Psychologist Ronald Bassman, once diagnosed and treated for schizophrennia, brings new hope to patients and families.

Psychology Today
Feb 2001

The seclusion room was empty except for a mattress covered in black rubber on the concrete floor. They lowered me onto the mattress and turned me on my side. I fought their grip on my ankles and wrists, but they were too strong and experienced. I quit struggling and stared at the wire-encased ceiling light. I couldn't see the nurse when she came in aid, "Get him ready." They quickly pulled my pants and underwear down to my knees. I winced at the violent thrust of the needle. I tried to prepare myself to fight the onslaught of the thought-dulling, body-numbing Thorazine.

They waited for the drug to take effect before they stripped me of my clothes. I was left naked in the seclusion room, and no explanations were given. They did not tell me how long I would stay there.

Three decades have passed since I've had any kind of psychiatric treatment, yet the memories remain. Even after more than 20 years of work as a licensed psychologist, the nightmares have not disappeared. The dreams of endless wanderings through gauze-shrouded hospital corridors, the disembodied screams, and the smothering restraints and seclusion were not overcome by my successes. Those haunting memories only ended when I was finally able to use all of my experiences, when I was able to stop hiding my psychiatric history, and when I could speak publicly about my own treatment and transformation. Now I understand the importance of sharing what I learned from living and working on both sides of the locked door.

I am just one of many who have suffered psychiatric torments from an inadequate and often destructive mental health system. The journey that brought me to this place of credibility enables me to offer my experience not only to those who have the power to bring about change, but also to those who feel powerless and need inspiration. My good fortune allows me to challenge the prevailing psychiatric model. When you become a mental patient, you are no longer regarded as a whole person with an individual mix of strengths and weaknesses.

When I was discharged from the hospital I was told I had an incurable disease called schizophrenia. The doctor told my family that my chances of being rehospitalized were very high. is medical orders were directed at my parents, not me, and stated wit an absolute authority that discouraged any challenge. He predicted a lifetime in the back ward of a state hospital if his orders were not followed.

"He will need to take medication for the rest of his life. For now, you need to bring him to the hospital weekly for outpatient treatment and he must not see any of his old friends."

I was devastated.

The hospital doctor put me into a coma five days a week for eight weeks by injecting me with insulin. Those 40 insulin treatments combined with electroshock blasted huge holes in my memory , parts of which have never returned. I ballooned from 140 to 170 pounds; I appeared the clown in clothes that no longer fit. My already damaged self-image had plummeted to an unrecognizable depth, and the heavy doses of Thorazine and Stelazine made me feel like I was walking in slow-motion under water.

Was the doctor joking? Not see my old friends? How was I going to face them and explain what had become of me? Did anyone really think that I was capable of making new friends? I was sure that they would have nothing to do with me. But the most disturbing of all the orders was to hear him say that I would never be free of the hospital's control.

My best friends were once locked up in mental hospitals and fought their way back. We are psychiatric survivors. Some believe that psychiatric survivors defy the odds. Or maybe we were never really mentally ill, just misdiagnosed. After all, they say schizophrenia is a lifelong disease. Such reasoning makes my peers and me look like exceptions. Among our large group of closeted ex-patients are lawyers, teachers, mechanics, doctor carpenters, plumbers and psychologists. We are your neighbors, ministers and friends, living and working in your communities. Many thousands choose not to reveal their past.