Psychiatric Crisis at University - Medical training and mental health

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By Max Guttman

At the very end of my semester in undergraduate school, I attended a reception on campus in which I participated, honoring a faculty that was special with and dedicated to people with disabilities. In my entire time as a student, I had never before had a disability or a documented disorder, but by April of that spring, I was not only receiving assistance through the disabilities department on campus, I was also speaking at their ceremony and reception for graduating students. The story of my psychiatric crisis at university, how I became connected with disabilities services and the event that transpired at the end of the semester is one of deception, intrigue, courage and respect, for both the facility and students taking part in the event.

Dr. D

This story begins during course registration six months earlier. I had just run into a professor I had my very first semester in Binghamton. Her name was Dr. D, and she respected my work. She had disappeared for two years, totally off my radar, until the final semester. When we ran into each other in the department, we talked about this loss of connection, our finding each other again, and the timeliness of it all that we could bookend my experience in the English department with her courses. Dr. D suggested that upon matriculation to the Graduate program, I could take her course; I could finish undergraduate school with the same staff member I had begun it with, in Medieval Literature, years back.

But then I received notice that I was rejected from the program. I needed to change my courses, re-register for some, and de-register from others, due to my status as a student and a restriction that was placed on my course selection. Dr. D was outwardly fairly understanding from the point of departure into the fall-out from the graduate school, the initial events that unfolded around miscommunication about my intentions to re-apply to the program, and how to proceed with my undergraduate-graduate status conflict as a result of being ready to graduate but still taking courses as an un-matriculated graduate student. Due to all this confusion, Dr. D suggested I speak with the disabilities department, explain to them my confusion and ask for guidance on how to proceed.

The Disabilities Department

Indeed, I contacted the disabilities department. I was interviewed and – along with being provided access to a library carousel, which is a story for another day – I was provided with documentation and a plan to handle moving forward with graduate study in the future. Unfortunately, I did not follow the plan. In fact, I made it more complicated to make future plans or problem-solve issues in the department without creating more.

By mid semester, I was very paranoid, and becoming delusional. Dr. D took our seminar group to a talk in the library, where a speaker was presenting a paper. I found the whole affair very adversarial. I found many things to be more and more adversarial, especially when attached to university affairs. At the speaking event, I observed the author being interrogated by people in the room, including our class sitting in on the reading. The audience made a series of hostile criticisms on the merit, validity, and value of the author’s scholarship. I remember the author sweating, fidgeting, and speaking with pressure as he answered each successive question from the listeners.

When I explained how I perceived the event, Dr. D laughed. She said, ‘It was just a friendly academic conversation.’ I couldn’t have disagreed more with her. And as time unfolded, and a larger term paper was due, I realized I was no shape to write a paper for a graduate seminar unless I was more focused and devoting my energy to coursework, and not fighting windmills across the academy. So, I agreed to withdraw from the class without pause.

My Label

I didn’t see much of Dr. D after I withdrew from the class, but her legacy from that semester was firmly intact. I was a self-identifying student with disabilities. Specifically, a psychiatric disability. Now I had a label and was a giant moving target for university staff ready to document my forced withdrawal from the semester.

The disabilities department had all my medical information, and I signed papers to release everything to the school regarding my psychiatric history. This was a big mistake. My medical information was used to build an argument that I was unfit to continue as a student. My current behavior, given the history also down on paper, signaled to the staff, who were poorly trained on people in psychiatric crisis, that I might also be sick right now. As much as past history is a predictor of future behavior, in my case, however, my new symptoms were attached to a new, emerging disorder and first episode psychosis.

By the time I was in a full blown psychotic break, it was time for the disabilities reception. I had the opportunity to honor three people who were important to my success – albeit ultimate demise – with coursework, campus life, and any access issue I had with campus services due to my disability. I choose to take the time to honor these people, because in that last semester I had fewer than few allies, and the ones that were there mattered very much to me in keeping hope alive that I would resolve the graduate school issues, my loitering charge, and all problems created as a result of responding to the admission decision so reactively and without thinking about the long-term effect my behavior on campus would have on my health for a very long time into the future.

Stephanie

These people mattered so much, and I wrote a little blurb for each honoree. The first person I honored was my department secretary, of the English undergraduate department. Stephanie was always very friendly, respectful and concerned with my happiness, even in the final throes of the semester. She was very supportive, even when she couldn’t directly change the political climate in the department, and helpful when the restrictions limited my ability to visit the department office in person. For the later phases of the semester, I was only communicating with Stephanie via email, largely because I wasn’t allowed in the office without the campus police responding. Stephanie was always there to help, even when I wasn’t there to be present.

Dr. W

The second faculty member I honored was Dr. W. Dr. W. offered counseling to me, as a friend and former professor who had taught my Shakespeare class. I visited Dr. W as much as possible, updating her regularly on the unfolding of events. She would offer her feedback, in the most reassuring, yet critical, manner as possible, to both soothe my anger and offer an alternative perspective. Dr. W was the only staff member to recommend me to the Graduate School in English.

To this day, I have her recommendation saved. I re-read it to reflect on my standing as a student in reality, versus the delusion I created, or at least participated in without consent. Reading her recommendation and knowing she stood courageously in the face of the department and beside her student when she knew the outcome would be catastrophic, or at least a giant nuisance to the integrity of people in the department who marked my file as rejected for graduate study, Dr. W. did her very best to make sure the fall-out didn’t hurt me or jeopardize my work as a student.

I visited Dr. W when I returned to campus as a social worker student. She was still there in her office when I went back to the department. She told me very candidly she was battling new demons and handling other incidents with students on campus. Even more candidly, she said another student one year after I graduated from Binghamton succumbed to a similar condition. She said the student might have also had a similar response from the department staff, if it wasn’t from the lessons learned by some faculty from my incident on how to improve campus response to people in psychiatric crisis.

Dr. G

The final faculty member I honored was Dr. G. Dr. G was my professor in English for several courses. He believed in my passion, my skill, and my dedication to learning. When I began to unravel, he also became a friend to me. He never judged the changes in my personality, speech, or behavior. Indeed, when I was with Dr. G it felt like old times on campus, even when the very department was becoming unhinged. Dr. G was very authentic, and I learned a lot from him about being an academic with heart and integrity, rather than an elitist, ladder-climbing scholar with an agenda, like I had come across at the beginning of the year.

I never felt dismayed, disillusioned, or without hope when I was in the presence of Dr. G. To this day, I keep tabs on his whereabouts and his own journey through the chronicles of higher education.