Psychologist Ronald Bassman, once diagnosed and treated for
schizophrenia,brings new hope to patients and families.
The seclusion room was empty except for a mattress covered in black
rubber on the concrete floor. They lowered me onto the mattress and
turned me on my side. I fought their grip on my ankles and wrists, but
they were too strong and experienced. I quit struggling and stared at the
wire-encased ceiling light. I couldn't see the nurse when she came in and
said, "Get him ready." They quickly pulled my pants and underwear down to
my knees. I winced at the violent thrust of the needle. I tried to
prepare myself to fight the onslaught of the thought-dulling,
body-numbing Thorazine.
They waited for the drug to take effect before they stripped me of
my clothes. I was left naked in the seclusion room, and no explanations
were given. They did not tell me how long I would stay there.
Three decades have passed since I've had any kind of psychiatric
treatment, yet the memories remain. Even after more than 20 years of work
as a licensed psychologist, the nightmares have not disappeared. The
dreams of endless wanderings through gauze-shrouded hospital corridors,
the disembodied screams, and the smothering restraints and seclusion were
not overcome by my successes. Those haunting memories only ended when I
was finally able to use all of my experiences, when I was able to stop
hiding my psychiatric history, and when I could speak publicly about my
own treatment and transformation. Now I understand the importance of
sharing what l learned from living and working on both sides of the
locked door.
I am just one of many who have suffered psychiatric torments from
an inadequate and often destructive mental health system. The journey
that brought me to this place of credibility enables me to offer my
experience not only to those who have the power to bring about change,
but also to those who feel powerless and need inspiration. My good
fortune allows me to challenge the prevailing psychiatric model. When you
become a mental patient, you are no longer regarded as a whole person
with an individual mix of strengths and weaknesses.
When I was discharged from the hospital I was told I had an
incurable disease called schizophrenia. The doctor told my family that my
chances of being rehospitalized were very high. His medical orders were
directed at my parents, not me, and stated with an absolute authority
that discouraged any challenge. He predicted a lifetime in the back ward
of a state hospital if his orders were not followed.
"He will need to take medication for the rest of his life. For now,
you need to bring him to the hospital weekly for outpatient treatment and
he must not see any of his old friends."
I was devastated.
The hospital doctor put me into a coma five days a week for eight
weeks by injecting me with insulin. Those 40 insulin treatments combined
with electroshock blasted huge holes in my memory, parts of which have
never returned. I ballooned from 140 to 170 pounds; I appeared the clown
in clothes that no longer fit. My already damaged self-image had
plummeted to an unrecognizable depth, and the heavy doses of Thorazine
and Stelazine made me feel like I was walking in slow-motion under
water.
Was the doctor joking? Not see my old friends? How was I going to
face them and explain what had become of me? Did anyone really think that
I was capable of making new friends? I was sure that they would have
nothing to do with me. But the most disturbing of all the orders was to
hear him say that I would never be free of the hospital's control.
My best friends were once locked up in mental hospitals and fought
their way back. We are psychiatric survivors. Some believe that
psychiatric survivors defy the odds. Or maybe we were never really
mentally ill, just misdiagnosed. After all, they say schizophrenia is a
lifelong disease. Such reasoning makes my peers and me look like
exceptions. Among our large group of closeted ex-patients are lawyers,
teachers, mechanics, doctors, carpenters, plumbers and psychologists. We
are your neighbors, ministers and friends, living and working in your
communities. Many thousands choose not to reveal their past.
I choose to speak and write about my experiences so that others who
have been diagnosed and treated for serious mental illness will be able
to see new hope and possibility. After speaking engagements, I often get
calls and letters from people who are thankful that Someone is speaking
out. They hide their past just as I did, but go on with their lives
without anyone but their friends and families knowing about their
psychiatric histories. Sometimes psychology students ask for advice about
whether they should disclose their past. They are stung by the
insensitivity and misinformation perpetuated in their programs. But those
students suffer silently. They know it is not in their best interest to
disclose their histories if they expect to succeed.
Tags:
ankles,
concrete floor,
gauze,
haunting memories,
hospital corridors,
hospitalization,
licensed psychologist,
mattress,
mental health system,
mental illness,
New hope,
onslaught,
psychiatric history,
Psychiatric Treatment,
restraints,
schizophrenia,
screams,
seclusion,
three decades,
treatment,
wanderings
