Garth 1967

Garth-1967 Originally uploaded by musicmuse_ca

He was 15 years old, and in his first mental institution in upstate NY. That summer of 1967, he had run away from home to San Francisco for the "Summer of Love" in Haight Ashbury. When he returned to NYC in the Fall, he was so psychotic that my parents had him committed to an all-boys institution just outside of NYC. This place, like all the other places he was put into from this point on did nothing to help him, and a lot to hurt him and make things worse.

When he was admitted, they got into a power struggle with him over his hair, and made him cut it. It was all downhill from there. They completely ignored his budding drug addiction, and had all of us do mandatory family therapy. 

 

It was awful. My parents were separated, and fighting over money and everything else. Blaming each other for the condition Garth was in. We all rode up to the facility for the family sessions together (mom, dad, me and my other brother). The worst was coming home, when Mom would go into a rage for anything we said during the session. And Dad would just sit there seething and fighting with mom. Needless to say, we didn't last long in family therapy, because we children soon learned it wasn't worth it to say anything. 

 

My brother Garth was a terror, dangerous and violent. The only respite I got from him was when he would run away, or was locked up someplace. He terrorized me all my life until he disappeared forever on a pass from his last stay at Bellevue in 1981. But he was mentally ill, and deserved better from those who were supposed to care for him

 

As did I.

 

I wrote this poem a few years later, when Garth was first institutionalized at Bellevue Hospital in NYC

 

 "Brother at Bellevue" by Beth K 

 

Pale, thin and grey, frightened hands tremble at voices who speak of betrayal. 

With slipper, bare foot, pajamas and bathrobe he wanders and stares stares and wanders stares and eats stares and sleeps 

Eyes water, chapped face, hair disheveled, body shakes looking bleakly, blankly 

Drugged days make him tired tired of life tired of boredom tired of green walls surrounding him 

Reading comics, watching T.V cot to lie on, cigarettes to smoke, he smokes and dreams dreams and smokes dreams and schemes dreams and screams. 

Afternoon visits bring money and m&m's 

Trembling fingers touch his eyebrow 

A mother fights her tears trying to talk of days not years...