What the fuck happened?

Writing this on February 24, 2016.

What… the fuck… happened two years ago??  I have been re-reading, and in a few posts editing out details that may be even vaguely identifying… and there’s a big missing piece there.

I have a post (“The ECT Unit Phones”) about how I didn’t show up for my treatment on Monday, Dec 16.

I remember now that at some point (I can only imagine it was in the week of Dec 9, after Treatment #8) that I had been sitting on my couch just sobbing and TheEx had apparently had enough, or felt he was in over his head, or whatever.  For whatever reason he went and got on the phone in the other room and I didn’t really pay attention – I just kept crying.  He told me that cops were on their way and I couldn’t get my shit together enough to do anything about it (like leave the house for example), I just sat there crying more.

The next thing I knew, two cops were standing there in my living room asking me if I was willing to come with them.  I agreed to, because it was a hypothetical question obviously.  They put me in their cop car to take me to the emergency department, and I don’t remember anything about it – was I handcuffed? Did they talk to me? What did they say when we got there?  No clue.

The next memory I have after that is being in a bed up on what was obviously the psych ward and eventually a shrink showed up and asked what I wanted. I said that obviously I needed some serious help,now, so were they going to try and fix my medications, or what? I thought that was a reasonable suggestion – what better place to try and aggressively adjust some drugs than there?  He snickered (if my memory serves) and said that “wasn’t going to happen”.  They gave me meals with a plastic fork, which I tried to use to cut myself, and a bunch of bullshit worksheets, and then let me out after a day.

I don’t remember anything else which is really upsetting — the memory I have of me being in the bed is just like a dream image, no real detail — and this was a Real Thing, a Big Deal, that happened to me!

I wish I had blogged about this at the time.  I don’t remember why I didn’t.  I can surmise that I was so upset about being depressed AND not being able to remember fuck-all that TheEx thought I was in serious trouble, and that I didn’t show up for treatment #9 because I either was still in the hospital or had returned home but had had enough of that, thank you very much.

Still, it’s such a creepy, freaky feeling — that this happened and I have had dreams that I remember more clearly than this.  Fucking ECT.

I’ve since found the quote,

“What these shock doctors don’t know is about writers…and what they do to them…What is the sense of ruining my head and erasing my memory, which is my capital, and putting me out of business? It was a brilliant cure but we lost the patient.”

-Ernest Hemingway

That poor bastard.  Apparently they put him through 36 shock treatments, and he “would get on his knees and cry and beg his wife not to send him back for more shock treatments” because he couldn’t even remember his own name, until he killed himself with a shotgun one day after his last (36th) shock treatment.

I don’t give two shits how it’s supposed to be a fine-and-dandy last option for people.  I don’t think it should be given to anyone ever again with the lie that it might cause “mild and temporary” memory loss.  Tell people straight up that you’ll scramble them so hard they can’t remember what their name is or where the fuck they live and see how many are lining up then, you fucking doctors.

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