Held Against My Will
How Trying to Find a Moment of Peace Got Me into an Institution
Story by Wesley Vara // Art by Wesley Vara

I finally left. I needed to respect my father's wishes. At the time I was staying at my father's home, and our religious beliefs conflicted.I went from place to place, with no home, and with no understanding about the streets. Eventually, I looked at it from a more urgent perspective.

Survival is mandatory.

I needed help. I asked an old friend for assistance and they then suggested a shelter. Not knowing the rules and regulations, when I arrived I chose to sit in the courtyard for a moment of clarity. I needed to heal from the stress. I needed a moment to close my eyes then open them when I was ready. During that moment of peace I felt an element of negativity trying to break my focus.   The entity of a spiritually uneducated oppressor had arrived. I felt like this person's intention was to make me feel inferior, as if I had no right to sit with out disturbance. It did not make sense to open my eyes for someone that would not yield. When I opened my eyes I was in the custody of an officer.

Next thing I know paramedics were at my side. They were going through there regular procedures checking my heart rate, vital signs and verifying that I was coherent. I felt abducted. I remember the ride to the hospital.

An E.M.T had rubbed on my chest with force. They must of felt it was relevant to the situation.   I was disoriented and the next thing I remember was the I V being placed in my arm without consent, and at this point I knew something was wrong. Ok, I had past experiences with drugs. I know not to do them any more, and I was sober during this experience.

I instantly felt the effect of what ever it was they administered. I remember a cold filling entering my forearm.   Right then and there I knew I had to leave. My financial situation was unstable. There was no way I could afford to pay for this.

My intention was to leave quietly. That didn't go so well. I brought into consideration that the nurse to the right of me would come to my aid if I needed. I then pulled this foreign object out of my arm, still immobilized.

The blood began to run. I didn't even get a chance to reach my clothes. I was then placed into a wheelchair, and was barley strong enough to speak. I was trying to use my right to freedom of speech. They were treating me like an animal.   I was then sent to an area of the hospital, which I was not familiar with. The amount of blood I lost left me weak and disoriented. I remember being transferred to another medical facility .   On the way I requested to be given oxygen knowing that blood loss effects the oxygen to the brain. When I arrived to the hospital I was shown to my room. I then realized where I was – psyche ward.

When I walked into the two swinging doors I knew this was not where I needed to be. I was then classified as a danger to others, danger to my self, suicidal, hearing voices.   None of which was true.   I asked one of the supervisors if I could get in touch with a friend to get my guitar. If I was going to kept here, I could at least pass the time. The supervisor told me that I would not be able to bring in a guitar because they said somebody – meaning me or another patient – would choke somebody with the strings. At this point there was nothing I could say. Freedom of speech became a manifested lie. And if I were the classification they said I was, I would not have the mental capacity to even write this piece. I felt I was a victim of extreme oppression and psychological neglect.

Towards the end of my stay, four or five days later, they allowed me to have my guitar.   That was the only thing that helped me through this time, just playing the songs I remembered before all this took place.