In my rhetoric and composition class this semester, we're reading a book about mental illness and how it affects people within the prison system.  We watched part of a movie called the Soloist today.  Its really hard for me to watch things like that, because I know many kids who will probably end up in similar situations.  On the street, raving, unable to get treatment because they're unaware that they need treatment.  Homeless.  In fact, I know of at least one kid who is homeless.  I remember, one Easter, sitting next to him and listening to him tell me all about how his girlfriend was an armadillo.  After he was discharged, the next anyone heard of him was that he was living under the Bijou bridge.  I know many kids who had early signs of schizophrenia.  Who were already medicated for bipolar disorder.  What will happen to them when they become adults and are no longer covered under Medicaid and are no longer wards of the state?  I imagine that a good majority of them will become homeless or end up committing some crime and wind up back in the prison system, where they will languish.  Or they will get caught in the revolving door of prison, committing crimes, being jailed for a while, until they are released and they commit more crimes.  It breaks my heart to know that that's the future of these kids that I loved and sacrificed for.  Some of them not, but many of them so.  Especially the young ones.  Like the boy who stabbed me.  I really did love him.  He was on his way to getting into a foster home when it happened.  And then, instead, he was committed for two years, where I imagine he got minimal treatment for his many issues.  So, he would have gotten out....last year, or maybe this year.  And he'll be 14 or 15. Bigger.  Still volatile.  Untreated.  And he'll most likely reoffend.  Because of one incident.  One day.  Because of my stupid decision.

So, I was fiddling around on facebook last night, and discovered that an old friend of mine that I worked with at this treatment center added one of our old kids as a friend.  I was curious, so I clicked on his name that linked me to his profile.  I loved this kid, and he and I went through a lot together, but I'm not going to lie, when I saw his face, the first thing that I felt was fear.  And sorrow.  Let me reiterate.  I loved this kid.  He and I spent a lot of time together.  I was his "buddy."  Everytime I saw him, he'd get happy and say "hey there's my buddy!" We'd go on walks together.  We spent a lot of time talking about how he copes with things and bonding.  But, he was also HIGHLY volatile.  He hurt me.  A lot. He was a young kid, but he was abnormally strong.  Which, isn't that abnormal for kids who've been severely abused.  One day, he was trying to get into a cabin to hurt a kid he was upset at.  I stood in front of the door to keep him from entering, and he put his hands around my throat.  His thumbs were on my esophagus, and he pushed down, trying to crush my windpipe.  All I could see in his face was pure hate.  Another day, again, he was trying to get into the cabin to hurt someone.  Another staff member and I were going to restrain him, and he punched me, hard, in the face.  Another day, another restraint, he pulled me to the ground by my hair. No one could get me out, so I had to call someone, while in that state, to come help me out.  In front of 10 other kids.  Another day, he and another kid were upset about something, and running around campus.  He had gotten a railroad spike somehow.  6 inches long or more.  This was after I had gotten stabbed in the face with a screwdriver.  I was alone with him, and he raised the spike to my face like he was going to stab me with it.  I would have had no recourse, and would have been very severely hurt.  Its hard for me to remember these things.  Even almost a year after I left this treatment center, I react, viscerally, to this stuff.  I'm told I'm tough a lot, but I don't feel tough when I get so scared like this.