On Wednesday, September 5, 1990, I was forced into the locked unit of a psychiatric hospital in Miami even though I was not, and had never been, a danger to myself or others. I write about what happened to me and how I ended up a patient at Charter Hospital of Miami in my previous blog post: Psych ward: fraud, greed, and a life interrupted. But the question still lingers, nearly 30 years after the event, Why did this happen?
Continue reading “My schizophrenic psych ward guardian angel”
Today is September 5th.
Exactly 27 years ago today I had a 2 p.m. appointment with a Miami psychiatrist to explore the possibility of starting on antidepressants. It was 1990 and Prozac had been on the market for just three years. Before Prozac, antidepressants had a bad reputation for causing uncomfortable and sometimes serious side effects. Prozac promised relief with little or no discomfort. Continue reading “Psych ward: fraud, greed and a life interrupted”
The therapy I engaged in at the John Bradshaw Center for five-to-six hours a day, seven days a week, for eight weeks focused almost exclusively on remembering and healing childhood trauma. The idea was that we all come from dysfunctional families that caused us pain. If we don’t remember and relive these traumas in a safe setting we will continue to be in emotional pain and, perhaps worse, risk passing all this dysfunction to the next generation, becoming part of the “poisonous pedagogy.” Aphorisms like, “if you don’t work it out you will act it out” and “the only way out is through” were bantered about like gospel. Continue reading “I don’t have an inner child.”