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My Final Master Student Essay (Aug, 2013)
" Alexis Richie, 16 years old, died at the hands of untrained staff members in the Juvenile Detention Center she’d been placed in. A momentary struggle with the staff members had resulted in her being hauled into a room, held face down into a bean-bag chair, and pumped full of sedatives. This is not unusual in care centers for disturbed or criminal children. What was unusual - or should be - were the two aides who did not check Richie's pulse afterwards. Precious minutes passed as she lay there, slumped and unresponsive. Twelve minutes later, they began CPR. It was too late. The aides were charged with homicide, leaving her family and state investigator’s to question the necessity of such restraint methods to begin with. (Bernhard, Koehlr, 2010.) Horrifyingly, Alexis’s case is not an anomaly.
In 2007, reporters from the Hartford Courant launched a 50 state wide investigation concerning underage deaths due to improper restraint methods used in correctional and mental health facilities. The results of 142 deaths in a 10 year span were heartbreaking. (Health Law Strategist, 2007) They discovered that the combination of improper physical restraint combined with seclusion (similar to how the aids failed to check up on Alexis) can be deadly. But what is to be done? The safety of the patient and the staff worker may require physical intervention. Many studies and workers in these fields suggest specialized training and attention be brought to the subject.
The Department of Human Services in Michigan has standardized protocols for applying and justifying the use of restraining minors - most notably, only when real and present physical harm is on the table for either the staff member or the patient. There must be attempts made immediately previous to the restraint to verbally de-escalate the situation. Methods such as pinning, forcing the patient prone onto the floor, or using straps on a gurney must be accompanied with constant supervision. Workers who are restraining youth must complete, pass, and retake tests that show their knowledge of when a patient may need medical care due to a restraint. (State of Michigan, DHS) These are solid guidelines that the rest of the country could model their own policies from.
Paying attention to specific patient triggers (Hans, Garcia, Matthews, 1997) is a way to help predict what may spiral a situation out of control enough to need a physical restraint. A client who is suffering from abuse may react harshly to lock down or seclusion. Defusing the situation based on client history rather than current client behavior may result in safer handling. One study found that nearly half of escalations were caused by the patient either being denied or perceiving as being denied some privilege (such as leave from the ward.) (Foster, Bowers, Nijiman, 2007) While it is not possible to avoid physical restraint at all times, applying these coping mechanisms before resorting to physical force is safer, kinder, and leads to more comprehensive rehabilitation.
The heart-rending march stories of children who die at the hands of ill-trained professionals can end. It is imperative that those going into the field of working with disturbed or criminal youth learn and develop proper de-escalation skills. It is of even greater importance that they learn proper and safe restraint methods when the other skills fail. Alexis Richie did not have to die. With the correct training and attention, no other child has to."
My personal journal: April 4th, 2012, 5:48 AM
"It starts out with the phrase (or anything similar to) "There's no such thing as normal!" and "Normal people are boring!" Often said by the most normal, boring people out there. In my annoyance, I can only imagine they are trying to bring a little color into their life by imagining themselves to be "weird" and "strange" and "crazy" and wonderfully eccentric.
Yeah. Screw you. Guess what? There IS a such thing as normal and you asshats have no idea how much other people would KILL to be it, even just for one goddamn day. To imply that normality doesn't exist not only dashes our dreams to pieces, but it pisses us off because it means you are not grateful for having what we would do anything for.
And then there's "crazy." People love to say they're crazy. It's usually followed with a laugh and the wonderful knowledge that crazy just means extra entertaining. Right?
Fuck you. Seriously, just fuck you.
Crazy is not your party hat to wear when you want to be interesting. Crazy is not an accessory. Crazy can't be taken off with the shoes and dress and be hung up in the closet for the next wild and whacky occasion. It doesn't describe your hobbies. It's not you on a bad hair day. It's not a fun and alternative t-shirt slogan that you can wear to advertise how you do what the voices tell you. It's not anything that can be attached to words that generally mean easy, light-hearted fun.
Crazy is fucking debilitating. Crazy means not knowing if you will have a job next month because your psychiatrist just changed your meds and you haven't a clue which side effects are going to knock you on your ass. Crazy means waiting in dimly lit pharmacies praying that you still qualify for that 300 dollar a month medication for free because the last time you went off your meds you almost drove your car into a lake. On purpose.
Crazy means never being able to trust your first instinct. Crazy means asking every person around you before you do the slightest thing because there's a good chance the crazy will tell you to do something fucked-up and unhealthy. Being crazy means knowing that you are never going to have a peaceful day without medication. Crazy means making fewer friends and constantly scaring off the friends you do make. Crazy means censoring yourself all the time because no one wants to hear shit that's actually honest to god crazy. Crazy means lying to people because you are trying to be polite and telling them that you are just fine, had a great day, yes, it's lovely when in reality, you can't figure out how to eat because you've forgotten how to hold a fork.
Crazy's with you 24/7, three hundred and sixty five (sixty-six on a leap year) days out of the year. There is no day that you "aren't" crazy, there's just days where you aren't symptomatic. Crazy means no reprieve. Even on those non-symptomatic days, it's still there, just waiting for the right combination of a day with too little sleep and a bad day at work to send you off into the deep end. And crazy's deep end isn't a frustrated Facebook update, either.
Crazy's deep end means wondering how deep you could cut yourself with a knife before hitting muscle. And then actually seeing just how close you can get. Crazy's deep end means dropping out of school, out of your job, out of relationships. Crazy's deep end is scaring your loved ones so much that they have your psychiatrist's number on speed dial, and that they know which emergency room will admit you the fastest.
That is what crazy means. It means fuck up after fuck up because of the arbitrary twitches of a broken brain. It's not cute. It's not fun. It's not something to be proud of and it's sure as hell not something that makes you quirky and cool.
It's a goddamn tragedy is what it is. And for you to appropriate the term just for kicks pisses me off so much. Here I am, waking up every freaking day wishing I wasn't crazy and here you are, minimizing what is for me a lifetime of fear and pain just so you can liven up your little life. Because for you, it's funny. It's a joke.
It's not a joke for me.
It's endless. It's pervasive. It's unbearable some days.
So yeah - I'm crazy. Mad as a motherfucking hatter. I don't wear it on a shirt. I try to hide this thing every day that I can and I grieve when I can't. It gets everywhere, on everything, on everyone, and for me, it's unavoidable.
If you really think crazy is still cool, go choke on the horsepills I take everyday just to keep the crazy contained. I promise you, they don't taste good."
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These are the two lives I lead. I don't have children. I don't have parents. Outside of school, my realm of the professional is limited in need.
The double life I lead is in my head. I assume for most people it's in their head. But for me, the double life is mitigated by what I can keep under wraps. It is always there. It is always present. It will never go away. Some days - most days, I do well enough. I type the school paper. I go out with the friends. I show up to class and furrow my brow through my galloping heartbeat.
For the days I don't - I write.
And I write a lot.
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