Stories from the Crowd: Eight Days of Confusion
by Diana Freeman
December 06, 2005, This entry was provided by a friend, Diana Freeman. It is an narrative poem written by her son as a school assignment. The poem depicts the emotional roller-coaster her son experienced after his mother was involved in a terrible auto accident and the chaos that ensued.
Prologue:
On December 31, 1998 I was going to dinner with a friend at 8 pm. At 8:17 we were struck head-on by another vehicle on the highway. The driver of that car was killed. My son was nine and stayed with his father, my ex-husband, while I was in the hospital for nearly a month recovering from my injuries. He had recently been diagnosed with bi-polar disorder and his dad and new step-mother believed he should be hospitalized for treatment. I was opposed to this plan and was working with his doctor and therapist to learn how to cope with the ramifications of this emotional disease. While I was in the hospital Dustin rarely saw me and didn’t understand what was happening. One day while riding in the car he wrapped the seat belt partially around his neck and threatened to kill himself with it if he wasn’t allowed to come see me. Using this incident as the trigger, he was taken to a children’s psychiatric ward 150 miles away and admitted without my knowledge or consent. I got a call from the hospital because my son wanted to speak to me. We spoke very briefly before he had to get off the phone because he started to cry. The hospital didn’t allow patients to stay on the phone if they cried.
He closed the conversation by telling me he just wanted someone to hug him. I don’t have to tell you Mama Bear was awakened. I checked myself out of the hospital against medical advice and went to get him out. In the years after that, we rarely spoke of this time period—frankly it was too painful for me. As a high school English poetry project assignment Dustin was supposed to write a narrative poem about a significant even in his life. He wrote about his hospitalization. As a mom, I could only type it for him, not edit it. It was still too raw for me. I sent it to school in an envelope with a note to his teacher asking her not to correct it or write on it—just to accept it for what it was. Still too raw for a mother’s heart, but it was therapeutic for him to write. He’s now 24 and this amazing human tackles his bi-polar disorder every day as he goes out into the world to function as an adult in society. So far we are winning—it hasn’t always been an easy road—but we are winning the battle one day at a time. This is his reflection on that event as an 18 year old.
To me it started when we were driving in the van and they wouldn’t let me see my mom.
She had been in a wreck on New Year’s Eve; the girl that hit her was drunk and high.
That night she died—the girl. Now my mom couldn’t walk.
I want to say I put the seatbelt around my neck but I wasn’t really thinking about killing myself–I just wanted to see my mom.
I did threaten to burn down their house, but they wouldn’t let me see her.
I was young and I didn’t understand why I couldn’t see her.
My stepmom took it in the wrong way. I really didn’t want to kill myself.
The next day they took me to a psychiatrist and they decided to put me in a mental hospital.
My stepmom signed a paper to send me to the hospital illegally signing as my mom.
The next day they drove me to Cook’s Children’s Hospital in Fort Worth where I was supposed to stay for 10 days.
I want to say the kid that roomed with me stole my stuff.
I want to say they took blood from my arm everyday.
I want to say they took my shoes and I could only wear socks.
This may sound weird, but I remember the temperature gauge in the shower—I guess so you couldn’t burn yourself.
Then there was that crazy girl that tried to run and we had to go to lockdown.
As soon as my mom found out she told the doctor she had to come see me.
The doctor advised her not to leave, but she did anyway.
I want to say Joy and James, Momo and Pop, Jayson, Ronda, Jim and Shelley all came to see me—I hope I got them all I don’t want to leave anyone out.
I want to say they all listened to my mom chew my dad out for putting me at that mental hospital.
Later that day my mom talked to a nurse about letting me out.
We went to the mall; I pushed my mom around in her wheelchair.
I got out every day because they knew it wasn’t right; they were just trying to figure out what to do with me.
On Monday January 25th, I got out of that hellhole and I was free at last.
I want to say that I feel good now that I have gotten this all out.
Excerpt From
Stories from the Crowd
Scott Ballew
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