1974, April 4: Anonymous, "The agony of the years after"
On November 13, 1964, a young man, who will here remain anonymous, was involuntarily committed by his parents to a private mental hospital in a Southern state. There he was given what one of his doctors termed "a course of electroconvulsive treatment"—electric shock. After hospitalization of two and a half months, the patient was discharged to his parents.
In an interview with Jonathan Ned Katz on April 29, 1974, the subject indicated that his parents' desire to "cure" his homosexuality was the reason for his confinement and shock treatment.[1] This is verified by a number of incidents recalled by the subject, as well as by recent correspondence with his parents concerning their reason for committing him.
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A: I was born in 1940, and I lived in one Southern state for my first eighteen years, till I graduated from high school. Then I went to art school in a neighboring state, stayed two and a half years there and quit. Then I went to a nearby city and stayed about three years. During that time I visited my parents off and on, and they even came to visit me. At the end of one particular visit, they asked why I didn't go to a psychiatrist. I said I didn't think there was any reason to. I didn't think they were serious. They never came out and asked about my Gay life. That was a taboo subject with them. They said they just thought I might need psychological help. Even when I was sixteen they had taken me to a psychologist to have tests; they didn't want me to go to art school unless the doctor thought I was worth it.
In 1962, I was twenty-two. 1962 is the first commitment. I was living in this state near my parents and I'd gotten a job. I understood later that they came to that state to arrange this commitment.
In the United States, it's not hard for your nearest relatives to commit you, especially if they can pay for it.67 And this was very cheap. This was a state hospital, so it was only $37.50 a week.
The policemen came for me at work. They said, "We're not allowed to explain anything. You have to come with us." That was it. I realized what was happening when they drove me through the hospital gates and I saw the sign: state hospital. I said to myself, "Well, they did it. I guess my parents are more concerned than I realized--for my well-being."
What made them commit me was a postcard I had gotten from an older friend. My mother asked, "What man writes to another man, 'There are many pretty boys on board ship but I don't touch a one'? Now what does he mean by that?" My mother brought it up to the psychiatrist when she committed me the first time.
I stayed in that state hospital and I just got bored. There were 2,700 patients, and I saw a doctor twice. They did ask about my ideas about sexuality. I had this German female doctor. I told her what I thought that sex expressions could not be limited to one sex, and peoples' sex expression could be what they wished; I said a homosexual or a hetero- sexual act, it doesn't matter. She said, "Don't you think that's abnormal?" I said, "No." They let it go at that. I stayed there until I got tired of it. After seven weeks I decided I would leave. I walked away.
JNK: Didn't they come after you?
A: I went to live in a city about sixty miles away. I kept clear of anyone my parents might contact, anyone I'd known before. I called my parents after six months.
JNK: Your parents hadn't tried to track you down?
A: I don't know. They didn't say anything about it.
Almost two years went by. I did odd jobs and things. In 1964, I came to New York and stayed five months doing temporary work, typing mostly. Then my former art teacher, who was retiring, offered me her class--back in my hometown. I had never tried teaching, so I said OK. I went back there in September of 1964, and I started giving art lessons. On November 13, my parents committed me again.
JNK: When you went back home, weren't you afraid that your parents might commit you again?
A: I didn't have any fear of that; I should have. It came as a total surprise when they committed me again, just like the first time. I thought my parents had gotten over feeling that I was sick.
This was a much more sophisticated hospital. It was like a resort. During the time I had shock treatment it cost $350 a week.
JNK: How did you get committed that time?
A: I don't remember the actual details, but I do have copies of the letters I wrote from the hospital. In one I said, "The same thing happened that happened before." So it must have been the same procedure: they just went to the police and signed the papers.
JNK: Was it specifically because you were gay?
A: I didn't know until I was out. I actually asked afterward. I was visiting my sister-in-law, and I asked her, "Why did they commit me? Did they really think I needed help?" She said, "Oh, you know; it was all over the gay bit. That's all they were concerned about. They don't think you should be gay." My brother, her husband, was the third signature on my commitment that time. He knew I was gay. I'd met him at a gay party once. He said to me, "What are you doing here?" I said, "What are you doing here?" He said, "I won't write home if you don't." He was already married at the time. Maybe he was guilty about some gay activity. I had no feeling of guilt. After my commitment, my brother said, "If I'd known what they were going to do, I would never have signed the paper. But I thought it was the best thing to do at the time. Our parents were so concerned."
JNK: Do you remember what state of mind you were in the month before you were committed in November 1964?
A: I've gone back to my notes and letters from that time thinking maybe I was totally flipped out. But I wasn't. I found notes and letters I wrote the day of my commitment that indicate I knew what I was doing. There were a few depressing times. There were arguments with my parents about why I was continuing relationships with people who they considered abnormal. I wrote a note to myself the day before my commitment about an argument we'd had. It was about writing to my friends who were obviously homosexual. I must have told my mother it was none of her business.
JNK: Your parents were reading your mail?
A: They read a few things.
JNK: Do you think your parents feel guilty now about committing you, and about the shock treatment?
A: A person who has become a close friend of theirs is a psychologist, and he asked them, "Why did you ever commit him for that?" My mother answered, "We just didn't know." Now she says they shouldn't have done it. I realize that they did what they thought was right at the time. They felt responsible, the typical attitude of intelligent parents. If they weren't so intelligent I think it wouldn't have happened. They didn't know that shock treatment was so bad. My mother said, "We didn't know what we were doing. The doctors convinced us to do it. We never would have done it if we knew the result."
JNK: What was it like in the institution that time? Were there other Gay people there?
A: I think so, but then you really never knew. Everyone was undergoing the same kind of shock treament, both males and females.
They give you sodium pentothal beforehand, but I do remember being taken to one particular shock treatment. You're in your pajamas, and you just lie down on a table. Then you don't remember anymore because they give you a shock. The shock itself erases anything you were experiencing before, any memory of it. I had seventeen shock treatments--I did have awareness enough one of the nurses how many times I had had it, and she said, "I'll look it up." She said seventeen.
JNK: When you come out of the shock treatment, what is it like?
A: I remember being shaved with an electric razor and thinking, "Isn't that strange? I can't move." I thought, "Why is he shaving me, and where am I, and why can't I do it myself, and why can't I stand up, and why can't I move my arms?" Then I probably lost consciousness again. You're not aware of much.
I do remember after my own shock treatment listening to other people having shock treatment. I don't think that should be allowed. I was in the next ward. You hear that horrible scream. There's one loud scream--"Ahhhhh!!!"—very loud, each time they give you a shock, as the lungs are being evacuated. You hear what sounds like hundreds of people having shock treatment. They always did it in the morning, it went on all morning, three hours of those loud, single screams, one person at a time.
I do remember being very affectionate in the hospital during the time I had shock treatment. I thought I knew everyone. I would hug anyone.
JNK: That seems to be the opposite of what was intended.
A: Right, it was like making out with everyone, it didn't make any difference, male or female. I was going around feeling very close to everyone. They didn't respond with any affection. But I would do it anyway.
In the hospital, I made copies of all my letters. I had a feeling at that time that I wouldn't remember, or that they wouldn't send them. I found out later that they hadn't sent some of them. John, who had been my lover in New York, told me later that he got no mail from me. He said he kept writing letters to someone who didn't answer. Another person, a friend, did get my letters. There's a gap in my letters in December '64. I always say I had shock treatment for Christmas that year. But I don't know if I actually had one on December 25.
The two doctors I had just weren't very hip people. One was a more aware, advanced person, a younger man. He was a very intelligent and much more involved person than the other. I remember what he said these were his very words, I remember this very well. He said, "I don't see any reason why you should have been here. I've read through your files, I've read your whole case history, and you should never have been here." He said, "There's nothing wrong with being gay. That's up to you. There's certainly no reason for you to stay." He had just come to the hospital, he was new. The very morning he said that my other doctor had said something quite different. I don't know how many times I had discussed with him my ideas of sexuality, but finally he screamed out, "Then you're sick and I will not see you again! This is your last interview."
The same day, the new doctor said I could go home. I told him, "I'm in no state to go home." At that time I was so disoriented I didn't want to leave. He said, "Well, you can get out. I could let you go today if you want." I thought, "Is he just saying this? Maybe this is just another game." I became wary of their games. You don't trust anyone at that point. At the same time I wanted them to release me. When you're confined, you do have this sense that you want freedom more than anything. I said, "I'll go in a few days." I said I'd have to call my parents to come and get me. So we made all the arrangements and I left.
I was still in no state to be at home. My mother would ask me. "Well, what do you want to do?" She still felt very concerned. She said. "Your mail and Christmas gifts are in there from all your friends in New York .*' I said, "What friends in New York? I was never in New York." She gave me this look and said, "Don't talk like that! You know you were in New York. You were there for five months. How can you be so silly?" You're very sensitive at that point and you think, "My God. what's happened to me?" You don't remember anything.
Then another time we got to discussing homosexuality 1 said 1 still felt it didn't make any difference which sex I had a feeling for if I liked someone. She screamed, "$6,200 for nothing! You haven't changed a bit." She said, "It was a total waste of time and money. The psychiatrists, they're stupid people, they don't know what they're doing."
I had group therapy with my parents after the shock treament. The psychologist who didn't agree with my ideas of sexuality conducted this group, with the parents and outpatients, fifteen to eighteen people, once a week.
In the group, I was the only Gay one. At one session they brought up the Gay issue. We always went to the main problems we were supposed to be there for. I said it was not a problem for me. They said, "Don't you think you're abnormal, thinking you can have feelings for males as well as females?" I said, "No. I think you could be subnormal for not being able to have those feelings." The doctor says, "I'm afraid we got him too late." That was his explanation. Right in front of me he says, "He should have had therapy earlier and it would have been different." I remember the doctor saying he had had a homosexual in group therapy, "and now he's married."
After that particular session, on the way home, this horrible fight erupted in the car. My mother started hitting me. She hit me first so I figured I'd hit her back. I kicked her in the face, from the back seat of the car. Usually, shock treatment makes you docile, and at the time I was taking these heavy tranquilizers, too. My father was upset. He wouldn't get involved in the screaming and yelling. He just kept out of it and said we should calm down. I don't think he ever felt as responsible as my mother did for my homosexuality. She really thought she'd created a monster.
I only went to about six sessions of group therapy, and then I came back to New York. I wanted to see who this person was who was writing to me, and to see all these other people I was supposed to know. I was fascinated to find out about an experience I was supposed to have had which I had absolutely no memory of. When I had come home from the hospital, I had read all of these letters from total strangers. I had no memory of them.
One person was obviously my lover; he wrote me these wonderful letters. I thought, "I have to see who he is." He planned to meet me when I finally decided to go back to New York. I thought, "How will I recognize him?" Well, he recognized me, of course. When I met the other people I had known, I didn't remember them at all. But I pretended I did. I went along with everything. I became a very good actor then, by acting like I had a memory, which I didn't. I had absolutely none. It was extremely difficult.
I told my lover after about three months. I said, "I didn't remember you when I came back." It upset him so much that I didn't tell anyone else after that. He said, "How did you do what you did?" He meant—make love. I said, "I just did it. I must have done it before, so I did it." Sometimes people would see me and say, "Hi! Where have you been? I haven't seen you for years." That's a weird experience when you have no recollection of them at all. You act like you remember them because you don't want to offend them. I did explain a few times, but the explanation was so long it just wasn't worth it, and people got so upset hearing it that they didn't want to talk.
I had the most extreme depressions after shock treatment three years. During these periods of depression it just seemed so hopeless, like I didn't have the strength to go on. Yet I'd resolved I'd never commit suicide. The depressions came from realizing that I didn't have my full faculties and from not knowing how long my memory would take to come back. I'd think: "It's going on and on and on; it's been five years, six years, eight years." You think it will never end. The depressions resulted from an accumulation of things, from it seeming such a struggle to concentrate. To accomplish any little thing seemed such an effort. I became almost immobile.
Other times I'd be very spacy, very up. After the shock treatment the doctor told me, "You're supposed to take these heavy tranquilizers for at least two years." After I was home for a while I took a drink my parents offered me, and I realized I was drooling. I couldn't even hold my mouth shut. I said, "I'm not taking these pills. This is dangerous." I threw the pills out. Maybe I wouldn't have spaced if I had taken the tranquilizers. I figured I'd rather space than not be able to function.
After shock treatment, it's like you've gotten stoned, like you're spacing. For the first eight years after shock treatment, I never knew if I would be able to connect my thoughts. I'd be walking down the street in New York—not know where I was. I'd think, "My God, I have to find out where I am. Why doesn't anything look familiar?" I would be typing at work and suddenly not be able to remember what city I was in. I'd think, "I have to remember!" A lot of times I'd forget my name and address. That might last for an hour and a half. But that's a long time when your mind is really going. The feeling was panic. But then I always said to myself, "Sit down and it'll come back." I always had awareness enough to think, "It's going to be temporary." When I left the hospital the doctor had said. "You'll have times when you won't know where you are—you'll feel disoriented, but it'll be temporary." I was told that much.
The fear of loss of memory is one of the worst experiences I had after shock treatment, the fear that I might at any point experience this amnesia. That amnesia happened maybe a thousand times. And you never know how long it will last, and you'll just forget where you are, for a few seconds, or minutes, or an hour. It could happen anywhere. You don't remember what you were doing or saying. And you don't want to show that you're upset, that you don't know where you are. Those memory lapses are over now, mostly. I noticed a definite change in January. 1972. Almost suddenly my thoughts connected. It was a wonderful feeling.
On the street a couple of years ago a woman said. "Sir!" and she reached out and grabbed my hand. She said, "Would you just stand by me for a few minutes? I want to get my bearings, I just want someone to be here. I don't know where I am. Will you tell me where I am?" I told her and she said, "Oh, thank you." I asked her later if she'd had shock treatment. She said, "Yes." I asked, "How long were you in the hospital?" She said. "Oh, I don't remember--a long time, many months. I just got out of the hospital, and I don't want to go back." She said, "My son thinks I shouldn't have left." She calmed down, then she remembered what she had to do. I had coffee with her and talked to her for about twenty minutes. I was on my lunch hour.
I think the people who prescribe shock treatment don't know what it can do to you for years afterward. They know what the temporary result is. The doctor emphasized that there would be a memory loss. He said the treatment "rearranges your memory bank"—I think that's the terminology he used. But it doesn't rearrange it. For a while it removes it.
The main thing about shock is not the treatment itself, it's the agony of the years after--always having this sense that you will forget exactly where you are. That's bad, you know?
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NOTE
A strikingly similar report of a female victim of shock treatment (though not involving homosexuality) is by Berton Roueche, "Annals of Medicine; As Empty As Eve," The New Yorker, Sept. 9, 1974, p. 84-100.