Anger Never had a Friend like Me

I thought my life was at its' end. The mental health facility I had checked myself into to prevent my suicide (as if I was the patient AND the primary guardian) was "cushy" to say the least. We were served decaffeinated coffee, sugar free candy (which wreaked havoc on the bowels). That was great for the junkies going through withdrawal. I was detoxing off Klonopin. And alcohol. I hacked it. It was shitty for about 72 hours. But nothing like detoxing off heroin. So I was in better spirits than 100% of the rest of the suicidal junkies. There was one Meth-head. And naturally, he was my roommate. His first day there (my third) he pissed ALL over our bathroom. The shower. The floor. The toilet. I went and ratted him out to the nurses. They made him clean it up. The whole time, he was puking while struggling to clean. He glared at me. I grabbed him by his hair with my left hand and his ear on the other side with my right hand. I whispered evilly into his free right ear that next time I'd just beat the fuck out of him and anally rape him if he pissed all over our shared toilet. He began crying. His name was Gentry. Little bitch. 

After one of our god forsaken group therapy sessions, another patient- a ridiculously tall young man - asked if we could talk privately. He proclaimed he had to tell me his "worst fear." 

I said "of course." I was fascinated. 

The tall boy's name was Kevin. He was 19 years old. He must've been over six foot six and two hundred and seventy-five pounds. He was BIG. And presumably strong. The "suicide scars" ran lengthwise up and down both his strong forearms. Kevin began tearing up, but it wasn't noticeable in his voice. NO trembling. He'd had LOTS of practice trying to hide the pain. 

"You see" said Kevin, "my foster dad rapes me."

"Holy fuck" I said. 

"When he's done, I rape my 12 year old retarded foster sister. She’s slow. You know what I mean."

I swallowed my vomit. This was the most fucked up person I'd ever met. And I knew it within 10 seconds. He needed help. He needed to be there. 

"I can't leave here. Even though I'm 19, I'm slow in the head. So my foster parents have legal custody of me. And I'll have to go back to being raped by my foster dad." Kevin didn't sound slow in the head at all. He just sounded...damaged. 

I said, "well, if you punch me - they'll keep you here a few more days." He said "thank you - but I need longer. Like a year and a half. I need to be 21 they told me."

"Fuckin' a" I whispered to us. "Well - fucking let me talk to the people here. Maybe they'll understand your situation and remove you from that asshole's custody."

"Eh. I know what to do" Kevin explained. I was scared for him. 

The next morning, my meth-head roommate was put in into intensive care. They made it VERY difficult to harm (let alone kill) yourself in the hospital. No shoelaces. No belts. No sharp objects. They issued us disposable razors and watched us shave. Each dose of medicine was taken under supervision. The meth-head had bashed his head against the toilet until he split his head open. Heh. Good riddance. 

Joy was 26 years old. She showed me (and this nice Mexican kid in there too) her breasts quite frequently. It made up for the fact we were never allowed to go outside. We were on the 3rd floor. We couldn't smoke. So ALL of us were on the patch. Joy said she'd fuck me if I was Mexican. She was ridiculously pale white. But as she explained - she only liked Latin men. I was fine with that. She had to relearn who I was after each Electro Convulsive Therapy session. I was one of TWO who refused the treatment. The Mexican kid also refused it. He was the only one in there I really connected with on an intellectual level. But I forget his name. 

Queen Bee was the old African American lady of our group sessions. She was a junkie. And about 65 years old. She looked as if she were over 100 years old. She had grand children whom she adored. I gave her the moniker "Queen Bee" because she was the wisest of us all. She had been there. Done that. No fooling her. She was something else, so to speak. I longed to have her junkie knowledge and/or wisdom. I had been more of a pill-popping alcoholic at that point. I was in awe of heroin junkies back then. Fuck I was stupid. 

We had to watch a DVD about being abused as a child. It made me VERY uncomfortable as I was never abused as a child. However. I think EVERY other patient there had been abused as a child. And even as adults. The DVD was stupid. We all laughed at the uncomfortable conversations we knew it would inspire. And oh how it did. Joy had been gang raped by her dad and his friends MANY times. Queen Bee's teeth were all knocked out by her father by age 14. Dan (the 42 year old guy with the broken leg) had been forced to breast feed until he was in high school. How does that happen? I'd like to think I'd have just murdered my parents if they had abused me. And I think I would have. But the other patients all assured me that it fucks with your head so much that you "just go along with it - at least for a while."

The DVD was over. The Southeastern Asian guy leading our group session asked us if we'd like to watch a movie. There were a few DVD's by the player. Maybe 10. I have NO idea what movies they were. But I was about to learn the power of resistance. 

Kevin stood up - looked at the DVD's - took one out of its' case and exclaimed "watch this!!!"

He began eating the DVD. I mean crunching and seriously attacking it with his teeth and hands. He appeared to be swallowing what I assume were essentially shards of sharp plastic. Blood slowly began trickling from both corners of Kevin's mouth. Just then, an orderly tried to wrestle away the remaining shards of the DVD and attempted to "subdue" Kevin. Kevin was huge. He flung the orderly away as if he were a tiny, pestering insect. Five more orderlies arrived AFTER Kevin began seizing and spitting up blood. Kevin dropped like a sequoia. I felt the thud resonate up through my legs over 15 feet away. As they pulled him away on a stretcher (and had shot benzos into him) Kevin and I made eye contact. He was somehow smiling. I cried, almost audibly, but managed to praise his victory with a smile of my own. He was going to be safe a little while longer. And I knew I was cured.