my life is a *trigger warning* – in and out of a psych ward

my life is a *trigger warning*

notes on surviving ritual abuse

part 5

in and out of a psych ward

i am in a medium sized room in a hospital. it is empty except for a desk and 3 chairs. the doctor is sitting behind the desk. i am sitting opposite him in front of the desk. the third chair, which is to my left, is empty. there is a security guard. he is leaning with his back against the wall beside the only door in and out of the room.

i was brought here by the catalonian police (commonly known as “els mossos,”) in manresa, a small city that is the capital of the local district. i don’t really understand why i am in this room in this hospital. they never explained to me why they picked me up and took me to the police station, or why they then drove me to the hospital. and i am in the midst of a severe and long-term psychotic episode. i am convinced that it all has something to do with a transnational corporation named monsanto.

(for more information on monsanto :


before being taken to the hospital, i was homeless and jobless for a couple of months, surviving through stealing, begging and “borrowing” money from my biological parents.

for the last few weeks i was with my biological parents, who got concerned enough to come to catalonia – remember that these are the people i am trying to escape from, although i didn’t know it at the time. why they really came is a mystery, as they would have been happy if i died or disappeared. maybe they were afraid that i would remember, and start talking.

we were traveling aimlessly around catalonia with no clear goal, and no way to resolve the problem (which is that i was ritually abused and i am desperately trying to escape not only my biological parents, and the cult they are in, but also my ex-girlfriend and the cult she is in, all without being consious, most of the time that this is what is really happening.)

i was, and still am, highly psychotic, as well as experiencing periods of elation and depression. in truth, most of the thoughts, feelings and delusions i am having are flashbacks to events in my childhood, such as people experience when they are suffering from post-traumatic stress, and flashbacks, delusions and hallucinations brought on by emotional triggers in combination with my programming. the immediate cause, added to the years of accumulated trauma and programming from my childhood, is that by some coincidence my long-term partner, a catalan woman, is also a cult member. on this, my third attempt to escape the cult i was born into in ottawa, i have gotten mired in another cult based, as far as i know, in sabadell, catalonia. at least that is where my partner’s family lived and had lived for at least two generations. the stress, hurt and fear of this has pushed my already fragile mind into insanity, and, out of desperation i have ended up in the streets (more on this later).


psychosis: people suffering from psychosis have difficulty judging what is real and what is not; that is, they have difficulty distinguishing personal subjective experiences from the reality of the external world. They experience hallucinations and/or delusions that they believe are real, and may behave and communicate in a confused fashion.



the doctor is asking me questions. for the most part i don’t answer. i haven’t done anything wrong, or illegal. i believe this means they can’t hold me. i will soon find out that i am wrong.

i stop answering his questions. i tell him that i’m fine and i demand to leave. i can’t remember whether he says anything or not before he tells the security guard to get some more guards and to forcibly ingress me.

the security guards pick me up. two of them are behind me, and they are each holding a shoulder, while the third has my ankles. they carry me through a short hall full of people. i am yelling in english about how this is a grave injustice, and something about monsanto, how monsanto is responsible. it is, i am sure, a conspiracy. in fact, despite all my triggered thoughts and feelings at the time, what is happening is simply the routine oppression of poor people and people with mental health issues – the system cranking along with little or no regard for peoples’ needs.

i am taken into an elevator, and we ascend to the floor with the psychiatric ward. i am put on a bed, my wrists and ankles are strapped into restraints and am injected with a drug that knocks me out almost instantly.

at some point in my drugged stupor i come half-awake to see and feel that a nurse has her hand on my coq and is jerking me off. i think she must have noticed that i was semi-conscious, as she stops suddenly and leaves.

the next time i regain consciousness the room is full of people – doctors, nurses, security – i’m not really clear on who is there. they ask me various questions, and, satisfied by whatever i said and how i said it, they take off the restraints. (whatever i said must have been suitably compliant, as opposed to understandably and justifiably outraged at being abducted, strapped to a bed and drugged – in addition to being sexually violated by the nurse, although i am sure this last indignity is not hospital policy.)

once out of bed i establish that i am essentially a prisoner in the psychiatric ward. i have a room that i share with another man. there is a long hallway, a lounge and cafeteria area, and a balcony for smoking. since then i have been to prison, and although there is no doubt that prison is much worse, the psychiatric ward at that hospital, and the other two i’ve been in, all share similarities with prison.

i decide that i will go on a hunger strike in protest of my current confinement. i have been reading books about gandhi and non-violent resistance, and have been fasting often for health purposes. it seems likely that given my mental state at the time it would actually have been healthier not to fast. in any case, this strikes me, rightly or wrongly as a good time to start a hunger strike (nota bene – wrongly). i keep to my hunger strike for 8 days, with no notable impact on my captors.

i clearly need to take a different course of action. i decide that rather than protest the obvious injustice of my captivity, i will instead pretend to accept their position (i have been diagnosed with “paranoid schizophrenia”), adjust my behaviour in ways that will please them, figure out what I have to do for them to release me, and do that. i begin eating and participating in different activities. i am friendly with the doctors, even the treacherous one who has trapped me here and said that i have paranoid schizophrenia. indeed, we are all friends here, and i will be, and am, an ideal patient. i did not understand that i was sick, but now i do, and i am getting better.

i am rewarded, after a couple of weeks, with a day pass chaperoned by my biological parents. my plan, of course, is to escape. the question is when. my biological parents and i walk to one of their rented cars (they are divorced), and then out of the parking lot. they think we are going for lunch. as soon as the hospital is out of sight, i begin walking quickly, outdistancing my chaperones. and when they tell me to slow down, i run. i am free! i don’t know where i will go, or what i will do, but at least i’m not in the hospital. and i am sure, that at an unconscious level, i am even happier to be away from my abusers, my cultist biological parents.

months later i am detained again, and retaken to the hospital. at the time i was hiding behind a car, hoping that the police officers hadn’t seen me. the police woman who detains me and will take me to the hospital, comments that i must think i’m a dog. this is her explanation for why I am on all fours. I was trying to not be seen. This is a typical example of the ignorance many people have when it comes to sanity and insanity. for some reason she knows who I am before she talks with me. (it was during these months that i was arrested by the mossos in barcelona, taken somewhere, a prison, i think, and raped and tortured by police officers and people claiming to be government agents).

my second sojourn in the psychiatric ward at the manresa hospital is less eventful. i take my medication – i avoided doing so the first time. i have been prescribed zyprexa. it makes me tired constantly. i sleep 12 hours or more per day. i’m also constantly hungry. I gain 30 pounds over the course of a month. i have great difficulty concentrating. reading is difficult. talking and listening are also both difficult. the world and the people in it are all at a distance, and i connect with them as if through a soft warm blanket that is pleasant enough, but that makes it difficult to understand what is happening, and to converse with others. for the most part, i eat, sleep and wait for whatever is going to happen next.

after 2 or 3 weeks i am told that i will be deported to canada. my biological father, a massive control freak among his many other “qualities”, has had me legally declared his ward, meaning i am no longer legally able to make my own decisions, and he has hired a private security person to accompany me during the deportation. i am taken from the hospital in manresa to the airport, flown to ottawa and then taken to the royal ottawa hospital. i am home now, the place i have been trying to escape!


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