The Brotherhood of Charles I: Chapter VII: Medication

Chapter VII: Medication

I can remember dreading and anticipating my parents’ arrival at once. I ached to see them, to have confirmation that this was not the only world that existed, as it seemed. The high I got off of helping Guy faded rapidly as group ended. I waited painfully, mostly because I was reminded of my parents and had the unquenchable hope that they might take me home, as well as anxiety that they might put me on medication.

I was actually heading back to my room when I saw them. It seemed like ages since I’d left them; I’d never missed them more. As they walked toward me, Mom with a smile, there was a spring of hope in my heart.

“How are you doing?” Mom asked me with one of those painful smiles mothers give their children when they’re in mental institutions or are in some other great distress.

“Mom,” I said, “can you take me home?”

We were walking back into the common room.

“I’m sorry,” she said. Her lips were a smile; her eyes were pain. “The doctor doesn’t think it’s a good idea. He thinks you need to stay a little longer.”

We walked into the common room and sat at a table as I said, “Mom, one of the counselors here thinks I need to stay a lot longer.”

I knew then, in a way that I could not explain, that something bad was going to happen tonight. It scared me, and for whatever reason I could not doubt it. I wondered what was happening to me. I didn’t know how I knew; I just knew I did not doubt it, even though logically I could question how I had come this conclusion.

And I knew also that it would carry over into the next day. I suddenly knew it regarded medicine, and that got me on that track.

“Mom,” I said, “I’m not going on medicine, am I?”

“I’m sorry, Josh,” she said. “The psychiatrist thinks you should.”

“No,” I breathed. “Please, take me home. Don’t leave me here!” I was desperate. I understood a message from God, and I said, “God doesn’t think I’m crazy, you shouldn’t either. He just told me I should go home.”

“You’re sick,” she said, her eyes full of pain, and she reached across the table to grab my hand.

How could she say that? Sick? I wasn’t sick. I was perfectly healthy. Earlier this would have humored me, but I suddenly was back to hating this place. “I can’t stand staying here,” I said. “I can’t stand going on medicine. Please, this guy here says his medicine made him go crazy. I’m not taking anything that will screw with my head.”

“It won’t screw with your head,” said Dad. “It’s going to help you.”

“I don’t need help!” I said, my voice cracking. I felt like I could cry. “I’m fine. Please, take me home.”

“We can’t,” said Mom, and I can still hear the sorrow in her voice in the back of my mind to this day when I remember.

“Look, Josh,” said Dad. “You have to take your medicine. This really isn’t a good way to spend our time together.”

“Please,” I begged. “I might convince you. I can’t go on medicine. I don’t even know what all it might do to me. I don’t want anything that’s going to fuck with my head.”

“Watch your mouth,” said Mom, but her voice was not so stern as it had been in the past when she had reprimanded me for swearing. “I’m so sorry.”

“Then don’t put me on it if you’re so sorry,” I said. “Please. You can’t do this to me.”

“We have to, Josh,” said Dad. “And again, this really isn’t a good way to spend our time together.”

“I won’t take them,” I said. “I won’t take them, I won’t.”

“If you don’t take your meds, you’ll be forced to.”

“So I don’t even get any say-so in the matter?”

“No, Josh,” said Mom. “We’re sorry.”

“But you had to give permission to them for me to go on meds,” I said. “And you said I wouldn’t have to.”

“I’m sorry, Josh,” said Mom. “You have to take your meds.”

“What about my say?” I said. “It’s my choice what goes in my body, God damn it. It’s my body, not yours, I should get to decide what goes in it.”

Mom started crying.

Dad hugged her to him and said, “Josh, this is hard on your mother….”

“What the hell do you think it’s like for me?” I asked.

“Josh, I’m sorry,” said Mom. “I know how you feel. I know I betrayed your trust. I’m sorry.”

I wasn’t really mad at her. I was just scared of going on medicine. “Please,” I said. “Take me out of here. Let’s go home. Then we can talk about it more. Mom, don’t cry.”

“I’m sorry,” said Dad, standing, Mom still in his arms. “We’ve got to go.” He pulled her away from him, drying her eyes with his fingers. Then he gave me one last look, whispered, “Take your medicine, Josh,” and walked away with Mom.

“No!” I screamed. “Don’t leave me here!”

“Josh!” called John from a table. “Watch what you say. You keep that up, you’ll go to quiet time.”

I went to my room, but I didn’t open the door to go inside till Mom and Dad had turned the corner and were out of sight.

Inside, I paced back and forth, thoughts racing, trying to work out a plan. I couldn’t let them do this to me. I’d fight. By God I would. I would not let them do this to me. It would literally be over my dead body. I wasn’t crazy.

I swore under my breath.

I was so afraid to take my meds because I might go crazy or be unable to function. I didn’t want to become a zombie. I didn’t want to lose the control of my mind. I didn’t want to have my mind altered by drugs. I was scared of things that affected my mind. Of all the things in the world, losing my mind was what I feared most. More than staying here, I feared that.

Clearly I could not let that happen.

And truth be told, I did not know half of what could happen. I only knew half of it. Who knew what all could happen? I had grown up listening to medication ads with the long lists of side effects: diabetes, weight gain, heart trauma and such. That was not going to happen to me.

They were forcing me into it; as a compromise, they could have let it be my choice, and I could have decided.

But in my heart I knew that would not have been enough. I could not do this. I must not fail. I must escape. I must get free.

I opened my door, and walked out of my room. I stood in the hallway a minute, heart racing. I looked both ways. Two counselors in the common room; three nurses behind the reception desk. I’d have to be quick if I did it.

I started walking.

“Hey!” someone called after me.

I started running.

From behind the nurse’s desk someone pressed a button and someone else headed me off.

I stood there a moment, breathing fierce rage through my every cell.

“I’m not going on medicine,” I said.

The nurse in front of me, a muscular, middle aged male shorter than me, said, “Take it up with the psychiatrist. If you go any further, I’m putting you in isolation or prison.”

“He’s a kid, Brian,” said the woman behind the counter who had pressed the button.

“Quiet time, then,” he said.

I was caught between the desire to sock him in the face, the desire to scream, and the desire to cry. I started walking around him.

He scooted around to head me off, and put his arms out, grabbing me.

“Stop!” I screamed.

I struggled free, shoved him, turned and ran back the way I had come. Desperation was running through me. How could I get out? How could I not go on meds?

A cart was rolling down the hallway toward the common room.

“Medicine,” called out a little black woman dressed in scrubs.

The man who had cut me off was trailing after me slowly.

The little black woman eyed me as she offered a little cup. “Are you taking it?”

“No,” I said.

“Okay.” She

“You mean it’s my choice?”

She was eyeing me carefully. “M-hmm.”

I thought a minute. They had made it my choice.

Then I saw the man who had headed me off whispering to another nurse.

“What’s going on?” I said.

“Are you taking your meds or aren’t you?” called John.

“No,” I said.

At that the male nurse from the hallway looked at me sharply.

I saw John get up and walk down the hallway, passing behind my vision.

Roy walked over toward me.

Guy, Ashley and George crowded around the cart. Each in turn, they took their medicine. The nurse checked each name off on a clipboard, handing each a little paper cup with the meds in it and a larger but still small plastic cup with water.

“Take your meds, man,” said George.

I was in a quandary. What should I do?

I realized two things at once: one, there were a group of nurses heading toward us with needles, and two, George was looking at me with a look of fear in his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” I asked him.

He pointed. “That.”

There was a pause as I looked, then I looked back into his face, the most rigid I had seen it all day, as he said, “You don’t want those guys to get a hold of you. There’s nothing you can do. Take your meds.”

I turned toward the nurses walking toward us.

“You aren’t going to fucking put me on that fucking shit,” I shouted. “Get the fuck away from me! Get the fuck away from me!”

They were jogging toward me now. Another ten seconds and they’d be on me. I put up my fists and backed away from the cart. The black lady took the cart back the way it had come.

Suddenly someone grabbed me form behind. I screamed, twisting, trying desperately to get free. Looking down at his arms around my belly, I could tell it was Roy.

“Fuck you!” I shouted in a drawn out voice.

He threw me on the ground, and as I tried to get up someone pinned me on my chest. There was pain in my arm. Someone pulled down my pants, and then there was a needle there. This time I didn’t relax. I screamed.

“It’s my body! Fuckers! It’s my body! You’re all going to Hell! God won’t let you get away with this!”

Then one of them took it out, and said, “If you take the rest of your meds, we’ll let you go.”

I was panting now, because the pain was gone. Looking up, on my elbows, I could see the crowd of counselors gathered around me. My mind was getting numb. I was tired. My chest felt like it had been ripped open. My head hurt, and so did my waist and knees, which had taken a bit of a beating in the fall.

I stood. “Fine,” I said.

One of the female nurses produced the cup with medicine and the cup with water.

“What’s in here?” I asked, taking the medicine cup.

“Respiradol is the circular pill. The pink one’s paxil. The big pill is depakote.”

“What are they for?”

“To help your mood and your depression. The respiradol is for psychosis.”

“What’s that?”

“Mental illness,” she said. “You ready to take it now?”

“Yes ma’am,” I said.

She handed me the water. With great revulsion, my heart racing, I took the Respiradol and put it in my mouth. I took a sip of water. It wouldn’t go down. I tried to swallow again. It still wouldn’t go down. I wasn’t sure I wanted it to.

“I can’t swallow it,” I said.

“Take your time,” said John, somewhere behind me.

“Are you going to be okay- can we leave now?” said the nurse who had given me my medication. Some of the nurses laughed.

“Yeah,” I said.

Some of them started walking away.

Part of me wanted to split- jump out a window or something- but I didn’t even want to think about what would happen if I failed then, and I didn’t want to betray their trust either. But hell, why not? They had violated me.

It took two more tries to get that pill down. The paxil was much easier, but it still took me two tries. Depakote took the rest of the cup of water, and it still wasn’t down. John called a nurse to cut it in half. Roy went back into the common room somewhere in between.

The Depakote hurt on its way down. It felt funny. When I took the second half, I decided that tomorrow I would not for the life of me cut the pill in half. I would find some way to get it down.

“You’ll get used to it,” said John.

The only remaining nurse had me open my mouth. I opened it.

She looked around, swiveling her head back and forth.

“Move your tongue,” she said.

I did.

“Good.” She stood back up straight. “Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“What happens now?” I asked. I had no desire to be civil with a woman who could care so little for how I felt. I realize now I may have been a little off on that assumption; but the basis of it I still find true: she did not care what I wanted. It was about what they thought had to be done.

“You start feeling better,” she said.

“You mean I’ll like it here?”

“Yeah. You might.”

“Bull,” I said.

“Watch your tone, Hammonds,” said John. “You keep that up and I’ll put you in quiet time, and I don’t care what kind of crazy antics you pull.”

I wanted to cuss him out, but I went back to the common room and put my head in my hands.

“Are you all right?” said Ashley’s voice, drawing nearer.

“No pity parties,” said Roy. “He’ll be fine.”

“I need someone to talk to,” I muttered.

“What’s that?” said Roy.

“I said I need someone to talk to,” I said as loudly as I could.

“You want to talk to a counselor in an office?”

“No.” More like, Hell no.

“All right. But that’s what we’re here for.”

When I thought about it, talking to Amy wouldn’t be so bad. But I had a headache, and I was tired, and wanted to go to sleep. I felt so drained.

I stood.

Ashley squeezed my hand, and I looked into her eyes so hard I jumped when I heard Roy call out: “No touching!”

He walked over and stood in front of us. “Ashley, come with me.”

“I’m sorry!” she said. “I won’t do it again, all right?”

Roy looked hesitant a moment, then shook his head. “No. You touched him. We’re very strict on that here. You know that.”

“Amy, help me,” said Ashley.

“He’s right, Ashley. It’s an important rule. It has to be kept. I’m sorry.”

Her voice came through to me as though through a fog. I felt like I was going to fall asleep on my feet. I realized for the first time that Ashley was not holding onto my hand anymore.

I was dimly aware of Ashley being walked to the quiet time room as I stumbled to my door. I opened it and went inside.

I collapsed on my bed and fell asleep with the light on.