaction that would follow. But it is the truth. It is the catalyst for my fall from grace, or whatever position I had made it to at the age of twenty. Let me provide some context. I'm twenty, home for the summer after my sophomore year of college. It's that sweet spot where you transition from the new student to finally one who knows there people and can move more smoothly into who they are becoming. I'm an English and Philosophy Double Major and former high school valedictorian. The week before I leave school for home, I go hiking with friends. We climb to a summit on the side of Lookout Mountain. We can see the great blanket in front of it that is Chattanooga, but might as well be the the wo...