Lesson Learned

Here is another blog entry I wrote awhile ago and wanted to edit, possibly re-write, but I have determined that I am not that great a writer and I'd rather get this one out then make more (then about two...maybe three) pathetic attempts at "perfection." (or is it four?)
So though it is not yet what I want it to be I will share my lesson learned with flaws and all.

I'd like to share one of the most valuable lessons I have learned from an individual. It is as lesson I learned the night I got to spend in the waiting room of a Mental Health Facility in Florida. I mentioned this stay in my blog entry "the story of my crazy little life."
Remember I was an eighteen year old Utah raised girl in a Mental Health Facility in Riviera Beach Florida being held against my will, but not entirely unjustly.
Everyone who was brought there had to wait in the waiting room until they could be evaluated by the psychiatrist and determined if they were "safe" to leave. I was brought in in the very early evening, shortly after the psychiatrist had left and she would not be returning until the next morning, if they needed her, and since the next morning was Easter Sunday she insisted upon attending her Easter Services ( though a bit annoying to me at the moment, I admired and appreciated the priority she put on that. Really of all people, she should be there celebrating and honoring a second chance at life. I was glad she went).
But for those who had to wait the accommodations were; one enclosed room with two hospital like cots and the waiting room. As best I could tell the "bedroom" had been claimed by a frighteningly large and very strange woman and a very reclusive male that I remember very little about (so little that I have wondered if he was a figment of my imagination). Though they confiscated all weapons, belts, shoelaces and shoes I had no desire to sleep in an enclosed room under these circumstances even if the door didn't lock. The rest of us got to find a place among the benches and floors. I was fortunate enough to get a bench. Of course there was the security of one night "receptionist" watching over us from behind the counter. We were limited to the waiting room and a short hall that led to a padded room and a bathroom. I wondered if I might ever find myself in a padded room. It didn't look that bad, sterile but strangely comforting.
That night I made friends with a man (we'll call him Derek) whose mother had him "baker acted." The Baker Act was the statute that allowed a person to be held against there will until they were evaluated by psychiatrist if someone in authority or a close family member felt that they may be a threat to themselves or others. Another man (we'll call him Todd) who had been brought from the county jail for threatening suicide if they insisted on putting him into a cell with a man that he knew would kill him anyway (only in a much more brutal way). I actually felt very safe with these two interesting men.
Around 2:30 in the morning a police officer brought another man in that was talking from the get go and I was never entirely sure whom to. I wasn't as comfortable with this man and I felt very small and naive. He was not a large man himself and rather looked undernourished. I was struck with the idea that he might be homeless.
From the moment he got there this man seemed to be talking about the "voices that were telling me to do bad things." As I lay there on the bench, pretending to still be asleep, I remember thinking "this man is genuinely crazy, I wonder what they will do with him?" Just like the rest of us he got a blanket and a pillow and was to find a place to sleep in the waiting room with the rest of us.
"Huh, this could be interesting."
I have to admit I was a bit nervous. He took a bench/ or the floor in close proximity and proceeded to tell his story. I am not sure if he was telling me, Derek, or just whoever was listening or nobody at all, but his story was definitely the most exciting there that night.
He began talking about when the voices started to come back. He said at first they were easy to ignore and he'd acknowledge them and would then tell them to go away. He was hanging out with his friends (which was entertaining in and of itself trying to imagine what his friends might be like) when the voices started getting harder to ignore. They started to tell him to do bad things. He told them that he didn't want to and that they should go away. At first the they'd go away for a time, but then they wouldn't go away. They started asking him to hurt people. He said he didn't want to. They started getting louder. He started telling his friends that they needed to take him to the hospital because he didn't want to hurt anyone. The voices morphed into Jesus, but this man knew that Jesus wouldn't want him to hurt people so he told "the voice" that, and that he didn't want to hurt anyone. He raised his voice and got stern with his friends "YOU take me to the Hospital right now, before I hurt you."

I am not sure how many times he had to ask his friends to take him (he repeated himself a lot) or how long the whole thing took to transpire, but the police officer had brought him to "our" facility from the hospital. I listened intently and though I was not sure if or what they did at the hospital, I hoped they would have done or given him something.

He was the first one to see the psychiatrist the next morning.

I remember being completely intrigued by the whole thing. It made me think, in fact it has ever sense. I have often thought "if this man, as crazy as he was, could learn to recognize this and maintain some values and self control then I could learn to deal with my issues, maintain some sense of self and be responsible for my actions." I could learn to recognize if I was creeping close to the edge. I think this experience has also contributed significantly to my realizing the importance of maintaining and teaching values on and in all levels of society. As our minds approach deviance from some very important core values I think it is import to keep them in check and get help before the "voices or feelings" get too loud.
This was and is a valuable lesson learned. I have sense been fortunate enough to have "coincidental" interactions and situations that have helped keep me ahead of the game (well at least ahead of some of the severity's). The old adage suggests that "an once of prevention is worth a pound of cure" and I strongly believe this is applicable to Mental illness and Mental Health as well.
I, personally, have been profoundly grateful for people who have been willing to talk about, write and/or share their stories and experience. It has helped me profoundly and personally and it helps to educate people in one of the final frontier's of medicine and health. I believe that through others stories, knowledge and help that we can better learn to treat and understand some very real physiological problems that as of yet cannot be tested by conventional means without greater risk to health and safety. The brain is a very powerful but also very delicate organ and it is not immune to malfunctions. That does NOT make a person less of a person.
These are some of my beliefs which, I suppose, is why I so strongly feel the desire to share my own experiences in both treating present symptoms and problems and preventing rapid progression of my own likely degenerate medical condition.