The Collected Schizophrenias: Essays

by Esmé Weijun Wang

Rarely did I experience such a radical and visceral imbalance of power as I did as a psychiatric inpatient amid clinicians who knew me only as illness in human form. During that first hospitalization, I learned that clinicians control when inpatients are granted privileges, such as being able to go downstairs for meals or outside to smoke for ten minutes twice a day. Most important, it was my team of clinicians who decided when I could go home. I became accustomed to playacting for the benefit of doctors: Look! I’m happy! I’m fine! In response to “Are you thinking about hurting yourself or others?” there was only one proper answer, which, regardless of what I said, was always followed by suspicious, persistent questioning. Knowing that it was time for me to talk about being crazy in front of a group of such people, even as a free woman, ratcheted up the rhythm of my already frantic heart.