After my father toured what would become our neighborhood in Fairfax, California, he knocked on the nearest door and asked the man who answered if it was nice living there.
That man told me this
...
[+]
2016.
I am a new patient at a partial hospitalization program in Rancho Cucamonga, California. I didn't want to come here; for the duration of my time in this program I'll be living alone in an Extended Stay America hotel with no way to get around but to drive, and I am phobic of driving after electroconvulsive treatments caused me to forget how. I am also prohibited from seeing or speaking with other patients outside of program hours, which span from 9 a.m. to 3 p.m. five days a week, and I don't know a soul in this area. But I was told that I had no other options, that this program — Valenta — was the only one that could adequately address my present struggles. Valenta has a motto, "Adverto Vitum," which I'll constantly be reminded translates to "to turn toward life." The program was founded by Dr. Jeffrey Mar, who currently serves as both the clinical director and the staff psychiatrist. Dr. Mar is showing me around.
It's a handsome space with large glass windows and sliding glass doors, spotless carpets, artificial plants that nearly pass for live ones, and modern furniture and lighting. Patients and staff therapists occasionally walk by, and to my eye this seems like a fairly pleasant place, almost normal — until a woman walks by (if you could call it walking) supported by two therapists, her entire body tremoring violently, her legs shaking and buckling. On first sight I assume she's in the late stages of a gruesome degenerative disease. Her face is riddled with involuntary spasms, and the corner of her upper lip curls away from her teeth in what could be mistaken for a snarl were it not for the grief and fear in her eyes. The therapists are leading her to the main group room where, Dr. Mar informs me, she will be having her graduation ceremony shortly. He asks if I'm curious about her condition, asks me to guess at the cause of her physical state. I think maybe Multiple Sclerosis, or early onset Parkinson's.
Dr. Mar smiles and shakes his head, no.
"Trauma," he tells me proudly, as though she is his prized experiment. "All trauma."
Apparently when she admitted to Valenta, the woman had no physical symptoms at all.
I am a new patient at a partial hospitalization program in Rancho Cucamonga, California. I didn't want to come here; for the duration of my time in this program I'll be living alone in an Extended Stay America hotel with no way to get around but to drive, and I am phobic of driving after electroconvulsive treatments caused me to forget how. I am also prohibited from seeing or speaking with other patients outside of program hours, which span from 9 a.m. to 3 p.m. five days a week, and I don't know a soul in this area. But I was told that I had no other options, that this program — Valenta — was the only one that could adequately address my present struggles. Valenta has a motto, "Adverto Vitum," which I'll constantly be reminded translates to "to turn toward life." The program was founded by Dr. Jeffrey Mar, who currently serves as both the clinical director and the staff psychiatrist. Dr. Mar is showing me around.
It's a handsome space with large glass windows and sliding glass doors, spotless carpets, artificial plants that nearly pass for live ones, and modern furniture and lighting. Patients and staff therapists occasionally walk by, and to my eye this seems like a fairly pleasant place, almost normal — until a woman walks by (if you could call it walking) supported by two therapists, her entire body tremoring violently, her legs shaking and buckling. On first sight I assume she's in the late stages of a gruesome degenerative disease. Her face is riddled with involuntary spasms, and the corner of her upper lip curls away from her teeth in what could be mistaken for a snarl were it not for the grief and fear in her eyes. The therapists are leading her to the main group room where, Dr. Mar informs me, she will be having her graduation ceremony shortly. He asks if I'm curious about her condition, asks me to guess at the cause of her physical state. I think maybe Multiple Sclerosis, or early onset Parkinson's.
Dr. Mar smiles and shakes his head, no.
"Trauma," he tells me proudly, as though she is his prized experiment. "All trauma."
Apparently when she admitted to Valenta, the woman had no physical symptoms at all.