Mountain Crest.

The following is typed out copy of a journal entry I wrote during my last night at Mountain Crest Behavioral Health Center. Unfortunately, it was my only entry during my four day stay, but I am grateful for the last minute burst of inspiration. I sat at my tiny nightstand and I wrote it out on a piece of blank printer paper like an itch I was finally able to scratch. I was able to absorb so much while I was there. Not only about myself, but about the other people sharing the experience with me. To express it, was a relief.

Note: This is a word for word copy of my journal entry as an effort to maintain its authenticity and a genuine nature. All edits made are simply for clarity's sake. Also, all names have been changed to protect their identities.


Monday, June 16th 2014   10:11pm

Last fucking night in this place. It was the best possible thing to happen to me, but I won't pretend it wasn't awful. I'll probably regret not journaling the entire experience, but for perspective, I wasn't exactly able or willing to do much.

"I'm officially crazy now." - I told Katie that today. She laughed. It is true though, isn't it? I was detained for three four days in a mental health facility. My god, how much more official do you get? (I'm sure it does, but I'm at least on that first level.)

Speaking of days, I honestly had no clue how long I had been here til I counted. All of the days blurred. Same thing, same routine, every day. Feels like weeks. I didn't go outside. Not once. I would sometimes sit by the window, just to feel the goddamn sun. 

I had a 59 year old bi-polar roommate who wigged the fuck out one night and suddenly stopped sleeping in here. (Although she doesn't mind coming in to swear at the shower at 5am.)

There's the religious vegan guy who has supposedly been here for a month. He barely speaks, moves, or does anything for that matter, with the exception of his constant eating the strangest combination of foods. (Like BBQ sauce on apples, for instance.)

The man with down syndrome whose favorite thing is singing heavy metal, has screaming meltdowns about every day.

Kevin is the brain damaged and heart broken aspiring tattoo artist, whose sad eyes make me forget how vulgar and crude he can be.

Finally, there's Malcolm - he explained within the first five minutes of meeting me, that he had decided to end his life based on the idea that there was no "empirical meaning to life. A man who is quite possibly on the autism spectrum (and on the homosexual one, but we won't go there), tries to understand life as objectively as he can. However, his innate capacity for compassion is always sabotaging him. 

He so desperately wishes for the world to be black and white. He wants emotions to be as relative as math - "2+2=4 for me as it does for you." His brilliant mind will be his greatest strength and his most horrible enemy. He once drew me a venn diagram for me to explain how humans are essentially "meat robots," with the only difference being organic matter. 

He denies feeling any kind of fear at all, but I am willing to guess that he is most definitely terrified. Afraid of a world he may never completely be able to quantify and qualify. He told me today that he is 70% sure he will not kill himself. I told him that was a good percentage. You see, saying things like "I'm happy for you" or "think about all the people who love you..." - that shit does not compute. Logic at my highest capacity is the only thing I can give him that he will value.

I hope I've had a positive influence on him since being here. "Your mind would be a terrible thing to waste," I tell him. I wonder what my last words will be to him tomorrow. Probably something sarcastic.

I'm getting out of here just in the nick of time. It just got on a whole different level of crazy in here. People left as quickly as they came in. And holy fuck. We had one group session with the new patients and I felt suicidal again (just kidding, just a mental patient joke.) It makes me realize how lucky I was with the group of people I was here with. I mean, jesus, if I was stuck with this new lot for three days, my mental state would not have gotten better. This place is already fucking shitty.

Lets go over it briefly, shall we?:

• no internet whatsoever
• no going outside
• the gym consisted of one basketball hoop on a pathetic carpeted court
• no privacy - there were even cameras in the bedrooms
• the shower functions based on a sensor and would turn off when ever it liked
• add in the crazies....

Malcolm and Kevin are the only two left from the original group I came in with. The end of my night was spent chatting with them at the puzzle table in the middle of the "dayroom." The conversation consisted of shaving animals, dead babies, suicide, the concept of friends and lesbian porn. That's how it is here. We're all fucked up. Out of our goddamn minds. There's something exceptionally comforting about it, even serene.