AUNTIE MAME : BI POLAR

I always wondered what it would be like in my first pysch ward and always had those images of Elizabeth Taylor in her black tailored Edith Head suit walking the catwalk above the women's unit in "Suddenly Last Summer" or the sweat stained white smock and pants worn by Nicholson in "Cuckoos Nest"....instead I was kicked awake by a Springfield Policeman and told to get dressed.
  It was a Monday morning and our condo was empty except for 3 other policeman. I was still groggy from a night of partying  in Philly with my friend Lisa...I was flummoxed at this all happening like this. I called my Moms office and silence, my Dads work and silence. I went back into my room with this Jackie Gleason Smokey wannabe as he watched as I got dressed...I saw a little grimace as he saw my tee shirt TOP seeking BOTTOM....I really had had it so I gave a little wink and he left the room with his razor burned neck stretching the polyester uniform shirt beyond restraint. I came back into the living room with a tee shirt of canned tuna on it and some torn assed jeans and my berks. I was then thrown against the wall and placed in what  I would call GLAD Garbage bag ties that slid into place which made an Indian burn given by the HULK seem like a feather brushing you softly. I then had four officers lift me as if I was Mitzi Gaynor in a Vegas revue and these officers placed another restraint on my ankles. WHAT THE FUCK WAS GOING ON.....was I going to be dragged out like some type of FBI's Most Wanted  to a film crew and such....I was brought out by the four other officers and another two set of officers and paramedics.  Did I miss something...had I a pink triangle on and was I being placed in an internment camp somewhere in the middle earth. I was placed head first into the back of a police cruiser and another officer joined me`. My head was pounding from a serious Long Island Ice Tea hangover but it was quickly sobering me up at the preposterous melodrama at hand. I was now losing my temper and really my rage was very close at letting lose in the confines of a police cruiser with some rent a cop holding my legs down as if I was some slut up on a pinball machine.....Come on boys.....I counted to ten and the cute officer in front told me that my family had come down to the police station and filled a report....a 302  against me and the Doctor would explain at the hospital. I felt myself getting ready to get sick and I just let it all fall into place.
       We arrived at Fitzgerald Mercy Hospital in Lansdowne  a suburb right on the edge of Philadelphia. I had my 4 police escorts ( 2 cars) and then two more security guards  carry me ( I was about 175 then) and place me in OMG a padded room and laid on the mattress and one arm shackled another on the opposite leg. Okay now this is fucking it......my voice let go and if that room had a sensor you would of heard WHAT THE *******IS*******GOING THE *********.....you get the picture. I could here the nurses and they had their own hands full. I could hear a guy in the next room proclaim he was Jesus Christ ( central casting could not have chosen better) and another woman was singing  Blue Bayou interspersed with some pretty colorful language thrown towards our lord Jesus Christ. I now was ballistic at this whole scenario and not even being told what was going on. I had a male nurse give me a shot of something that dulled the rage and silenced  Jesus Christ and the wigged out Ronstadt wannabe singing her melodies.
I woke up a few hours later and a Doctor was sitting on a chair  a few feet away. I was told I had attempted to strangle my Sister earlier that morning and they (the family) feared for their safety. THEIR FUCKING SAFETY.......THEIR SAFETY ! I got another "happy" shot after that. I was a little more calm and I asked when this was supposed to have happened.The police report states around 1:30 in the morning. I went ape shit at the accusation  and begged the Dr.to get my wallet and he could find a ATM receipt from Philly at about 1am and a new membership card for an after hours club stamped at 1:50. I also gave him Lisa's number to call and maybe things could be resolved. About an hour later I was picked up off the floor given a tray of some hospital food and brought back to the Doctors office.  My Mother and Sister sat in there and the look of pure hatred on my Sister sent a chill down my spine. The Doctor confronted them with evidence of me being nowhere near home for any of this to happen. Why ? the Doctor asked. Drugs ! my Mother said. Because he's GAY ! my Sister said. I had been slammed by the proverbial falling anvil. My Doctor looked also stunned and my Mother explained my drinking and drug usage had gotten out of hand and my Sister said " I Hate Him Because He Is Gay". These did not constitute the 302 and the Doctor told me I had the right to press charges for an unlawful and misuse of the system.
     My Sister had every purpose to hate me because the two of us had gone from the loving toddlers to bitter and vengeful enemies that became physical confrontations and I usually had the last vicious word to say. My Sister had become an enemy at an early age during middle school  when I had realized I was not  a part of the family unit ( jealous of Moms motherly love to daughter). My friends say how can you forgive the act by your Mother and Sister  ,  I tell them then of what living hell I had put my Mother and Sister through years also. I know my relationship  now with my Sister is that of obligation and I know when Dad is gone I will be alone. My family really does look at this lifestyle as a mental illness.
  I always was a colorful person and my moods where very colorful as you might say. I would get money and next thing I am buying Imported Yma Sumac albums or a bevy of Doc Martens for any goddamn reason. It was always thought as "he can never hold onto a paycheck."....but then I would go from Holly Golightly  to one of Macbeths witches within seconds....something was amiss in Denmark.
I remember my first "breakdown" I was living on Pine Street in Philadelphia and on a Sunday morning my neighbors where standing over me in various stages of shock. My apartment door was open and I was buck ass naked on bed with a cigarette burn on my chest and some bluish bruises on my shoulders. I really was blown away also by the fact there had to be at least 50 empty White Castle Burger boxes on the floor. They shook their heads and Cassie from upstairs stayed with me and helped me clean up while I washed myself up. I had a busted lip and bruises and french fries stuck in my Sebastian spiked hair. I broke down and found myself opening up the PGN ( Philadelphia Gay News) and saw an ad for the PRIDE INSTITUTE in Princeton,New Jersey at the Carrier Institute where it was at this time. Cassie spoke to an intake worker and was told a bed would be ready at 7pm that night. I called some friends and Cassie told me she would get a ticket for Amtrak and in turn would stay in my apartment since it had air conditioning . For the next few hours I was trying to decide what the hell one should wear to a gay psych/rehab unit. I had visions of an aging Capote in a Pucci caftan while a nurse brings him his prozac in those little paper nut cups. I had no idea what to expect.from a Advocate recommended psych facility.  I arrived in Princeton Junction and a young man had a placard with my name and led me to a large black Lincoln town car and took my bag and opened my car door. I now felt like Constance Towers on her way to "Shock Corridor". I did not know what to expect and it was just starting to get dark as we drove through the large estate gates and I prayed I would not be in staff turmoil as staff would fight over drapery  patterns while Lauren Bacall and Lillian Gish stared from the sidelines. A squat little black woman in a lose flowery print dress greeted me; while I forgot her name I could draw her precisely as she was that evening. She took me into a room and sat down and held my hand...she could tell I needed some contact. She stood and emptied my bag, took my cologne , my Kiehls scrub and essentials.I remember the smell of Thiery Mugler's Angel perfume this Southern Mammy was wearing and it made me so relaxed to be in her company.
I was placed on level one so I would be restricted until further notice. This area known as The Pride Institute was a division all in its self with simple sedate colors, bedding and facilities . I thought maybe with the limo it would be a little more 1930's sanitariums with the rolling green lawns and Greek statues spewing water into lily ponds.  I now was in what looked like to be an Ozark Airline Frequent Flyer lounge. I was given a sedative ( a nice pink doll ) and was out like a light.
The next morning I was shaken slightly by a very peppy black woman a cross between Ethel Waters in "Cabin in the Sky" and Virginia Capers "North Avenue Irregulars". It was 6am and med time. I had no meds and watched as men and women straggled out of their rooms in all forms of dress. I watched some in what I learned later was the thorazine  shuffle.  I watched as those paper peanut cups where filling up with all sorts of dolls in a variety of hues. I was called and went up to a cup with one pill a stool softener. I looked as people had one ,two cups of pills and I was a little taken aback . I now had visions of Polly Bergen in "The Caretakers" and was wondering was I in the fucking wrong ward.
I went back into my room and looked into the mirror and  realized Sebastian Mousse and these sanitariums 2 count New Jersey cotton pillowcases where not a match. I was horrified at how I was to face the day without a couture scent,proper facial cleanse and a bloody Mary. The nurses seemed right out of central casting in some Robert Aldrich melodrama. I was assigned a big bossomed taffy haired North Jersey truck driver of a nurse called Ethel by the patients....I forgot her name but my God she was Mermans clone. Ethel took me back to my room and told me a little  about what to expect for my first day.  I was greeted by a young man in a flowing hospital gown .....this kid made the gown move like an Givenchey couture creation...and he pulled me up and swept me into the lounge like a debutante showing off her new beau. I was introduced to the "family" and made my way to a corner and watched this family unit unfold and expose it self to me.  The young man was an Asian florist from Lambertville,New Jersey there for a recent "overdose". A young college girl from NYU who was there for personality disorder, A former Playgirl Man of the Year who had a very public meltdown in the Missoni department at Barney's after a 5 day crystal meth binge. An independent film maker who had directed one of my most favorite films at that time "Lie Down With Dogs".... and upon my arrival home......that film poster was shredded into a million little pieces. It seemed like a happy little bunch....and then our group sessions began...........

Upon this I have to stop.....I am tired and need to go to bed.....please let me know how I am doing and if you want me to continue.....Wally White really showed me the true meaning of the word Pompous Prick and that fading beauty of Chelsea and Playgirl sash queen really gave me some good fodder for the book....so let me know in private or public feedback what you think.....