Apple Juice Prison

I've had to stay in three different psychiatric wards so far in my life. The last place I fondly call, "Apple Juice Prison." I stayed there during June of 2003. It was by far the worst of the three psych wards. Living in the first two was like staying at the Holiday Inn. This last place was basically a jail cell. There was a horrible stench in the place, it was poorly lighted, and the staff bossed us around and treated us like dogs. Must be some kind of new therapy for depressed people -- push them around and make them feel even worse than they already are so that they can fully appreciate what feeling shitty is really like.

After I was admitted into the ward, the first thing I was given were small containers of apple juice. They tasted okay, but they were covered in some kind of slick, colorless liquid that I could only hope was water, which made me feel pretty grossed out. So the entire time I stayed in this ward there was absolutely nothing to do. Apparently they were short-staffed due to a hiring freeze. Like I gave a shit. But there was no therapy, no groups, nothing at all except my own thoughts -- the same thoughts that were making me want to kill myself in the first place. What a wonderful situation. I may as well have been thrown into solitary confinement. The only thing that gave me any solace was the slimy apple juice. They had endless cartons of the stuff, which made me think they got them at bargain-basement prices because, for some unknown reason, someone had been desperately trying to get rid of them. But in the end, the apple juice was the only thing during all that time that was always there for me. It was my only friend.