WELCOME TO STANLEY'S BIOGRAPHY
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This page was last updated on: August 16, 2013
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(The following below covers age 20-23)

       So then I tried something different. Before 9pm, I would get 6 roll away beds and place them just outside the ward door and then went to man the door for the staff. They complained saying they couldn't leave the ward to get the beds, even thought all they had to do was reach just outside the ward door to get one of the bed. So I was reported again.

      So this time, before 9pm I placed 4 beds just inside the ward door and went to man the door. This way they didn't have to leave the ward at all. Now they complained that 4 beds were taking up room on the ward. In the end, nothing I did was good enough. I just couldn't win. And I felt I bent over backward trying to make the impossible situation of one person doing two jobs work. It was one report after another. Clearly I wasn't going to be able to make either one happy.

     As if things couldn't get any worse, I was having to deal with some situations that mirrored my past. One being this girl who was about 12. She was in a group home and was frequently brought to the psych ward, which was for adults by the way so I found that to be strange.

      Anyway, every time she was brought there, they would call me to sit with her till they felt she was ready to go back to the group home. The 3rd time sitting there I noticed this time she was more angry than any other time. She opened up a bit to me. We began discussing what had brought her there this time.

        It turned out a boy at the group home had taken her book. For those who don't know, a person's personal items is very important to them in group homes as it's all they have that is theirs. So when the boy took her book, she felt as angry as if someone had broken into a home and taken someone's TV or other valuable. So I could understand her anger. She explained that she tried to talk to the staff about it but no one would do anything. So she took the situation into her own hands and beat up the kid who took her book.

      So we began to go over idea's to better solve the situation next time. One suggestion was to write her name in all her books as proof they are hers. Another was if one staff wouldn't listen, to talk to another. Anyway, the charge nurse saw me talking with the girl and called me into private. She told me that she believed that the girl was getting herself in trouble and sent to the psych ward for attention and to not talk to her at all. Clearly that wasn't the situation.

       And as I saw it, if I talked to her, she would feel heard and calm down. Or I could not talk to her and spend all of my shift sitting there watching her stay angry as what made her angry wasn't being dealt with. I told the charge nurse she was mistaken about this child and told her some of what the girl was telling me.

     The charge nurse because she never talked to the girl, had no idea about any of this. That's what happens when people assume things. However, the charge nurse got angry because I confronted her on something and she didn't like it. Long story short, the girl stopping coming to the hospital as apparently my advice worked. So I guess talking DID help.

      A few weeks later another incident I will remember for some time. It was the breaking point of having a break down from working there for so long. It was late evening, almost 10pm. A mother came into the crisis office with her child who could not be more than 8 or 9 years old.

     The mom was upset because the child had a lot of energy and she wanted a calm, sedated child. The mom was arranging for her son to be taken to Sacramento to be placed in a children's psychiatric ward to be put on medication to keep the child calm. Most likely Ritalin or perhaps Thorazine or some other tranquilizer.

      I didn't see a wild child at all. What I saw was simply a child with normal kid energy. He wasn't jumping on furniture or anything. He was just awake and was calmly sitting watching the TV that was bolted to the wall. It became clear to me that this mom just wanted her kid drugged up so he would sit (or more like sleep) on the sofa and make no noise at all. She wanted a statue. Kids are not a sculpture you place in a corner of the room and dust every few days. They are living human beings. And last I checked, all kids have energy. It was just sad.

     Things got worse fast though when the mom went to leave. She had signed the child over to the hospital and they were waiting for a ambulance to come and take the child to Sacramento. The child looked to see his mom leaving and went to walk out with her, as any child would do thinking it was time to leave. The mom stopped him at the door and told him he had to stay. The kid broke down in a familiar way that I knew from experience that she must have done this to the kid before.

      The kid began crying. He was grabbing on to any limb of his mom he could. He was begging her as if his life depended on it saying "Please mom, don't leave me here, please please please. I'm sorry. I will be good. I will be good. Please. let me come home" the whole time crying his eyes out.

     Seeing this, hearing this, I flashed back to my past when I was 10 begging my mom to let me go home. Plus thanks to my empathic gift, I was also picking up on this child's feelings. He was beyond upset. He was scared and wanted to be with him mom, and go home where he felt safe.

        That's when the nurse there in the crisis office got angry and told me to grab the child and take him to the locked holding area. I did my best to keep my own feelings in check and with the kindest voice I could muster I did my best to have him come with me without making him more upset. Sadly it didn't work.

        Once in the holding area, he wouldn't stay on the sofa. I don't blame him, I don't think I would have been able to sit quietly on a sofa in that situation either. He got up, still crying his eyes out and kept putting in different combinations into the electric combination lock that secured the door.

        I kept having to take him by the waist and motion him back to the sofa as gently as I could. He was crying uncontrollably screaming for his mom as if she was simply on the other side of the door. In reality she had gotten in her car and drove off as soon as I got her son in the locked holding area. To be honest, it pissed me off.

        Soon his crying caught the ear of the charge nurse who had made her way to our end of the unit. She came in, walked over to him and told him if he didn't stop, he would go to restraints. Man, the kids was like 9 years old, he didn't know what the hell restraints were. Nor should he have. He was upset, and doing what any child wanting their mother would do.

        When the boy wouldn't stay seated, the charge nurse got angry and ordered me to place the boy in handcuffs. I was so sure I had misunderstood the request. She said "Did you hear me? Handcuff him!" I took out the handcuffs and placed them on the boy wrists in front instead of behind his back and did it as loosely as I could. It didn't do any good. He kept getting up and just kicking the door still trying to get out.

       The charge nurse had enough. She called for 3 other staff (as if she really needed more than her and myself). She had me uncuff the boy and the staff came in the room, pulled the boy who had a death grip on the combination door lock and took him to the solitary room where I was ordered to help place the boy in restraints.

       My stomach felt like I had been punched when I heard her request asking me to help. But that was part of my job, I had to do it. So I mustered up all my strength and went into the room. I was hoping I could just run in, do it and leave. But nope.

      The child was laid on his back, screaming and crying fighting to get out of the grip the charge nurse had of his left arm. They then brought in the duffel bag that had the tan leather locking restraints in it. However the restraints are made for adults, not children. So they didn't hold the child, even on the smallest setting.

     So the charge nurse left and came back with several Kotex pads. She peeled off the adhesive backing and added several pads to the restraints to take up the room so the restraints would hold the boys tiny wrists and ankles snuggly. However I had to walk out as they were putting the first one on his leg. I couldn't be in the room anymore. I was totally freaking out. I started crying and couldn't stop it.

        I turned around and ran out of the restraint room, fumbled with my keys trying to get the locked ward door open and went into the men's room just outside the ward and locked myself in the stall. All the emotions the boy was feeling, the fear of what was happening to him, the anger at his mom for not protecting him from this treatment of handcuffs and restraints was just too much for me to take. Then the thought that all this has happened to him in only a hour, and he hasn't even made it to Sacramento yet where I am sure more will come based on my experience.

      I broke down crying uncontrollably as all the emotions and flashbacks of what was done to me in the psych ward when I was a child came flooding back in. The block.....the wall I had built to hold back all the memories and flashbacks of what happened to me in the psych ward as a child had been leaking for several months due to working there. The incident in the restraints room with that boy burst the dam wide open. Constant flood of flashbacks, scents and sounds. Everything that happened to me was now fresh and in my face.

       I managed to pull myself together to finish the last 2 hours of my shift. I did my best to avoid the ward for the rest of my shift as the boys screams could be heard through the ward door and seemed deafening in my head. Plus the guilt of knowing I had a part in that child's pain. THAT broke my heart.

        When I got home, it wasn't long before I lost it again and broke down crying again. I don't even remember stopping crying that night. It was all kind of a blur of tears and flashbacks of my own assaults done to me in a psych ward as a child. That night was filled with one of many nightmares of attacks in the psych ward that are now a daily occurrence of torture.

      The following afternoon about 4 hours before I was supposed to be at work, like if that was possible at all. I had already thought of calling off. I was in no condition to work. I was told to come down to the office for a meeting. At the meeting I was told I was fired from the psych ward site. Not something I was terribly upset to hear.

      And after my actions of leaving that solitary room and being pretty much unfound for the remainder of my shift I wasn't surprised I was let go. And to tell you the truth, it was actually a big weight lifted off of me, however it came a day too late.

       I was told however that no other full time sites were available. It became clear very fast that I was about to lose everything. With no money for rent, food or anything else, I would have a serious problem. I told my boss that I would need some time. With that I left and tried to take my life. I just couldn't handle the flood of nightmares and flashbacks on top of now not having a job and looking at being homeless. It was all I could take and I broke.

       That night I was admitted to the very same psych ward I worked at for attempted suicide. Thankfully, not too much occurred. I really couldn't take anymore, let alone being abused in yet another psych ward. The only incident that occurred was one of the staff ordered me to my room for the night. I was not in the mood to be disrespected and talked to as if I was a child being told to go to bed by daddy. Me and the staff member got into a argument till the charge nurse came over to find out what was going on.

        I explained that I had no problem being asked to go to my room for the night. What I had a problem with was the tone of voice the staff member talked to me with that was like a parent ordering a child to go to bed. I told her all I wanted was to be asked nicely and treat me with some respect. That I am a adult and not a child. The truth is a lot of these psych ward staff talk and treat the patients like little kids. With the horribly bad day I had, I wasn't in the mood.

         The charge nurse made him say sorry for how he spoke to me and to ask please and the incident was over just like that. It was that very rude kind of treatment that I saw the staff treating the patients with that annoyed me when I was working there. I failed to see why the patients were treated as small children just because they were in a psych ward. They were all grown adults and deserving of respect. I could never say anything though as a guard because I could lose my job. 

          When I got released the next day, I went home. I was clearly not going to be able to work with the dam that was holding back all the PTSD that was now broken. So I ended up back on social security disability for mental disabilities (bi-polar and PTSD among other issues).

         When I was working security, I knew I had Bi-polar and had been doing all I could to control the PTSD and up till the incident with putting the boy in restraints, I had the PTSD more or less under control. I never told Pinkerton about my depression and PTSD problems or my past hospital stays as I most likely would not have been hired. So I left it off the application.

     Anyway after being released and while waiting for SSI to approve my application, I was placed on unemployment disability. That was a battle in itself. See Pinkerton knew if they fired me they would have to pay me unemployment. So what they did was they gave me very little hours hoping I would quit. If you quit, your not able to apply for unemployment.

        So a lawyer got involved and fought my case. They said that giving me such low amount of hours as a way to force me to quit was the same as firing me. So they forced the paper work through and approved me for unemployment disability which wasn't as much as I was making working, but it paid the bills so I wasn't homeless or anything like that.

Also after getting released the doctor in the psych ward set me up with a therapist to see there once a week. I was very much having trouble dealing with the onslaught of nightmares and flashbacks. Unlike before when they were under control I only had to deal with them a few minutes a day at best, but now they dominated my day and took most of my attention to deal with it.

       Because of dealing with the high amount of nightmares and flashbacks from the PTSD there were many times when I just felt I couldn't take one more nightmare or one more flashback and seriously thought about ending my life to get some peace. As one would imagine, this worried the therapist I was seeing.

      She was fresh out of collage and like many therapists fresh out of collage they tend to go by a "commit now and ask questions later" type of approach. Like a better safe than sorry mind set. Normally I can understand that. But when someone has PTSD of psych wards, that's a very bad way of doing things. If she had slowed down, I would have had the chance to tell her that although I was having thoughts of ending my life, I wasn't going to do anything.

          Anyway, when I told her about me feeling overwhelmed and having feelings of ending my life, she tells me to hold on, that she needs to get a cup of water. At this time I got that feeling in the pit of my stomach that was telling me I was in danger. I have come to depend and trust this feeling as it's never wrong. And as I thought, the therapist freaked out and called security.

In rushed two security guards. They took me by both arms and practically dragged me to the locked holding area of the psych ward. I was there for a few hours and it came time for a diaper change. I asked for a diaper. I was expecting the staff member to discreetly give me one of my diapers. (By the way, if you do wear diapers, bring your own supply with you. The ones they have, if they have any at all, typically look like THIS)
























       Basically, if you know what a chuck is, it's pretty much a chuck with tape tabs on one end. It's similar to a paint soaker. Only intended to soak up a very small leak of a few ounces. It's not designed to be a diaper. I would say it's like putting toilet paper in your underwear. As you can imagine the toilet paper wouldn't soak up very much at all. So as expected, because I am a heavy wetter to begin with, they leaked horribly the one time I did use one.

        It didn't even fit to begin with. It only fit from my waist in front and went just barely between my legs. The diaper wasn't long enough to cover my bottom. Just to between my legs. So if you wear diapers, make sure you have someone that can bring you some of your own supply should you need to be in the hospital (medical or psychiatric) as has been my experience.

      Anyway, back to what I was saying. So I asked one of the staff member for a diaper (one of the good ones I brought with me). I normally carry a very small bag with me that has about a day's worth of diapers along with powder, wipes and any other diapering needs. Like the size of a lunch pail. The staff put this small bag under their desk. So when I asked for one of my diapers I expected to be handed one discreetly. Nope.

      The staff member picked up one of my diapers in his hand held it up above his head and yelled down to the end of the nurses station asking the head nurse if I could have it. She asked what it was. The staff member nice and loud and clear "It's one of Stanley's diapers".

      Well I got the diaper, but I was pissed off that it wasn't done discreetly. They made it nice and clear that it was done that way to cause me embarrassment and make me uncomfortable so I wouldn't come back. Wasn't my idea to be there in the first place. Thankfully I was only there 2 days.

      A few weeks later my therapist once again freaked out. We were having a regular session when she asked, since it was getting late that we move our session into the main building. It wasn't too weird of a request but that little feeling in the pit of my stomach began acting up again.

       Then a few minutes later she excused herself to "use the bathroom". She came back with security. Once again I was taken into the locked ward's holding area to be admitted. She didn't even stick around to explain her actions. As soon as security arrived she picked up her purse and stuff and left to go home. Forget explaining to me why I was once again being locked up.

      I would find out later that she admitted me because SHE felt I was suicidal again. I was more pissed off this time around. Every time I am admitted the PTSD symptoms (nightmares and flashbacks) get more worse, for obvious reasons. I was taken into the locked holding area and then told I was to perform a strip search. Wasn't a problem until I found out it would be done by a staff member that openly claimed he was gay in sexual preference from when I was working there.

      It's not a big deal to me that he's gay, I have no problem with anyone being gay. What I do have a problem with is getting a strip search by a gay staff member. So I asked if someone else could do it. He said no. So I suggested waiting in the holding area till shift change and have someone from the next shift perform the strip search. No again was his answer.

     That's when he said if I didn't do the strip search with him, he was going to put me in restraints. I wasn't threatening anyone or anything. I was very calm through all this. So the use of restraints for peacefully not wishing doing a strip search with a gay staff is wrong.

So I told him "I'm sorry, but no. Please get someone else or the charge nurse perhaps". Instead he left and came back with 3 other guys. I found this interesting. He can't get one person to do a strip search, but can find 3 staff to put me in restraints which takes 3 times longer to do. So for refusing to do a strip search I was put into 5 point restraints till I was ready to strip. I was injected with Haldol and left there.

      The tranquilizer was supposed to knock me out. It didn't. Instead I found I was allergic and the sedative caused me to see things. I was on my back looking at the ceiling when I saw what appeared to be a tunnel with some kind of machine like those ones that drill those tunnels through mountains. The ones that have a huge circle of teeth on the front. Anyway, I laid there for 2 hours watching this thing make a tunnel. It was freaky. Nothing scary, just weird.

     2 hours into the restraints, I had a bit of a wetting accident. The staff member that was gay came in and checked the diaper. When he found it wet he began to unbutton my pants. At this point I asked him what he thought he was doing. He told me "Changing your diaper". I told him no and to leave me alone. He didn't stop.

     He continued and unzipped the zipper and pulled my pants down. There was nothing I could do to stop him. I was in restraints and couldn't move. All I could do was I closed my eyes and waited till it was all over. This was the first time anyone has seen me with a exposed diaper, and it was the first time anyone has changed me since I was a baby. I was VERY uncomfortable and embarrassed by all of this.

Once the diaper was off, he left the solitary room leaving the door wide open for all to see me. He was gone for at least 10 minutes. When he returned he didn't use the diapers I had brought with me that actually fit. He had the so called diaper (that chuck with tapes in the picture above). These so called diapers were only 30X36 inches. Not very big at all. He didn't clean the area, no powder. He just began putting on this new "diaper" but quickly found they were not going to fit me.

     So he laid one across my waist, another he covered my front diaper area that covered from my front waist, down and just barely between my legs. He then pulled up my pants, closed and locked the solitary room and left me there. Because these thin things not only can't hold a full wetting, but because it stopped just between my legs it leaked horribly.

        About 4 hours after the diaper change (now 6 hours in restraints) one of the staff came in to check me. I was still freaking out watching the machine on the ceiling drilling it's hole. So this guy came in and asked me how I was feeling. "I'm tied to a bed, laying in urine. How to you think I feel". I couldn't say that though. I thought it, but the words wouldn't come out of my mouth. My body was frozen. A reaction to the Haldol in addition to seeing things. It freaked the guy out a bit. He kept trying to talk to me, but I couldn't say anything back.

      I was responding, but nothing would come out of my mouth. It was kind of scary actually. I couldn't move either. It was almost like watching a TV and trying to yell at the people on the screen, but because it's TV they can't hear you. So at this point he poked me in the ribs with his elbow and got a small grunt. He was happy getting this small response and left. If it was me I would have called a doctor because not being able to move or talk is not a good sign.

      But nope, no doctor. He just had the nurse come in and inject me with MORE Haldol. I guess they wanted me to be knocked out or something. All it did was put me deeper into this strange world of not being able to move or talk and seeing things.

      He then also went to check the so called diaper. But he found my pants wet. I guess he figured changing the diaper is pointless now. So he just left me laying in the urine. He closed the door and locked it. I didn't see or hear anyone for another 8 hours.

      When the medication they injected me with finally wore off I was able to finally move and talk again. I was very weak from not eating anything in over 14 hours and my mouth was too dry to yell for someone. So I took the end of the restraint strap from the belt on my waist and began pounding out S.O.S in Morse code. I was hoping someone would hear it. It took almost a hour for the tapping to get someone's attention.

      By this time it was a new shift on duty so I finally had the chance to do a strip search with a different staff member. When they unstrapped the restraints. I was still very week and needed help getting up. As I stood up the 2 inch deep pool of urine I had been laying in for the last 12 hours poured off the plastic hospital mattress onto the floor and run out the solitary room and under the desk of the nurses station.

     I was taken into the bathroom and peeled my urine soaked clothes off. They gave me a gown to wear while I washed my clothing, as well as one of my diapers that actually fit. Then I was finally given something to eat and drink. As I was still very tired from what I had just went through, I went and laid down after eating.

       I was held a week there on this hold. The doctor felt I was getting myself admitted just to hang out with the staff I used to work with. So he wanted to make my stay as bad as possible so I would never want to come back. He was wrong, I didn't want anything to do with the place, let alone the staff. But it worked. I was afraid to even go near the place. But he was mistaken. I didn't want to hang out with anyone there, my intention was to spend as little time there as possible if at all.

      Some of the other issues I had while there is this particular time I brought my stuffed dog "Puppy" with me. Before this stay, I had begun talking with the therapist about me being a adult baby (AB). I just didn't know she was putting it in my chart. What I also didn't know is that this chart that I thought was private, the psych ward doctor had access to.

      Because of me being AB, they locked up my stuffed dog saying it wasn't "Age appropriate". But at the same time another female patient was allowed to have her stuffed bunny her family got her that was easily 8 times larger than my little dog. Not to mention comments from the staff asking me if I really sleep in a nursery and crib.

     At one time the doctor wanted to place me in a state psych ward (most likely to teach me a further lesson as if what they already didn't do enough damage). So I had to get a patients rights lawyer to fight my case. Not to mention the hospital was trying to say a AB story I wrote for this site was true. I forget the name of the story. It was my first try at writing a AB story.

    Basically it described that a mom found diapers in the kids closet and turned the kid and his siblings into babies. To escape we got the keys to the car and drove to Vegas. The psych doctor was trying to prove the story was true and that me going home would be dangerous to my health bla bla bla.

     I found all this out through the grape vine. One of the Pinkerton guards had heard the doctor discussing making my stay as bad as possible and then the guard told this to the Pinkerton supervisor who worked with my mom who also worked for the company who then told me about it. Their plan worked. It was quite traumatic and became one of many nightmare scenarios to be relived over and over again for years to come. Thanks!!! Finally with no more evidence to hold me, I was released to go home.

     About mid 2001 Jonathan ran into some issues with the law and in order to wipe the incident from his file, he had to join the NAVY. So he was entered into a program to prep him for leaving. I forget what it was called. Anyway on August 7th he had his birthday/going to the NAVY party.

     It was during this party my grandfather from my mom's side, Jeff turned to me and says "So when are you going to do anything important with your life?". As if I have done nothing important with my life thus far? Deciding not to be around him and deal with any more comments I went up to my room for the remainder of the day. So after his 18th birthday Jonathan left for the Navy.

     In late February 2002 I had a post on DPF (Diaper Pail Friends) looking to find a AB mommy. I had 2 AB mommies prior to my post on DPF. I also got to meet a local AB mommy named Mommy Jane through her live-in AB named Dennis. Jane was really nice. Our first meet was at a local Jack in the Box. Dennis picked me up and we met Jane there. I posted my experience with her at lunch on our AB/DL stories section. The name of the story is "Lunch as a baby".

     The following day I met Baby Tony. He was invited along with me for a play date at Dennis's house. I wrote a short story about this experience as well called "Day as a baby". It was a lot of fun. So was the Easter party where I finally met Square Duck in person who is a (DL) Diaper Lover for the first time as well. It was really cool to be able to put a face with the text on the screen.

    Mommy Jane often had computer problems with the system she had, so in exchange for me fixing her computer when she had problems, she traded me for baby sitting sessions. Things like bottle feedings and such. No diaper changes as I never felt comfortable with people seeing me in a diaper, let alone change my diaper.

       Most times we would go grab lunch, do window shopping, just go for a drive, watch movies at her house.....things like that. I was very depressed at home and Jane came over to get me out of the house as often as she could. It was her live in AB named Dennis that introduced me to her. 

        For a period of almost 6 months I was convinced I was adopted as it was the only thing that could explain the treatment I was getting from the entire family. That of a outsider, not a blood relative. I wanted out of there. Pam was the answer to my prayers.

     Living with my mom I was spending most of my time in my room. I barely came out of my room except to make something to eat which I went back up to my room to eat or come out to use the bathroom. So when I met Mommy Pam she asked if I wanted a mommy. We hit it off the first call.

     Over the course of a week talking to Pam I ran up a bit of a high phone bill talking with her for hours on end. It was worth it though. It was like a breath of fresh air. I felt like I have always known her. Same with Pam's friend Sandra and Darien. I clicked with all of them. After just two weeks of talking with them Pam offered me to take the second room she had. I jumped at the chance.

      I packed up 3 duffel bags and left everything else. I didn't care. I was starting a new life and if that meant giving up almost all of my stuff except 3 duffel bags, then I was fine with that. A few days later I got the Greyhound ticket Pam sent me and I left 3 days after that on the morning of March 3rd. I took the Greyhound from Stockton California all the way to Albany New York. It was a long 3 1/2 days.

      I arrived in Albany NY on March 7th 2002. I was very tired from the trip as I really couldn't sleep on the bus and had a bit of a diaper rash as I couldn't change as often as I wanted to. But the Unique Briefs (Now called Unique Wellness Briefs) kept me more or less dry the whole trip and avoiding the hassle of having to change every 4 hours with other brands of diapers.

      With the Unique Wellness Briefs being able to hold 3 liters (12 hours between changes) I didn't have to change every 4 hours like I did with my regular diapers. Which was also nice because I didn't have a lot of room in my carry on bag. So being able to carry less diapers was a plus.

     As I walked into the Greyhound station in Albany NY I spotted Pam and Sandra right away. I just knew it was them. Plus them holding a balloon and a huge white stuffed dog was kind of a dead give away. We collected my luggage and they took me out for dinner that night at a Chinese place. They had some really good food. All you could eat for like $7.00. Darn good deal.

     When we got to my new home I was so very tired. I sat on the sofa and accidentally feel asleep. Not long later Pam sat down and fed me a bottle. I wasn't expecting any baby treatment so fast. But it was actually pretty nice.

    The next day (since I was too tired the night before) they did a sort of arrival party. They gave me several baby items and we had some cake and all. It was fun. That afternoon we went and got a mattress for me and we stopped at the local lumber yard and got the supplies to start making a new crib for me to use there. Had that built in 2 days. Couldn't finish it fast enough.

     Pam and her friend Sandra signed on a few days later to help out with this website. They care about the members as much as I did. So they were a great addition to the staff running this site. They helped me add much content to this site and we started the service of "Ask A Mom" for bed wetter's as Sandra and her son both had wetting issues and "Ask Mommy" which was done by Pam with help from Sandra. (though now only Sandra does both "Ask A Mom" and "Ask Mommy" as Pam has passed away).

Although Pam babying me helped a lot, I was still having the vivid nightmares and flashbacks about the hospital stays. I did my best trying to keep myself together, but I couldn't do it for long. I felt bad subjecting them to the symptoms of the PTSD. Thrashing in bed, yelling in my sleep...just to name a few.

     But Pam and Sandra didn't get angry or annoyed at that. They just did their best to help. Pam and Sandra were also trying to help me manage my urges to self injure but it wasn't easy. And it wasn't long before I was able to start seeing a therapist and a medical doctor as my medical insurance had finally gone through.

       So I set up my first appointment with a family doctor which was just around the corner. That was nice that I could walk to my appointments. Pam went with me on my first appointment as I was kind of embarrassed. She wanted me to tell him about the bed wetting and get it checked out. Up till then I kept it to myself and just bought the diapers online.

         So we arrived and after the check-up Pam helped me tell the doctor about the bed wetting. We discussed when it started and how it progressed up till now as well as what I was doing to manage it. After explaining my bed wetting history he set up a meeting with a urologist for tests and gave me a prescription for the diapers so I didn't have to be spending the SSI money on them anymore.

         The urologist didn't find anything wrong with the bladder. All we could figure out was it was either the back injury from my dad beating me on my back, the back injury from 1996 in the psych ward, the stress from the PTSD causing it or perhaps the ADHD. We had a few guesses, but nothing for sure.

         So we just continued on with using diapers to manage it and do my best to not let it slow me down. And the family doctor also helped out with my back pain. The Tylenol just wasn't cutting it. So he started me on Vicodin. Finally I was able to do things without being in so much pain. That was a breath of fresh air.

        In addition to the pain medication he told me to try to avoid lifting things that weighed more than 20 pounds. And besides seeing the medical doctors for the bed wetting, back pain and regular check ups I began seeing a therapist in downtown Albany named Peter Dallas.

      Also during this time my mom and I were talking about once a week. During each of those calls she would ask if I was ready to come back home now. No was my answer every time. For the first time in my life I was truly happy. And it was there that for the first time I felt what love felt like. Pam and Sandra were both interested in what I was into, as I was interested what they were into.

      At this time Pam and Sandra had a minivan when I arrived but I wasn't able to drive that before it rapidly falling apart and they had to get a new car. It needed oil treatment along with other liquids if we were going to leave town as it had several leaks.

       And one evening as we were getting out of the van to have dinner at this one place as the back window fell from it's mount just as I was walking by. Thankfully I was able to catch it before it fell to the ground and broke. Since the van was gray put it back on with duck tape. Wasn't pretty but it did the job.

        We got the living hell scared out of us one evening with the van. For some unknown reason the brakes failed on the van. Thankfully the light was green. We had intended to make a left at the light, but since the brakes didn't work when we tried to stop we just went straight.

       There was a decline on the other side of the intersection that rattled the van and whatever was causing the breaks to fail suddenly knocked it lose and we were able to stop. It only happened once and the breaks worked fine from then on. We still have no idea what caused it.

        Sadly the van met it's fate about 6 months after I arrived from a radiator leak that couldn't be fixed and Pam and Sandra's church found a member who had a dark blue 4 Door Oldsmobile Delta 88. My only complaint was that it had no AC and some days was difficult to start. But hey, it was sold to us for only $500.00, so what could one really expect for $500.00?

         On January 13th I took the test for my drivers permit and passed. To my surprise I did pretty good driving in the snow. I was expecting it to be very difficult. I loved the snow and took every chance to go outside every time it snowed. :)

     Christmas that year was great. Pam and Sandra had only known me for about 9 months but that was more than enough time to think of gifts that fit what I liked. With my family most gifts were money or gift cards most times. I used the money and gift cards, but it sent the message of "I can't take the time to get to know what your into, so here's a gift card, get what you want". Same with my Birthday.

      Everything I got from Pam and Sandra I used. It's not just gifts though, it was that was with everything. We reached a point where they could finish what I was saying. When they went to the store, they got me things they knew I liked. Whatever we were doing, we were thinking of each other. If it was the store, we would pick up something for them at home, be it a candy bar, a coke...whatever. For DJ we always got him a trey of California sushi rolls. It was just very different from what I was used to. It was love.

     But Pam and Sandra really helped by being there to listen when I needed to talk any time, day or night. They didn't care that I had a hard time sleeping. When I was having a nightmare they would wake me up, calm me down and go back to sleep. As you would any baby having a nightmare. I no longer had to fight the PTSD beast alone anymore. I had help.

      During this time we were all doing apartment building security. We would drive around the large complex making sure no one's cars were being broken into, that people were parking in the right places and so on. Since we could do our own hours for as long or as little as we felt up to it worked well with having to work around the depression. If I was too depressed to go out, we skipped that day. It was nice to get out there and do the patrols and they helped keep my mind occupied working when the PTSD was being difficult.

     That winter's first snow fall I got to make my first snow man ever in my life. It was cool as I had never seen a snow fall in person before. I felt like a little kid. It was a lot of fun playing in the snow. I was running around outside in just shorts and a shirt. I loved it, being a big polar bear and all the cold didn't bother me at all.

       However on the early morning of February 1st we were going to the food store to do some shopping and that was the first day I really started to hate deer. Our SSI money came in around 3am and we normally went shopping around that time to avoid crowds. So we were driving on the lightly snow covered roads doing around 35-40. It normally was a 65 mile per hour road. Be seeing as it was snowing and no one was around I decided to drive slower than I normally would have.

       So we came over the rise and the headlights bounced off the eyes of two deer getting it on in the middle of the road. It was two lanes, one in each direction and a deep ditch on each side of the road. And just my luck, there was a deer in each lane and they were frozen by the headlights. There was nothing I could do. There was no time to break before hitting them, and if I tried to go around we would have ended up in the ditch.

      So I just told everyone to hold on and I aimed for the smaller of the two to reduce the impact.  While breaking the best I could trying to still slow us down and reduce the chance of losing control and ending up in the ditch I told Pam and Sandra who were in the car to hold on. We hit the smaller of the two deer and began dragging the poor thing. The left headlight blew out in the impact.

      All I could see in front of me in the remaining right headlight was legs coming up over the hood every few seconds. We coasted for another minute or so before we finally came to a stop. The deer got up a few moments later and ran off into the woods. The cop that came by shortly after said he most likely ran off and died from internal injuries in the woods somewhere. Hitting the deer thankfully has been the one and only car accident I have ever had. Sure we had insurance, but I don't plan on testing it anytime soon.

      So the next day I went out to check the damage. The front grill was smashed to pieces, but the radiator behind it was not damaged. I got a replacement headlight and since the housing was smashed when we hit the deer, I used copper wire and secured it that way.

      Although once in awhile it would slip and suddenly I would be lighting the tree tops...lol. I would have to stop and put it back in place. All I knew was I wasn't going to pay $5,000.00 for a new grill and headlight housing. That was nuts. $30.00 headlight and $3.00 for some copper wire and problem solved. :)

     Over time talking to Darien (AKA DJ) on the phone (he wasn't living with Pam at the time), I got to really get to know him. I found me and him had similar experiences in the psych wards that I went through. So we could really relate to that stuff. He also had a period where he struggled with self injury. She we would spend many nights together talking about what we went through.

     About 2 months later DJ got into a situation where the woman he moved in with was hurting him. So with the help of Mommy Jane who was living in Florida close to where he was, she paid for a plane ride back to New York. It was so nice of her to do that for him. I was just grateful she was close enough to help him. So finally I got to meet DJ in person.

      Several months passed working with Peter Dallas and I found we just were not making much progress. I stopped seeing him however when a suggestion from him almost got me admitted to Albany Medical Center. Peter Dallas told me if I was depressed that I should go to the ER and I could talk to someone there about it. I went there listening to him, and against my better judgment.

       The ER doctor there decided I was suicidal. They said that I had said I was suicidal and I didn’t. One of the ER staff who was told to sit and watch (otherwise known as suicide watch) had made it a point to remind me several times that I was going to be transferred to Capital District Psychiatric Center. He would come back every few moments and say something like "Yep, they are going to hold you. They should be coming for you soon".

       It was almost like the guy wanted to see me freak out. The good thing was Pam and Sandra were both there with me. They got to see first hand the kind of things done to me. This ER knew I had PTSD and knew what scared me and it was used against me as a weapon to cause fear. Why I don't know. Were they looking to see me flip out? Perhaps they wanted to do it so I would be so upset that I would never come back? Wouldn't be the first time a ER did that to me.

      Anyway, I was there for a total of 10 hours in the ER before being seen by a person from the psychiatric hospital who did a psychiatric evaluation and then decided I was fine to go home. Over that 10 hours in the ER, the ER staff member came in to tell me I was being admitted over 10 different times. It seemed just as I was calming down from the last time he came in to make comments that he would return to make another one.

      My self injury however was getting more and more out of control. I was needing to do more and more over time to get the same calming effect. There was something almost every day that gave a reason to self injure to numb away the feelings. The PTSD was a constant reason to self injure. I didn't want to feel sad, depressed, upset.....anything bad.

     Sure it feels good for a few hours after doing it. But soon the calming feeling leaves and you just feel the pain of where you did the damage. And for some it leads to more SI to get the calming pain free feeling again. All in all, self injury is one of those beasts that makes any reason a good reason to self injure. It's used to cope with just about anything and everything. Which is what makes it so difficult to stop.

      Thankfully I came across a website in June/July that was for the support of those who self injure called RuinYourLife.com, or "RYL" for short. Although they changed their name to RecoverYourLife.com
as they got some news press later down the road and wanted to have a name that was more positive. So that's where the name change came from.

      The site was a big help. I met a moderator there named Linda. Although she was better known on there by her screen name "MomOfCutter". Her daughter had a difficult time with self injury. Over time we became friends and Linda, along with other members of the site became a big help during periods where I wasn't able to meet with a therapist.

      Although I am sad to say we had a falling out due to 2 members on there who didn't want me talking with her anymore and they caused a fight and we both parted ways. What I do know is I was glad to know both her and her daughter for the time I did. It had a positive effect on my life.

       So things between my mom began to have a falling out. The current relationship as it was, it was very toxic. Not just because of the anger I had over the things she had done to me, but also because of the constant need for me to have to prove things to her. She would never take anything I said without proof. So it was decided to cut contact with her, at least for now and have some time apart.

       She wouldn't have that and continued to call several times a day and e-mail. So I contacted the local police department to look into perhaps getting a restraining order or something. The stress of the relationship with her was causing un-needed issues.

        So the officer came out and I explained the situation to him. He let me know that because she did not live in the New York state area that I would not be able to get a restraining order. So I asked then if he wouldn't mind speaking to her and asking her to give me some space. That perhaps if it came from a police officer that she might listen.

        The officer called and apparently my mom wasn't home but he talked to her boyfriend John. John told the officer about my self injury issue as he kept looking at my arms several times. John also told the officer that the e-mail I sent her telling my mom I needed to cut contact was really a suicide note. A few moments later the officer got off the phone and asked me if it was true that I self injured. I told him yes, that I was in treatment for it.

         Instead of leaving it at that he called on his radio for his supervisor. Instead of helping, it only made the issue worse. The supervisor saw the self injury the same as suicide attempt. So he told me he had to take me to the psychiatric hospital for a evaluation.
I was handcuffed and taken to the psych ward where I had to explain all of this again to the doctor.

         I was there for almost 4 hours. But Pam and Sandra arrived within 30 minutes. They sat with me the whole time waiting for the doctor. I had expected to not see them both till I got released. But no, they stayed there the entire time. They told me they loved me and would always be there for me. That they were not going to leave me alone.

        I wasn't used to this. Having someone there. Growing up, I was used to being hauled off in a ambulance and not seeing anyone again till I was released. So to have someone there sitting with me waiting to see the doc for the evaluation wasn't something I was used to. But it was something I was glad to have.

        The doctor decided I needed to be there for a while because of the self injury. As if any regular psychiatric hospital could help anyone who self injures. A psych ward's way of handling self injury is Thorazine and hours in restraints. There is only one hospital that treats self injury and it's a place called "S.A.F.E. Alternatives". I actually try to go there years later, but I will talk about that later.

        So I was taken over to the hospital's psych ward by 4 guards. I was not in the best mood. I was wet already and because I was taken from my home unprepared I didn't have any other diapers with me and because it was early morning there was no visitors time for several hours.

         After I was checked in I asked the nurse if they had any diapers on hand. The nurse has me follow her to a closet where she hands me a Pampers size 6 diaper and says "here, put this on". I was at a loss for words. How the heck a baby diaper was supposed to fit me I don't know. But the other thing I was curious about is why they had baby diapers on a adult psych ward. Made no sense. I had no choice but to sit in the wet diaper I had on till the visiting hours in the morning.

        The next morning Pam and Sandra brought over some diapers, wipes and powder for me. I can't tell you how happy I was to be in a dry diaper. However it wasn't soon enough to prevent a diaper rash. But hey, it's something that happens once in awhile when your in diapers.

         Pam and Sandra were there for both the morning and evening visiting hours, and would stay for the entire length of the visiting hours. They would also bring up a supply of some soda for me so I didn't have to go through caffeine withdrawal with everything else that I was dealing with in there.

          Both Pam and Sandra would call me every hour to make sure I was alright and to see if I needed anything. So since someone stole my quarters I had for the phone while I was in there, having them call once per hour made it so I didn't need the quarters.

         Besides calling hourly, they were there from 8am till 5pm each day just outside the ward door I was there working to get me released. With some quick thinking I got them put on as my advance care directive which put them in charge of my care. So instead of the hospital simply declaring me incompetent and doing whatever they want, Pam and Sandra were in charge of what was done with me. And I trusted them with my life. They protected me from the hospital.

         It was difficult being there due to the PTSD. And there wasn't any groups or anything for me. The only groups they had was for A.A and for drinking. I didn't have an issue with either one. So to avoid as many triggers as I could besides meals I stayed in my room laying in the bed. But I couldn't resist the self injury.

          I knew if caught self injuring they would hold me longer. So instead of making new marks, I just removed the staple from some of the paperwork they gave me and opened the cuts I already had and then ran hot water over them from the bathroom. It was all I could do to deal with being in there was to keep the high going. Otherwise I would have totally freaked out. After 3 days (06/13/2003 to 06/16/2003) I was released. They couldn't fill out the forms fast enough.

           Things more or less went back to normal. But during the summer months we had some car issues. Pam was taking the Delta 88 for a oil change when the car threw a rod. We knew we didn't have money to fix that. I wasn't with her at the time so she called a friend for a ride back home. Pam sold the car to the owner of the place for a few hundred bucks. That few hundred bucks was used to buy Pam's friend's second car from her. A small 4 door.

         We had that care for a very short time as the engine was quickly dying on it, not to mention the severe oil leak. We had to put a quart of oil in it before leaving the drive way. And we had to carry more with us in case it got low.

         This one day the car just wouldn't do more than 35. We were coming into town and saw the dealership for used cars. Something told me to pull in. In just over 2 hours they took the tiny car as a down payment on a dark green 99 Ford Windstar minivan. It was slightly used and they were only asking $12,000.00 for it. And 2 days later it was sitting in the drive way. That was fun to drive and was great in the snow. Never got stuck.

         After weeks of searching I was able to locate a new therapist 2 cities over in a town called Cohoes New York. The therapists name was Christian Olson. She had just gotten out of collage and was new to this. The appointment was alright for a first visit. Toward the end of the session she told me she wanted me to sign a "no harm" form that basically said that I would not hurt or kill myself.

         There were two problems with this. The first problem is I was self injuring nearly every day at the time. I have problems with thoughts of suicide too, also known as suicidal ideation. However the chances that thoughts would turn into a attempt are rare. It was the self injury that was the problem with signing the form. I could not say for sure 100% I wouldn't self injure.

        So since I didn't feel that I could be 100% sure no self injury would take place, I declined in signing her form. I made a appointment for the following week and went home. She seemed a bit bothered that I didn't sign her contract, but she didn't seem upset or anything so I wasn't expecting any problems. However I had that nagging pit of the stomach feeling that something wasn't right.

         On the way home Pam and Sandra stopped at the food store to pick up a few things for dinner. I normally sat in the van while they went inside to shop. About 20 minutes of sitting there my cell phone rang. It was Christian. She was telling me that because I wouldn't sign her no harm contract that she called the psychiatric hospital's crisis center in Albany New York.

         She tells me that after the explained to them about me not signing the form, that they said they were not going to do anything and that she wanted to call me to tell me that. She was lying I and I knew it. You don't call someone to tell them no one is going to do anything. That could wait till the next session.

        Not to mention this strange behavior, she kept asking locating questions. She wanted to know if I was on my way home. I said yea, had to stop off on a few errands. She wanted to know how long before I got home. Another question that was strange. I figured maybe 20-30 minutes.

        So tells me the "I will see you next session" thing trying to act like nothings going on. She wasn't the first therapist to try to pretend that nothing's going on while they try to get you in place to get picked up and admitted.

         So I hung up from the call with her and continued to listen to some music till Pam and Sandra were done shopping. That's when DJ called me from the house. He stayed home to be on the computer. He said the cops were at the front door saying to open the door. He just stayed quiet to pretend no one was home. And besides, there was a audio and video camera just above the door and he could see what was going on through the monitor. Plus since the camera had picture and sound, it was all recorded on the VCR.

         So what we did was we came in the back entrance of the apartment building and I got out and came up to the bedroom window of the apartment and climbed in. So Pam and Sandra pulled up in front and got out of the car and came inside. So the police just assumed I never came home. I stayed inside for the following two days when the police stopped looking for me.

         After the two days I called the therapist to cancel all further appointments. I hate it when therapists who know darn well about the PTSD, and that hospital stays make it worse lie to me saying they didn't send the police to admit me when they did. Secondly I never said I was going to go home and off myself. I told her, the reason I didn't sign it was over the self injury.

       Because I knew I couldn't agree to such a contract by how much I was having to use self injury at the time. And we both knew, even if I did sign it, and called her when I self injured, she would send the cops who would admit me. Anyway, that was my first and last appointment with her. I won't tolerate a therapist tricking me to get me put in the psych ward. That really pisses me off. 

        Although the self injury resulted in several trips to the psych hospital's crisis unit, often by police/doctor or therapists doing the better safe than sorry thing, I was only actually admitted 3 times over the 3 years I spent in New York. This first admit was due to a huge mistake over a new medication Pam was put on by her doctor.

         Pam is diabetic and has pain from a condition called diabetic neuropathy. Her doctor put her on a medication called "Neurontin". What no one knew was Pam was allergic to it and in high doses would cause her to freak out.

         For example during one of her episodes from the medication she thought me, Sandra and DJ were trying to kill her so we could get her collectable dolls. She would fill the sink with water and dunk bottles of water in the sink to look for bubbles. And told Sandra she hated her and that they were no longer friends and to get out. Of course Sandra was hurt by the comment. She understood it was the medication, but things like that hurt.

         When the medication wore off she had no memory at all of what she said or did. And as one can imagine, some things, even when understanding it was said while the person wasn't themselves those comments can still hurt. And one evening that was just what occurred.

          She was on the medication and normally I can let go of what she says and just ignore it till she said something that just got to me. I was having a nightmare storm (it's a nick name for times when I have 1-2 nightmares per one hour of sleep). And during those times the suicidal ideation comes along and starts those thoughts of "Hey, you can make those nightmares stop. All you have to do is kill yourself".

          So this one evening she was on the medication and told me "just go ahead and do it, I don't care" (meaning to kill myself). Now on one hand, like I said I understood that it really wasn't her talking, it was the medication. But at the time I wasn't in the right frame of mind to handle the comment. Sadly I began to listen to that track in my mind saying "you can make the nightmares stop by killing yourself".

          I wrote a quick note that I was done fighting the nightmares and was prepared to give myself the peace from them and left to do the deed. On the walk to leave the apartment building the fresh cool air I began to calm down and get my mind straight and tell that self talk about the suicide to shut the hell up and leave me alone.

          I came across the Mc Donald's a block away and decided to sit down and have a bit to eat and calm down further. After the meal I decided to go back home and straighten things out. But when I arrived at the apartment two police cars were parked outside.

          It seems when the note was found Pam and Sandra decided to come and look for me but thought I had taken the van. It was out there but I guess with it being so dark they had a problem seeing it. So Pam called a friend to ask for a ride to take a look. During the phone call DJ mentioned the note. Pam's friend hearing about the note contacted the police. So the chance to work things out quietly was passed.

          So I walked over to the police station and sat on the bench out front and waited for a passing police car to see me sitting there. They did and we walked up to the office. There the police wanted me to talk about it. I didn't want to, nor would they understand. And shortly after the mobile psych team arrived to take me to the crisis center for a psych evaluation. What I didn't know is they had the note. There was no way with them having a note that I was going to be able to go home.

          At the crisis center I sat down with the staff member. They wanted to know why I wanted to die. By several other visits they clearly were not interested in what I had to say. Nor would it change me going to be staying there if they knew the details. I was going to be held no matter what. So I tell the woman that I do not wish to discuss it with her. She tells me with an attitude "Well, we will just hold you in the psych ward until you do".

           I was again taken to the psych ward at the hospital. This time I was held for 2 days (10/01/2003 to 10/03/2003). Because of the last time I was without diapers, I kept a diaper bag in the car at all times. So when Pam and Sandra came to sit with me at the hospital she brought the diaper bag with her. DJ felt so bad. He didn't realize that they would use the note as a weapon to hold me. He thought he was helping.

           Because they wouldn't be able to have me be on the unit till later I as assigned a bed there on the crisis unit for a few hours. Not that I could sleep anyway. It's always so surreal in those places. The windows are so thick you can't feel the heat or cold of the outside. Not even sound can get through. So when looking out the windows is like looking at the world on a high def TV. It feels fake. Messes with your head.

           So I was moved up the psych unit later the next morning where I met with the doctors who wanted to hold me for the letter. So I explained to them I was just upset over a comment. That it was simply a misunderstand that was over before the cops even picked me up. That I was already on my way home to work things out with Pam as by them her medication would have worn off. They refused to release me that day. They wanted one more night. I was held overnight and released the following morning.

           I was done with therapist. I was using this one hotline that was non-interventive in NY. Didn't matter how suicidal a person was, they would just talk. And that's just what I did, talked. Whenever I was feeling bad I called to talk. And of course was still taking with those on RYL nightly as well. And also during this time me and my mom began to talk again, trying to work things out and repair the relationship. It was slow and steady.

            Then 3 months later while on RYL a member gave me a number for this place called Care Line. Like the Samaritans, the Care Line was supposed to be a non-interventive that just would talk things out with you. So I gave them a call one evening to try them out.

           I began talking with a lady. I explained the issues with the PTSD and how when they were bad I felt suicidal wanting some peace. She asked for my first name and where I lived. Normal questions for hotlines as it's part of their funding to find out where callers call from. I guess to see what area needs them more or whatever.

          The call was going fine until the woman covered the phone and I heard her say muffled "Pull Stanley's chart". I freaked. The Care Line it turned out was ran by the psychiatric hospital there in Albany. So I tried to talk the woman down saying the talk helped and I was fine. That's when she tried to cover the phone again and she said muffled "Call Ravena police, that's where he lives". I began to panic and hung up.

          I quickly told Pam and Sandra what had just happened and was freaking out. I went next door to Sandra's house to hide hoping if they didn't find me at Pam's house they would leave. Didn't work out that way. They went to Pam's and she told them I wasn't home and was out of town. When they didn't find me there two officers came over to Sandra's. I was caught. I was cuffed and taken to the psych center.

           What I didn't find out till I got out later was the cop went back to Pam and told her he was going to arrest her for obstruction of justice. Ummmm, last I checked I wasn't breaking into anyone's house, robbing a bank or anything. I made a phone call saying I was FEELING suicidal. Not that I was going to do anything. Apparently in New York it's against the law to even feel or just have thoughts of killing yourself.

           Pam is really something. Sometimes I am not sure if she is brave as hell or just plain didn't know what she was doing. She raised her arm up to Rob, the cop who happened to live in our apartment building and saluted the man like Hitler saying "A ya Hitler!". She felt the Rob, and the other cops were being a police state. Doing whatever they wanted.

            We had them on tape once when Pam was sick and called for a ambulance to take her to the ER. There was on the porch cracking jokes saying they should tie her gurney to a the ambulance with the bed sheet and drag her all the way to the ER. We heard them inside, but I guess they figured no one would believed us. I guess they didn't notice the 3 camera's on the porch covering 3 different angles that all caught the remarks.

            I have had people I didn't like while I was working security. We all meet people who don't really like to be around. But you don't go cracking jokes about them and talking crap while your working a job. I understand chatting about a difficult call or shift at the water cooler. But you don't sit outside some's house where not only they can hear you, but others can as well and talk crap about them. It's mean and it's unprofessional. I would like to say it was the only time they were unprofessional but it wasn't.

            They had come over one time from a hotline call. I wasn't hauled off but they were at the door. I still have the footage from the tape somewhere I think. Anyway, they were at the door and DJ got pissed off and told them to get lost. The cops yell back "we are not getting lost".

           So after I calmed DJ down I went to see what they wanted. They told me if I didn't open the door I would be in violation of the "Patriot Act" and would be arrested. Uhh, last I checked being suicidal wasn't a terrorist act.

           The police were using the Patriot Act to enter anyone's home without a warrant and without cause. There is no way the Patriot Act should have come up over a possible suicidal person call. Suicide doesn't fall anywhere near being a terrorist as that's what it was created for, possible terrorists.

           The only way I could see it falling under a terrorist situation to need the Patriot Act to enter the home under was if I had a multiple personality and one of personalities wanted to kill the others. Then maybe. But otherwise, a suicidal person is not a terrorist for wanting to end their own life.
           
          So anyway the police came over to Sandra's house and discovered me. I was put in the police car and as we were leaving the cop asked if I knew why Pam lied about me being out of town. I said sure, she was trying to protect me. He asked protect me from what. I told him that most times in the hospital I am either assaulted or neglected in some form which was about to happen.

           So it was a little after 10:00pm that night when he got on this back road that went into Albany. The area had multiple deer accidents. And with it being winter they were out more. The road is 55MPH and less at night. This cop had is speed computer on. He was doing over 70. I asked him to please slow down. He just turned off the computer and continued speeding. No lights or siren, no need to be doing more than 70 miles per hour but yet he was.

           Once at the hospital I asked him for his name, badge number and shift commander. He tells me he has no supervisor. Everyone has a supervisor. He refused to give his name, badge number or any other identifying information. He just took me into the secure holding area and drove off.

          Pam wasn't charged or anything. It was just a threat. But as expected it shook her up a bit. She didn't come to the hospital that night. And I understand. As much as I am for people helping me, I don't want anyone to break laws or put themselves in danger to do it.

           I was admitted 2 hours later to the hospital as since I called the psych wards hotline they had direct proof that I was feeling suicidal and nothing I said would change a darn thing. That night I had not eaten yet and asked for something. The nurse told me I would have to wait till morning. It was on my chart that I had issues with low blood sugar and needed to eat something every 6 hours to keep it level. They denied me.

         The following morning I was extremely weak. I had made it to the phone and called Pam. She was already outside the ward door waiting. She hung up with me and called the nurses station directly. I was too weak to walk any farther and had already gone blind. I was about to pass out if I went much longer without getting my sugar back up.

        3 staff came over and picked me up off the floor and carried me into the lunch room. But because I couldn't see they had to get the trey for me. I felt around for the fork and food and eat what I could. Then I laid my head down on the table after eating. About 30 or so minutes my eye sight returned.

       I walked back to my room and laid down. I spent most of that day in bed resting as low sugar attacks drain so much energy out of me that after getting the sugar back up I need 8-12 hours of sleep.
          
       The doctor came in that afternoon telling me he felt I should have ECT treatments (shock therapy). I said no way. He tells me it's not my choice. That Pam and Sandra would be the ones to say if I got it. I calmed down then because I knew Pam and Sandra wouldn't let them do it.

      The following day the doctor came in around 1pm for his rounds. He tells me "looks like your going to be here for another 2 weeks. Pam and Sandra want you to stay here for another 2 weeks". I stood up, looked him right in the eyes and just said "liar". He says, what am I talking about.

      I knew without having to ask that Pam and Sandra would NEVER make me stay in a psych ward. Sure as hell not for two weeks. They have seen the thrashing and yelling at night when I sleep. And they both know that each admit causes the PTSD to flare up again. Stays in psych wards just cause it to get worse. So short of cutting my wrist, hanging from a noose or something like that, I don't need to be in the psych ward.

      The doctor was shocked that I knew he was lying. He couldn't understand how I possibly could have known he why lying without even having to ask. That's love. I love and trust Pam and Sandra with my life and I know in my heart they would never do anything to harm me. Including shock treatments or extended psych ward stays. He just walked out in shock.

        After he left I called Pam and Sandra to tell them about the scam the doctor was trying to pull. The doctors goal was to tell me that Pam and Sandra wanted me to stay for 2 weeks, knowing that if they did that I would remove them as my agents and then the doctor could declare me incompetent of managing my own care putting the hospital in full control of my care and would then be able to go ahead with the shock treatment. But I didn't fall for it.

Click here to continue to page 5 (Age 23-28)
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