The End of an Unpaved Road; Reflecting on Four Years of College (Part 1)
My time at the Camarillo State Mental Hospital
July 3rd, 2012
The air is thick with moisture from a nearby ocean — we emerge from our renovated hospital quarters that still boast a distinct atmosphere of foreboding. The chatter in the hallways centers exclusively on the history of the building we just slept in.
Yeah… We slept here. Or, some did, I’m sure. I forgot to bring a pillow.
Just outside, the grass extends for miles. Okay, not really, but it’s a big field, and I’m just a little…man. I’m 18 — the kind of 18 that wears tank tops and fake Ray-Bans.
None of us are really sure about the place. We know two things: 1) The beautiful Spanish architecture around us, bitten into by a dense fog, once housed developmentally disabled and mentally ill patients, and 2) They are serving breakfast in the South Quad.
They, as it turns out, are a lot of smiling faces. Everyone has something to say to me…some way to relate with me, but I am just a boy who needs to take care of a mandatory orientation requirement, and they all seem a little too happy for my liking.
I chew on scrambled eggs, and sip OJ. I’ll let them do the talking.
August 26, 2012
We are gathered, 8 of us total, in what used to be the morgue at the Camarillo State Mental Hospital, hyper aware of the fact that this cavern, markered by its stark white floors & walls, once housed the corpses of many inpatients.
This is my first college class…So far, it seems a lot like everyone said it was going to be in high school. It’s co-taught by a Librarian and a Political Science professor, and they’re both awesome. I’ve only been in here for ten minutes, and I’m 100% stoked about college.
The first thing one of my professors does is write something on the whiteboard and then he asks us, “What does this mean?”
Our silence beckons an exasperated, “I don’t fucking know, either!” from the man. He’s wearing a pair of those five-finger shoes…you know, they’re like crocs, but people actually like them.
February 18, 2013
I’m telling you, man. This girl is hardcore organized — a little intimidating at first, but she seems to genuinely care about her job. Makes me feel like I’m doing something right…surrounding myself with the right people for once.
I think we’re all friends here. Just feels weird to be, like, the only guy up in this building sometimes, but it’s alright. People are telling me that I should apply for a job. I don’t want to mess things up around here, though — they seem to have a pretty good system going for themselves…you know, as far as makin’ newspapers go.
The Editor in Chief and the Managing Editor are best friends. Friends are important here. They are the people I hunt for ghosts with at night.
Can’t complain, though I still do. I wish they were my best friends.
March 22, 2013
We found an unlocked door — there’s still some paraphernalia from the hospital here…scrubs, stethoscopes, one hospital bed. Beyond this room, there’s a courtyard…It’s beautiful. Not in the way that the other courtyards of the University are; this one is overgrown. Unkempt.
It is simultaneously a scene in a horror movie and a wonderful-looking place to read a book.
I think I’ll come back and write poetry here.
April 25, 2013
An investment in knowledge pays the best interest.
- Ben Franklin
They call it Grand Salon — it’s a big ol’ room, and tonight it’s a big ol’ room with candles, and a nice dinner spread.I didn’t get the “wear a nice shirt” memo, so I just ran over to to Target to pick something that looks okay.
I got nominated for an award. The guy who won it did 60+ hours of community service this semester (how?!). It doesn’t even seem possible that the people around me are as accomplished as they are when it’s hard for me to get out of bed on most days.
Tonight, I’ll eat a couple of these desserts and think fondly of the leaders who surround me.
June 25, 2013
Today, I am profoundly young. Today, I am 19 years old.
I got the job as Managing Editor for the newspaper. I’ve resigned myself to the idea that, even though I hated every second of the time that I spent competing with a dear friend of mine to land this gig, I must’ve deserved it. They gave it to me, after all.
The Editor in Chief is not quite as happy as I am about it. She is pretty forthcoming about the fact that she doesn’t believe I deserve the job — that I don’t have the eye for detail that’s required of the position. We used to be pretty close… On at least one occasion, she’d stayed up late with me on the phone while I ranted about how my girlfriend doesn’t love me the way she used to. Now, she’s sitting next to me. I can’t tell if she’s looking at me. She’s wearing shades.
It’s hard to feel like we can breathe sitting next to each other.
This hasn’t been my favorite birthday so far.
October 2, 2013
Beowulf is a poem — I know that now. Is that a prerequisite bit of knowledge of English majors? Should I have known that before I got to college?
Also…the Hollywood fucked that one up. Bad. Angelina Jolie was a nice touch, though.
November 4, 2013
My brother has been in the hospital for 5 days. I got a text from my aunt this morning — some nurse accidentally let the “c” word spill. She’s a wreck. I have a paper due tonight at midnight.
Life is trying to run away from me.
Marlboro 100’s: Menthol
Surgeon General’s Warning: Smoking Causes Lung Cancer & Heart Disease
Oddly enough, I feel that the circumstances have wiped all of my fears away. Mint tastes sweeter in a silvery haze, and I’ve promised myself that I’m going to do what I can to stay afloat until our family is whole again. A few minutes of my life seems like a fair trade for a bullet-train of dopamine and endorphins.
December 1, 2013
My brother survived a nasty case of Osteomyelitis — a bone infection that turned him — all of us — into skin and bones. My family has become a stronger unit of weaker bodies.
I believe firmly in the constitution of our blood. We are a strong people. We always will be.
Finals week is fast approaching —the school is starting to feel more like the Mental Hospital that it once was.
Things haven’t gotten any easier with the Editor in Chief. At this point, I don’t think we like each other at all. I am just as culpable for whatever has caused this rift between us. It doesn’t make any of it easier to deal with.
I watch my brother on the couch while he talks with his friend. A Picc Line protrudes from his arm. There is a self-regulating tube feeding antiobiotics into his bloodstream directly through his heart.
Christmas is coming, and he’ll be okay. I guess that, aside from the fact that I want to bury myself alive, I will be too.
