Nut House

One night when I was a teenager, I got into a huge fight with my Aunt. My Dad overheard us arguing and jumped into the argument. I said something smart before storming off to my room. A few seconds later, he charged in behind me, threw me onto my bed, and started wailing on me. I was defenseless and got my ass whooped. Looking back on it now, I deserved it for the way I was acting.

After my Dad got off me, I walked across the house toward the kitchen while my Aunt followed me, begging me to calm down. I yanked the silverware drawer open and started digging through it, thinking I would grab a knife and stab my Dad.

As I pulled the drawer out, the logical part of my brain kicked in, and I threw the drawer on the ground, leaving silverware all over the floor. I rushed to the bathroom and locked the door. I sat with my back against the wall while dramatic thoughts went through my head. I thought about running away, convinced no one loved me, and felt every angry teenage feeling.

As I pulled the drawer out, the logical part of my brain kicked in, and I threw the drawer on the ground, leaving silverware all over the floor. I rushed to the bathroom and locked the door. I sat with my back against the wall while dramatic thoughts went through my head. I thought about running away, convinced no one loved me, and felt every angry teenage feeling.

I stayed inside for what seemed like hours. Eventually, my family knocked on the door, asking when I’d come out. I refused to open the door, so they made me an offer. I could go stay with my Mom for the night or my Mom would come take me to the hospital. I wasn’t sure what going to the hospital meant. It was a vague statement. All I knew was I didn’t want to stay at home, and staying with my Mom wasn’t much better.

I agreed to have my Mom pick me up and take me to the hospital.

Once there, I was put in a room while my Mom met with the nursing staff. Eventually, I met with my Mom, who told me I’d be going to a mental institution to get evaluated. I wondered if I should’ve humbled myself and apologized to my family or agreed to stay with my Mom.

What did I get myself into?

My Mom told me that an ambulance was coming to pick me up. It was late at night, and I just wanted to sleep. The ambulance arrived, and they escorted me outside, where two young guys were waiting for me. They strapped me onto a stretcher and locked me in place so I couldn’t move.

While driving, I asked the guys if they were taking me to a hospital in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by tumbleweeds. They laughed and said the mental institution was nothing like the ones you see on TV and movies and assured me everything would be okay.

We arrived at the institution before the sun had risen. They released me from the stretcher and escorted me to the building. Once inside, another guy took over, and we said our goodbyes. The person in charge had me fill out some paperwork. I don’t remember what the forms said, except one that stated I wouldn’t be able to buy a firearm for a couple of years after turning 18.

After that, he took me to my room, and I went straight to sleep. I woke up to a doctor asking me to sit up so he could draw blood. When he finished, my roommate walked over and introduced himself. We were both around the same age, and spoke about the events that brought us there. After our brief conversation, we left the room, and he showed me around the facility.

We hung out all morning and went to the cafeteria for breakfast. After eating, we went to a group counseling session with girls from a nearby building. We started by going around in a circle and introducing ourselves. The counselor led the session, and when it ended, we went back to our respective buildings.

At nighttime, the staff gave us little white cups with two pills in them and told us to take them after dinner. After eating, we took our pills and went to the lobby to watch TV. As time passed, everyone began to fall asleep. The pills they gave us were some sort of sleeping medication like Benadryl. Once I felt the medicine kicking in, I got up and knocked out.

I woke up the next day surprised that I was actually enjoying myself. It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. The people were cool, and the adults working there were entertaining. One surprising thing, though, was the two little boys in our section who were only around four or five years old.

One of them was a young boy who had problems at home. He was well-behaved and had a quiet disposition.

The other kid was a boy named Raymond. Raymond stood out because he dressed like a gangster. If he didn’t get his way or someone angered him, he cussed everyone out and banged his head against the wall. I learned from the nurses that his parents got into an argument at home and his Mom pulled out a gun and killed his Dad, right in front of Raymond. He was sent to the institution temporarily while they found him a new home. Even though he always gave the adult supervisors a fit, he felt like my little brother.

My days passed at the institution, but I had no timetable for my release. For all I knew, it could be days or weeks before they let me go. I decided to make the best of a bad situation and stay out of trouble until it was time to leave. At times, it got boring because we followed the same routine every day. It was fun at first, but eventually I wanted to go home.

My roommate must have felt the same way because he devised an escape plan. I laughed at his idea and reminded him we were leaving soon anyway, so escaping would’ve been pointless. On top of that, even if we did escape, the staff would call the police, and helicopters would be all over the sky looking for us. We agreed to kill our escape fantasy and ride it out.

My roommate and I got along great, which made the stay easier. Turned out he went to the school right across the street from my house. Small world.

I didn’t end up staying too long and left in about a week.

On my last day, I said bye to everyone and gave Raymond a hug. It hurt seeing a kid like him in such a dire situation — imagine being a child and witnessing your Mom murder your Dad. That’s something that will traumatize him forever. It’s been over a decade since this happened, and I still wonder how he’s doing.

Before leaving, I went to the gym to play basketball with my friends. When we arrived at the courts, it was crowded with people I’d never seen before. As I walked around, a girl approached me and started making small talk. Out of nowhere, she asked how old I was and if I was a virgin. I told her my age and said I’d never had sex before. She told me she wanted to take my virginity. The comment caught me off guard, and I let her know I was about to leave but appreciated the offer.

She told me her Dad took her virginity and raped her when she was younger. It creeped me out and I didn’t want to talk anymore.

I went back to my room, packed my bags, and thought about everything that had happened during my stay. Overall, it wasn’t the worst experience, but toward the end, I wanted to leave. The facility was starting to fill up with strange characters, and I didn’t feel comfortable staying there anymore. When the doctor signed my release papers and gave my family the okay to pick me up, I bounced.

When my parents arrived, they surprised me by bringing my Grandma. I was happy to see her and head back home. My trip to the Nut House was complete, and I was ready to get back to my regular life.