Read Online Charles Manson Now by Marlin Marynick - Free Book Online

writings. He would often isolate himself, forget to eat, grow weak, and deteriorate. His manuscripts filled boxes upon boxes, stacked on top of each other on almost every surface in his apartment. When I accepted a new job, I took a trip to his home to say goodbye and wish him well. He opened the door, looked at me, and then quickly glanced at the baseball bat in the corner before returning his gaze to my face. I made a quick exit, and Barry landed himself back in the hospital.
    I showed Manson’s letters to my friend and colleague Dr. Kumar, a psychiatrist. He described the letters as “disjointed and nonsensical,” and even though he was unable to utilize them in making a diagnosis, he felt that Manson must suffer from some sort of psychotic disorder. As I became increasingly acquainted with things Manson had written, I was reminded more and more of a particular patient with whom I’d had the privilege of working.
    It’s been about five years since I’ve seen Dwayne; he eventually ended up in long-term care, a sort of group home setting. He wasa brilliant man, an engineer, but he suffered what is commonly known as a “nervous breakdown” when his wife left him. He couldn’t cope, and his life started to fall apart, most visibly at work. His colleagues tried to compensate for the deficit in his performance, but it eventually became too obvious that Dwayne wasn’t well, and they had to take him to the hospital. Dwayne didn’t respond well to psychiatric medications. On them, he would arch back like David Lee Roth, a fixed grimace on his face, and bellow so violently that sometimes he couldn’t catch his breath.
    I can still remember watching him write from the table in his hospital room, papers everywhere. I would often have to wait a few extra minutes for him to finish. He wrote on any and every surface available, mostly messages about what it meant for people to be kind to one another. He often put words together in ways that made no apparent sense, yet sometimes the combinations just clicked, and, after reading a particularly lyrical phrase, I would sometimes find myself thinking, “This would be the perfect name for a band.”
    It is very difficult to accept being diagnosed with a mental health disorder. Very rarely do people with mental illness seek help. When they do, it is normal for patients to start a prescription, begin feeling better, stop taking their medication, and relapse. A lot of this has to do with the terrible side effects associated with these medications. I can remember going to the psychiatric unit to take Dwayne out on a pass for a cup of coffee. Dwayne had just received his medication, and the nurse had to make sure he took some water with his pills because Dwayne was an expert at “cheeking” them. Immediately after, Dwayne excused himselfto go to the washroom. Outside the door, I could hear him hacking and coughing. I knew what he was up to. When he came out, I asked him if he’d taken his medication. He looked at me, confused. “Of course not,” he said. “What do you think I am -crazy?”
    People with mental illness or emotional problems often have difficulty explaining their experiences; it is hard for them to find someone in which to confide, someone who understands them. So I often encourage patients to journal in order to express what they would ordinarily internalize about their illnesses. But Manson’s writings, like Dwayne’s, were completely devoid of any acknowledgment of mental illness. Both of their writings functioned, not as coping mechanisms, but as tangible discourse with a world they expected to receive and appreciate their ideas, even though their values differed starkly from those commonly held by most people. My fondest memory of Dwayne stems from his return to the psychiatric unit after being away on a pass. In his hand he held a fresh, crisp, brand new five-dollar bill. He asked the nurse at the desk if he could use the pencil sharpener, something he’d