July 4th,1980 to July 4th 2009. Then and now.

This journal is about this special day, not only about America's birthday, but the beginning of my second chance at life.

It was two weeks after I got discharged from Robert Packer Hospital. The voices were relentless. I could not get them to stop. I was popping my meds like they were TicTacs. I went and partied with my friends and got wasted bigtime. The pot, the pills, the meth and beer were raging war in me. I couldn't control it.

We decided to go to the 4th of July parade in town. The day was bright,sunny and warm. As the parade started I couldn't stand up any longer, so I laid down on a lawn. Then I couldn't lay down anymore so I stood up. I did that for the hour it took for the parade to end.

We went back home. As usual the family chaos was overwhelming. I sat watching tv. My head was spinning, voices were screaming. I was hurting from extreme emotional pain. I couldn't take it anymore. I saw a knife on the kitchen table. "That's what will stop the pain" a voice said. I ran over and grabbed the knife and put it to my wrist. My brother, saw what I was doing and grabbed my wrist to wrestle the knife away. The voices screamed "kill him, he is stopping you!" I tried to stab him. My dad jumped in and the  two of them managed to get the knife.

I don't know exactly what happened next, but my folks decided that I needed help. They took me back to the Robert Packer Hospital ER. The doctor said I needed help but there were no beds available. He told my folks to take me to the Binghamton Psychiatric Center in Binghamton (BPC, now its called Greater Binghamton Health Center.. GBHC).

The ride was quiet. We got to BPC and went through the admission process. When the paperwork was all done, they asked if I wanted to visit my folks. I went to where they were, sat down, and said not a word. I told the admissions person I wanted to go. They carted me away.

We went through two locked steel doors, then up to the second floor in an old rickety elevator that was built in the 1400's it seemed like. Then through 3 more locked doors. The door key they had was huge. The doors echoed through the building when they slammed them shut. Somewhere there was a woman screaming. I was scared beyond scared.

Finally I got to the unit. It was late at night about 11:30pm. They put me in a dorm and told me to try to get some sleep. I slept very little.

After a couple of months on unit 47, I was given the option of going home to my folks or stay at the hospital in a transitional living unit. That was a huge decision for an immature, scared 17 year old. I went home on a weekend pass and got into it with my father. I went back to BPC and said I wanted to stay in Binghamton. That was the beginning of my second chance at life.

I spent 11 months and six days at BPC. They gave me a job. They pushed me when I needed it (that was everyday). I went to high school and they never let me quit, even when I wanted. They taught me life lessons. Some of those lessons were hard fought. Some never sunk in until years later.