By straitjacketkwf2
My mind was reeling. I was trapped inside Dr. Erickson’s private asylum that operated as if it were for the criminally insane. The “treatment” consisted of the use of physical restraint and drugs to modify behavior. I persisted in maintaining my will against the attempts so far to change my belief system, even if I did question aspects of my being. It is true, I had repressed any sexual feelings while I was in school and in my first months as a cop. And now this: being forced to bring back those questions I had asked myself and then so easily dismissed.
What happed to me next is, even now, still painful to recall. As I lay on the jail cell green and shiny vinyl mattress in a canvas straitjacket, which I later learned was a Posey friction buckle jacket, in a diaper and leg cuffs, I realized how vulnerable I was. I heard someone’s heavy footsteps making their way walking down the corridor to our cell; it was Nelson with a meal.
During the entire stay in the asylum the meals were never breakfast, lunch or dinner, just meals. I was never really sure if it were day or night. This was deliberate on the part of the asylum; neither Dave nor I knew how long we had been in this hellhole of a place.
