Writings

Sneak peak of McAllister's upcoming memoir

My memoir is a story of discovery. I am discovering how things devolved as they did, how I got stuck, and how I managed to crawl out of the hole I helped dig. I am looking back at my childhood to see the roots of problems that grew and festered as I entered my teen years. I look at the relationships I had with family, the traumatic events I went through, and how these might all tie into my ending up in the mental health system. I also describe what it was like for me to live with a fevered mind and how my life was fractured from the inside out. And the final mystery is how I went from being tied to beds for my own safety to helping others sort out their problems with me in a professional role.

As I lie in my warm bed with my fuzzy dog at my side snoring away, I realize how far I’ve come. I have a house with my own yard to play in, pets, a job, friends, and most amazingly, relative peace of mind. For so many years, I bounced from place to place. My home was where I slept. Several months in one hospital, then a halfway house for a couple of months, then another, different hospital for a couple of weeks, then a week or two in an apartment, then back to a hospital. This continued at varying rhythms and paces for years. I was hospitalized over 40 times for stays that spanned a couple of days to almost a year. I lived in at least 5 different halfway houses. This was over the course of about 30 years.

Before my descent into a kind of homelessness, the last stable living situation I had was at home with my parents when I was a senior in high school. And that was a horrible year filled with inner and outer conflict. My inner world was chaotic. I was angry, depressed, anxious, and confused. Part of me wanted to revert to being a child, to curl up in a ball and sleep. My mind wouldn’t let me rest. I was full of real and imagined betrayal by my family and friends. I was paranoid and felt like strangers were out to get me in some way. I felt life was unfair and I was being unjustly punished. I felt an enormous amount of guilt and I always had a feeling I was about to be destroyed by life for any transgression.

I hated my parents, but I wanted them to revere me and show they loved me regardless of how I acted. I wanted them to see how wonderful I was, how smart, how interesting, and how beautiful. But I showed them the ugliest side I could conjure up, certainly not consciously, but I was definitely pushing them away while I yearned for closeness. I could be mean. I pushed past them and snarled when they spoke to me. I swore at them and lied about taking things that didn’t belong to me. I skipped school and I lied about homework and responsibilities. I hid in my room. This is what they saw and the information they were working with when trying to figure out what was going on with me. They saw my behaviors but had no clue as to the inner workings of my mind, how I felt, what I was experiencing, and with what kinds of thoughts I was contending.

It only got worse from there. My problems far exceeded misbehavior and hopes for acceptance. How I saw the world began to warp. I was no longer in control of my mind and my life depended on the help of others. I had a demon haunt me, I cut up my arms, and I attempted suicide to escape my inner world several times.

I had the unique experience of being entrenched in both the private mental health system and the state system. I experienced very different care when either insurance or my family paid than when I was finally stuck receiving state services. There were systemic problems in both private and state care, but the way I was treated in private care was far more humane. Even when I felt misunderstood, I felt listened to and respected to a degree. In the state mental health system, I did not feel human many times. I was ignored by staff. Due to their neglect I sometimes went without meals and I was not kept properly clean. I had much less access to qualified providers, and most of all there were times when staff were outright abusive in their words, actions, or inaction. However, even when I was in the state system, I had access to resources others didn’t have, coming from the family I did. In that way I wonder if I would have been able to get so much better without the financial and emotional support of my family.

I think back to that time and I have to shift my mind and perspective back to that dark place. We all grow up and think and feel differently over time, hopefully growing in a positive direction and maturing as time passes. Those experiences in the mental health system feel far away and like they happened to a different person. I am attempting to integrate those experiences into who I am now. People who know me now, particularly people who know me as a professional, would not be able to guess what I’ve been through. I do not present as I used to. I present as competent, maybe even balanced.

I pet my dog's coarse fur and she rolls over and kicks my hand to her belly. I rub her belly slowly and I well up with gratitude to have such a creature in my life to give and receive love. Part of me worries I could relapse and lose ground, and even lose all that I have even though it has been several years since my last hospitalization. When I go through difficult days or weeks, this looming threat is more pronounced. When I am feeling strong and sure of myself, it is not at the forefront of my mind. Now my “time beings” are longer. They ebb and flow the way most peoples’ lives do. People and creatures come and go. We move, we change jobs, we meet new people, and we lose people and pets. But within a natural rhythm, not a fevered desperate rhythm fueled by a ruptured mind. I am still deep in the process of recovery and writing and drawing have been cornerstones in that process.