Locked Up - On SUSPICION of POSSIBLE Thought Crimes.  By Gail Sandra Klein                                                        ********************************** ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ This is a work in progress, detailing the violation I experienced when I reached out to the police for help stopping my stalker. I don't know how often I will write on this page, or if it will ever be completed.  But I do know that anyone who is alone and vulnerable is at risk. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- September 5, 2011: In the psychiatric lock-up (I'll get to what led to it, by and by), where I was imprisoned against my will, everything there was supposed to be "voluntary", except that they made you do all those "voluntary" things anyway.  The "doctor" assigned to my "case", who I've found out lied about nearly everything, since I got the full records of my incarceration, was a man who suffered from either excessive self-esteem bordering on narcissism, or over-compensated for low self-esteem bordering on the ridiculous.  Every day he arrived in an expensive, immaculate, unwrinkled suit, conspicuous gold jewelry, hair carefully arranged and set with pomade, shoes with a mirror polish, and enough cologne to kill an asthmatic.  (And he wasn't the gay one!) He spent roughly 5 to 7 minutes with me per day (contrary to the 15 or 20 stated in the records), questioning me as to whether I were racist, was I still thinking about my "neighbor", had I moved to this state to buy a gun, etc.  Since I was there only on suspicion of thought crimes, all his questions were ridiculous.  But the entire experience was an absurdity from hell.  One morning, I just happened to be talking briefly with the nurses about the view from the window (most of the nurses were fine, and regarded me as a fellow human).  The "doctor" emerged from the exterior locked-off corridor, and stopped, because a couple nurses and I were having a conversation.  He felt it was necessary to know what we were talking about.  One of the nurses replied, and he gave me a look which amply conveyed, "You are not allowed to make conversation with the staff!  You are not at our level!"  The conversation stopped, and I moved to a neutral area, where I wouldn't pollute any of the "real people". The "doctor" was a sadistic creep.  Every day he'd say I could probably go home "tomorrow", and of course it wouldn't happen.  He'd find a new reason for keeping me there.  They were giving me a "voluntary" psychiatric poison and raising the dosage so drastically and quickly it was making me seriously ill.  One day I might have said something about it, and his antennae twitched, because if I were reacting badly to the crap, he'd have an actual medical excuse for incarcerating me, even though they caused it.  So I hid how sick it made me as best I could.  The nurses were very decent and gave it to me AFTER the dreaded interrogation to minimize how sick I'd look DURING the interrogation.  Some of the nurses felt I didn't belong in lock-up.  They couldn't verbalize that, but their various actions did. The "doctor" told me, more than once, that if I EVER called the police again about the stalker freak, I would be PERMANENTLY COMMITTED to the state psychiatric institution.  Also, if I should miss, after my release, my outpatient appointment (with a different shrink), an EMERGENCY VAN would come for me, to PERMANENTLY COMMIT ME to the state psychiatric institution. Now, remember - I had committed no crime.  I was, and continue to be, the victim of a clever psychopath.  When the police responded to my call for help, I was non-violent, non-threatening, expressing no wish to harm myself or anyone else, and not loud.  I did look messy, that was about the only true statement in the records.  And for that, I would be permanently committed?  [You can see, perhaps, how this has partly held back a police investigation, because I've been so afraid of the police, and basically everyone, since this all began/happened.] Oh, there is more to it; there's what the previous shrink I suffered in order to get the drugs I wanted had to say that helped them destroy me.  He was so afraid of any scandal (it wasn't just the drugs), he pretty much decimated me, so that, if I said anything, they couldn't possibly believe me.    The entire nightmare is like a poison within me that has to come out.  I have to write about it.  It was a rape of my psyche and of my humanity, in the midst of the one with the psychopath.  They marked me.  Their labels forever dispute the validity of my judgment, perception, and credibility.  Stephen King couldn't have thought this shit up.                                                                    All Rights Reserved; Gail Sandra Klein