What Dreams May Come
For a decade I had the same recurring nightmare; that I would walk into the Augusta Mental Health Institute for some kind of meeting, the doors would close behind me, and I couldn't get out. The dreams always started off with me having to go there for something innocuous. Once inside they inform me I cannot leave. I check all the doors, I am crying; I plead with them. No matter what I say, no matter what I do, I have to stay there. Locked inside.
Although I do not remember exactly when I had the first nightmare, I do recall it was sometime after I was released the first time in September of 1999, into a group home on personal recognizance bail, so I would be in therapy.

One of the worst things about AMHI is that people mess with you. Staff included, and even when you try to tell someone, you are often not believed because "you" are the crazy one. You're the one who is in the hospital for being sick. There are some real assholes working in mental health hospitals, people who really just like being in control. They shouldn't be allowed to work with people who have a mental illness. Now that's not to say that everyone is bad. They're certainly not, and if you can find the good ones and form genuine relationships within those confines, do it.
I spent the next 16 months at the group home. I attended therapy, went to school, got my GED, and started working. My trial came about in January of 2001, just a couple months shy of two years from when I had been first admitted to AMHI. I remember standing there holding my attorney, John's hand, and as the juror's filed in. I felt as though I couldn't breathe. I had to stand up to hear the verdict. I was already crying because I knew that even if they found me NCR I was going right back to AMHI.
It had taken them just over an hour to decide. John said that could be a good thing. I was so worried.