Well, if any of you out there ever fantasized about knowing a lunatic, a real honest-to-god lunatic, well, you know one now: me.
All my attempts to negotiate a discharge date with the hospital were flatly rejected, so I am making a court appearance tomorrow morning at a courthouse somewhere in Manhattan (they won’t tell me where it is or what time the hearing starts so my friends cannot attend). Basically, I am fighing for my life; fighting the state’s expressed desire to lock me up for a very long time in a state psychiatric ward — very possibly for the remainder of my life.
Needless to say, I am convinced I will lose my case tomorrow because I was told that the state wins these cases more than 95% of the time, and also, it is just my word against five or six of them; three psychiatrists, one social worker and one or two psychiatric nurses, or so I was told.
So after I lose my case tomorrow, I have to find good homes for my birds that still remain alive (one female Solomon Island Eclectus parrot, and three yellow-bibbed lories), and three siamese fighting fishes. I also must find a good place to donate all my beloved books and music CDs — preferably in Seattle rather than in NYC — and find someone knowledgeable to negotiate something with my slumlord regarding the remaining (unpaid) portion of my lease on my rent-stabilized apartment. Other than those items, and a futon, I own nothing of value, because I sold it all to pay my rent.
Currently, I am on suicide watch at the nuthouse which is apparently standard procedure under the circumstances, so I have a nurse following me around everywhere, even when I want to pee (oh joy). This nurse, who is at least one sandwhich short of a good picnic in my opinion, keeps asking me why I didn’t try to negotiate “something” with my captors, why I didn’t try to work with them.
I told him that I DID try, I spent the entire weekend researching affordable out-patient therapy programs, possible funding methods for affording my meds, and I wrote out a short- and medium-term future plan for my life, but none of this was good enough for them. The psychiatrists threw it all back into my face because nothing I came up with was good enough for them, then when I asked them what the problem is, I learned that they have more concerns than what they expressed to me.
How can I respond to concerns that they don’t even tell me about?? How can I trust these people when they prove themselves to be trecherous and untrustworthy?
Worse, who knows if I will even have internet access in the other facility?
How the heck did this nuthouse story get started in the first place?