Abio Episode 14: My mental breakdown - March 17 2024

Abio Episode 14 The big nudge -- My mental breakdown

At age 18 I had to visit a psychiatrist. Alice Cooper was right. Something came over me while still working at Pure Carbon, a weight. Little had changed – lunch with my nothing-to-report friends, afternoon showers with 18 other filthy men, hitchhiking 11 miles to and from home every day for 8 months before I could afford a motorcycle. Same old routine that I’d grown to accept.

Working with carbon was never fun, but fun and excitement was now seeping out of my evening and weekend life – the real life.

Going swimming in the river didn’t interest me. House parties grew dull. Dirt-road bonfire keggers became tiresome. I recall standing in front of a jukebox at the pool hall and not being able to pick a song I wanted to hear. Something was wrong. I developed a tight spot at the top of my head. It was the weirdest sensation, not physical, just a localized pressure, like water torture. I tolerated it for weeks, tried to un-think it away, but that didn’t work. The localized pressure had grown to become a cow pie. Was it from my childhood injury?

Our family doctor tried his best, then bumped me upstairs to the psych clinic on the hill to meet the illustrious Dr. Dickenson, our town’s leading psychiatrist. I attended high school with all three of his sons, but had never met him in a professional capacity. “What’s the problem?” he asked.

For 20 minutes, I bared my soul. I released a whole bag of cats. Then I said one sentence that made him put down his pad and pencil and say our session was over. The problem has been solved.

“What did I say?” I asked.

You said to me, and he read my quote, “I feel so depressed.’ That’s the problem. You’re depressed.” He wrote me a prescription for Stelezine and Elavil. “Take them until they are gone.” Session over.

The first Elavil pill put me to sleep for 22 hours. Doc Dickenson said that would get better. The Stelezine had no noticeable effect. Still, I had what I needed, a keyword, depression. I could research it while popping the pills.

Off to the city library. No college needed. I read the articles, journals, research on drugs like the ones I was using, and various solutions. Two suggestions stuck with me. Get more sleep and seek variety in life. That became my Depression Escape Plan.

I started reading Doyle and Poe at night instead of going down to Gigolo’s pool hall or Romey’s juke joint, open until 2 a.m. Better to fill my head with the ideas of great thinkers than with ideas of my own.

I got more sleep and a few naps when the stories filled my brain up.

My time was my own, except for my factory job. Once I entered the Pure Carbon building, all my moves were theirs. Check in. Stash your lunch. Report to your station. Work all day except for lunch. All crewmen shower at the end of each shift. Leave the property.

That regimen needed to change. I approached my boss, Louie Facetti, whom I liked because he liked me back and had a sense of humor. I would miss him. “Louis,” I confided, “I want to give a two-week notice. I’m going to Penn State.” Instead of him being disappointed, he smiled and said, “So, Gibbsy, you’re finally going to make something of yourself.”

My last day of work, I came in dressed all in white -- white jacket, shirt, belt, trousers, gloves, socks, shoes, and a high-top hat. I strolled around the plant saying good-bye to my closest carbon friends. We shook hands and hugged, slowly dirtying my clothes. Once all my good-byes were said, and I was gritty, I stopped in at Louie’s office as my final good-bye. I gave him a big hug and he hugged me back. I handed him a sealed Thank You envelope.

“A little present for you. Don’t open that until I’m gone,” I said.

He ignored me and tore it open right away. Two girlfriends of mine helped me put this one-copy only “We Love you, Leo” photograph together, if you can imagine it. Louie stared at it until I left the building. Depression blew away and never came back.

Onward: Penn State consists of small branch campuses all over Pennsylvania where every student spends their first two years taking prerequisites and earning associate-degree diplomas. Baccalaureate candidates transferred to the State College main campus in their third year, with a major and minor in mind.

DuBois, the most rural campus in the system with 500 students, would be my branch, 32 miles from Ridgway. Day one the Wildlife Technology students and instructor were skinning a deer hanging from a tree in the front of campus. Gino was amongst that class, but I didn’t know him. My uncle in the region was a carpenter for a Mrs. Robinson, who ran about six well-kept houses for students, spread all over town. He found me a room on Robinson Street a mile from campus, living with four other guys. We were all so busy at first, we didn’t meet for days. Gino, a friend now for 50 years, lived across the hall from me.

The book store frightened me. Not the store itself, just my required reading list. Three books of philosophy and two trippy novels. I asked myself, if my ultimate fate were to dig ditches for life, would I be happier having read these books, and my answer was yes, to my own surprise.

I bagged my books and motorbiked home. Roommates were there. Dan, Lester, Gino, Gary. Guys were on the couch talking. Bedroom doors were open. Music was playing. I introduced myself all around and unlocked my room at the end of the hall. I left it open, light on, tossed in my coat, and returned to the living room.

Gino made it clear that he would wash all dishes going forward, and that he would cook macrobiotic food for anyone who wanted it. The kitchen was turned over to him. His meals were creative, economical, and delectable. The florescent light in the bathroom doesn't work. Turn the tube. It will give you a light shock if you're not careful. Meeting adjourned.