Welcome to the Mental!

I was in what we referred to as the “New Hole”. It was segregation, but a step up from what I was used to. Apparently, the old segregation had been declared unfit for human habitation by the Department of Health and the penitentiary was not allowed to use it anymore, so instead the relatively new cells in the bottom of the ‘Units” was used instead. Each cell had a metal bed frame and, on this occasion at least, I had a mattress and blankets. There were cameras in the cells as well, which I never forgot were there. I hated that camera pointing at me from the corner of the cell. Loathed it.

I had only been there a few days, but already depression had me over its knee and I was miserable. I didn’t understand why I couldn’t just keep my mouth shut when dealing with the guards, but I had proven time and time again that I could not walk away, could not give in, and had to push back until I ended up in segregation.

I wasn’t sure what day it was and didn’t really care. I was very aware of the fact that I was short timing, and even that didn’t make me feel any better.

The guards (Warders to be correct) opened my door and told me I was going to see the doctor. Every week, just like my first time in the pen, I went to see the pen psychiatrist, Dr. Paulsie. I no longer played games trying to get stronger medications, as I knew it was futile. I quickly got my meds increased as high as he would go with them within my first few weeks in the jail. Now it was basically a check in where I told him I was fine – he said he would see me next week – he got paid for the visit.

I had handcuffs behind my back as the guards led me down the hallway towards the doctor’s office, which was conveniently on the same level and just down the hall from the segregation unit.

I was caught a little off guard when I entered the inner office, guards beside me, and saw the rookie doctor, Dr. Craig, who had been shadowing Dr. Paulsie during my last few visits. He was an intern or something, and I didn’t really consider him to be a real shrink.

“Dr. Craig, where is Dr. Paulsie?” I asked.

“Dr. Paulsie is on vacation. I will be filling in for him while he is gone.”

The guards had me sit, one standing on each side of me while Dr. Craig took some time reading some papers on the desk in front of him. I just wanted to go back to the hole. There was no point in my being here at all. At least with Dr. Paulsie I was able to joke about my situation a little. I was not that comfortable dealing with Dr. Craig who was usually a silent spectator during my visits.

“Barry,” he said finally, “You seem to have trouble getting along with the guards and I would like to know why. I’m going to send you to the Waterford for a while and we will see if we can figure this out.”

For one brief moment, I was in shock. Then I was afraid. Fear quickly turned to anger when I digested what I had just heard – I was being sent to the mental! This wannabe shrink was sending me to the mental hospital because the real doctor wasn’t here! Dr. Paulise would never have done this! I was getting shipped out to a ward full of crazy killers and nutbars by a fucking intern!

“Your fucking mad!” I said, jumping to my feet. The guards grabbed and held me. I didn’t know what else to say. I could not believe this was actually happening. Each week I saw Dr. Paulsie and we did the ‘How are you? – Fine. – See you next week’ – routine and that was it. Now he goes on vacation and suddenly I am crazy?

“No.” Dr. Craig replied quietly. “You will be transferred this afternoon.”

Sixteen years old. Being shipped out of jail and into a mental hospital. Why was this happening? How could this be happening?

“Take him back to the hole.”

I walked down the hallway, around the corner and back into the unit in a daze. This just did not make any sense at all. Maybe I would wake up and find myself in my cell, with this all being just a dream that never really happened.

But it was happening.

I laid on my bunk wondering what it was going to be like. This would be the criminal justice ward which housed the worst of the worst. Not just criminals, but crazy, violent criminals. How would I survive in there? How long was I going to be there? Would I be in a call by myself, or with some psycho?

My mind raced and spun until they came to get me. In the van I tried to hide the fact that I was shaking. Tried not to cry. Inside my head I was screaming: “Why is this happening?” Several times during the trip to the hospital I fought back the urge to vomit, my stomach rolling and churning while waves of fear surged through my body. I had absolutely no idea what kind of place I was about to enter, but I was sure that I wanted to go back to the pen.

“Welcome to the mental, Barry!” one staff member said, jovially, unlocking a door that I did not want to pass though. “More correctly I guess – Welcome to the criminal justice ward!”

I did not reply.