Teenage Jesus Pours Vodka on Cornflakes & Listens to Metallica! He Really Does! - Drug Rehab at Asia's Most Famous Hospital - Part 6

(Part five of this series is here: Everyone is Your Teacher: Out of the Mouths of Babes Comes Great Wisdom - Drug Rehab at Asia's Most Famous Hospital - Part 5)

I don't remember the walk to D-41, my new hospital ward, but it couldn't have been very far. When the males nurses brought me from D-40 to D-41, I was carrying my few possessions; my drinking cup, toothbrush and toothpaste, shampoo and a few changes of underwear and tee-shirts. There wasn't any uniform to wear at the wards, only ones pajamas. Since at home I normally didn't use pajamas and slept in underwear and a tee-shirt all the time, I wore that at the hospital with some short pants. It was quite comfortable actually.


Before the door opened to D-41 I expected to see the same thing I saw at D-40; a bunch of people minding their own business and not really paying attention to the new patients. I wasn't as nervous as before because, as the doctors and nurses had told me, it was readily apparent that there were no dangerous or violent people in these wards at all. Everyone was crazy but they were gentle crazy and wouldn't hurt a fly. The dangerous and violent ones were kept separate.

I stood before the door of D-41 and, when they opened it, I could see at least twenty or so other patients looking straight at me. D-41 was twice the space of  of D-40 and my doctors told me that there were 60 patients there. In the back, of the people standing there looking at us, I thought I saw a very tall young man who didn't look Japanese, but I wasn't sure as I didn't have my glasses (didn't need them I thought). 


I was quite (and pleasantly) surprised to see that he was, indeed, another foreigner. What a joy! Even though I could speak Japanese, sometimes it is pleasant ( and restful to your mind) to be able to speak to others in your native tongue. Being foreigners in a foreign land he too seemed happy to have me, another foreigner, in D-41. He quickly came to greet me and shook my hand. His name was Rusulan and he was a young Russian man.


When I first saw him, I guessed him to be in his late twenties or, perhaps early thirties. But as we began to talk and I got a good up close look at him it became more and more apparent to me that this wasn't a guy who had fallen out of a job or a marriage due to addiction problems, this was only a boy! The more we talked, the more I began to think I was conversing with a person of high school age. Up close, Rusulan didn't look a day over 18-years-old, if that. He never told me his exact age but his story is unforgettable.


Rusulan had sandy blond hair and a rugged chin. He was a handsome young man and looked to be like the kind of guy you'd see in an advertisement for back-packing or camping equipment or even cigarettes. Though his face had some wrinkles, his skin had a youthful vigor to it. This is what confused me as to his age. Almost everyone who was in drug rehab in D-40 and D-41 seemed to be well over 30, though many of the mental patients were very young. Though it seemed as though Rusulan was well liked by all the other patients and staff, he seemed to me to be completely out of place here. 


Rusulan also had a very curious star shaped scar right in the middle of his forehead. After his very first greeting to me Rusulan asked me to sit down and talk so he could explain what was going on at D-41. He seemed perfectly normal (well, at first, they all do) so, after putting my stuff in my room, I sat with him to talk. We sat at a table and I could get a good look at his very glassy eyes. He looked off into the distance and pointed to the star on his forehead and said,


"See that? See that star shaped scar? That proves that I am the 'Chosen One.'" It was a statement that begged no response from me. Rusulan made it without fanfare nor exclamation. 


"Right!" I nodded my head in agreement. Rusulan's eye movement and blinking were very slow and dulled. I figured the doctors must have had him under some pretty heavy sedation. Rusulan nearly slurred his words and his movements made him look like he was slightly drunk. 

By the way, patients in the hospital, depending on their circumstances, of course, are almost always under some sort of sedation. The protocol demands  that the doctors heavily sedate people in order to prevent them from having flashbacks. Flashbacks can cause brain damage. Depending on how heavy and serious and the length of addiction, the patient's who are in extreme risk of flashbacks will be given the strongest sedation for the longest period of time. I have no idea how long Rusulan was in this situation.  


Rusulan continued to talk about the scar on his forehead. "That scar's been there since before I was born. I am the Chosen One," he added. I nodded and got a chance for a closer look at the scar. But upon closer inspection, it didn't look to be a natural scar at all. It was star-shaped for sure, but it looked like it was carved into his head by a knife... I began to suspect that Rusulan had carved it into his own forehead and that might have been just one episode and another reason why he was at Matsuzawa hospital in the first place. I can't be sure, of course, but that star-shaped scar sure looked to me like a self-inflicted wound! 


He continued on the significance of the star, "Metallica has even written a song about me because of this star on my forehead. Have you ever heard of Metallica?" He asked.


"Yes," I replied. "I've worked as a professional in radio and the music business for many years..." I tried to talk but Rusulan cut me off. I wanted to brag that I worked in radio & the music business, but Rusulan would not allow it. Of course not! Why would the second coming of Christ care whether or not this new dumb addition to D-41 had ever worked in the music business or not? Rusulan went on,


"Metallica wrote the song, 'Master of Puppets' about me. Do you know the song?"


"Yes. I answered." I was surprised. Was Rusulan saying that he knows the guys in Metallica? I guess anything is possible. I was confused. I asked, "What? Wait! You know the guys in Metallica?"


"We know of each other." Rusulan said as he gazed off into the distance.


"So, you guys have met in person? They know your family or what?" I was skeptical.


Rusulan announced, "They know me. That's why they wrote the song for me. Do you know the lyrics to 'Master of Puppets'? That's totally about me and who I am." 


"No. Actually, I don't know the lyrics." Funny, but I was embarrassed to have to admit that. It just goes to show how shallow and thin-skinned I am. Here I was trying to brag to "teenage Jesus" that I worked as a professional at a radio station and it frustrated me that he seemed like he didn't care or didn't believe me! Then he asks if I know the lyrics to a famous song but I don't. Doh!.. Some "professional DJ" eh? I felt so worthless.... 

Rusulan began to recite the lyrics of 'Master of Puppets' from memory;


"Come crawling faster, 

Obey your master, 

Your life burns faster, 

Obey your master, 

Master... 

Master of puppets, 

I'm pulling your strings, 

Twisting your mind and smashing your dreams...


"See?" Rusulan triumphantly claimed. That is proof that this was all written about me, you know that?" He pointed all around the room. "See these people? See all these doctors and nurses? They all do my bidding."


"I.... see...." I answered. 


Of course I couldn't understand the reasoning but what's the point of arguing with the guy? He was completely and totally delusional. It seemed obvious to me that this was an idea that he had been creating and believing for many years and he liked it. Talking with me for ten minutes wasn't going to change any of that!


Rusulan went on like this for twenty or thirty minutes. It was difficult to talk to him, it seemed he liked it best for someone to just listen to him so, after trying to get a few words in edgewise, or changing the subject, I gave up. Talking to Rusulan was like talking to a drunk in a bar; he is having is own conversation and wants you to join in but don't change the subject. He's got something important to tell you and he zones in and out so there's not too much point to saying too awfully much. I began to grow weary of this and asked Rusulan if he didn't mind excusing me so I could go and have a short lay down in my room. He said okay and we agreed to meet later.


I figured that poor Rusulan was in the hospital for some sort of psychosis. I would find out later that it was nothing of the sort. Nevertheless it soon became apparent that Rusulan was going to be one of my best friends in D-41 and prove to be one of the most interesting characters in my entire stay at Matsuzawa hospital... Unfortunately. 


Later on, after taking a nap, I saw Rusulan and he was quite eager to continue with our prior conversation. I wasn't particularly. Rusulan was quite pleased that he had thought he found another patient with whom he could converse with about the ins and outs of the wit and wisdom of the heavy metal band Metallica. I gathered from our conversations that he must have sat alone in his room listening to those albums, over and over, hundreds of times, by himself. Even though I knew little of the band, I had heard their songs a few times. Even with that, though, I was still head and shoulders above the competition in a Metallica trivia quiz held in a mental hospital ward filled with mostly 30 ~ 50-year-old Japanese guys whose knowledge of western music was most probably limited to the Beatles and Glenn Miller' Jazz music (as that is what was played on Red Lobster TV commercials at the time in Japan).   


Rusulan kept insisting on discussing how Metallica lyrics were written about the star scar on his forehead and this was proof positive that he was the chosen one. I think these conversations went on for a day and a half when I finally grew tired of them and decided that I should help the guy out. I knew that telling him that he was full of BS or crazy wasn't a good idea as he might get mad at me and stop talking to me... I mean, in a room full of crazy and detached lonely people, even semi-coherent conversation and spending the time with someone is better than none. I knew I had to be coy about telling him his ideas were nuts. I had an idea.


"Rusulan?" I said,


"Yeah?"


"So, this star on your forehead, this proves that you are the Chosen One, right?"


"Right!" He answered.


"Great. So now, follow me on this one, Rusulan, because I have a great idea!!! I don't know why I didn't think of it before!" 


Rusulan got all excited and crouched closer to me. "What is it? What is your great idea? Tell me!" He said.


"Rusulan, I figured a way that we can get out of here today! Right now!" I looked around to act like I was checking if anyone was watching us.


Rusulan was now just about jumping out of his chair with excitement! "How? Tell me how!" He begged.


"Well, the Chosen One is, you know, the son of God, right?"


"Yeah! Right!" He eagerly agreed.


"Well, then, Rusulan, have you ever figured out that, since you are the son of God and all, that you can do stuff like turn yourself invisible and walk through walls and probably go backward and forward in time?"


Right there I expected that he'd slap me on the back and say something like, "Aw c'mon! You're pulling my leg!" But he didn't. He seemed like he was listening intently and considering everything I was saying. He greatly surprised me when he said, 


"Yeah.... Yeah.... You're right!"


"Uh, oh!" I thought. I didn't expect that. Now I had gotten myself into a mess. Now I was feeding his delusions. Oh what a low life sh*t I was! I decided that the best thing to do was to continue with my plan and that was to let him see by himself that he wasn't the Chosen One. I continued,


"So, what you do, Rusulan, is... You close your eyes and just like that that TV show "Bewitched" you wiggle your nose and think of someplace else and we'll be outta here!"


My heart sank when he eagerly agreed, "Yeah!" and then he closed his eyes. A few seconds later he opened his eyes up and I acted like I did too and, Shazam! We were still in D-41.


"It didn't work!" he said.


Right then, suddenly I couldn't tell if he was pulling my leg or not! I suspected that he was. I said, "I knew it! I had my hopes all up that we could get out of here and then this!... Nope! Sorry, Rusulan, you aren't the Chosen One.... And I had my hopes up too!" Rusulan began to stare blankly again out towards the distance. I felt sorry for him.

"Don't worry about it Rusulan. You'll get out of here soon. Why are you in here, anyway?" 


Rusulan knew the game was up and knew that I didn't believe any of that Chosen One or Metallica nonsense anymore. Why did he tell people that? I don't know, poor guy. Maybe he said those things because of insecurities. Like I said, he was very young and I think, by far, the youngest person there. Maybe he was making these sorts of stories because the others in the ward frightened him? That would be an understandable reaction. Like I said there were very many patients who looked pretty scary. Perhaps he felt that this lie was a sort of self-preservation; a defense mechanism to protect himself, the youngest one of all, and (before I arrived) the only foreigner surrounded in a room full of frightening Japanese adults, from being bullied or treated badly?


Perhaps he learned to have these sorts fears from experiences as the only foreigner at Japanese school. I don't know. If my idea that this concoction that Rusulan had dreamed up as his being the Chosen One was a defense mechanism to scare people away, then that, to me, would seem to indicate that Rusulan was actually probably the most savvy and one of the sanest of the bunch in D-41. 


Rusulan stopped playing games with me after that and told me the truth. He also asked why I was there and I told him. Like I said, when you meet people at Matsuzawa hospital, you never know why they are in there so it is difficult to strike up a conversation with someone because you never know what you're going to get. Kind of like talking to strangers on the outside world, really.


Rusulan then told me his story. It was a pretty sad one. He said his mother had forced him into Matsuzawa hospital as a kid and this wasn't his first time there. I believe this fact proves that poor Rusulan was a minor of, perhaps, 17 or 18 years of age! He told me that he stopped going to school when he was 14. I have heard stories about how some Russian people like to drink, but Rusulan's story confirmed that completely.

Mmmm.... Breakfast of champions!

Rusulan told me that he used to eat cornflakes for breakfast and, instead of pouring milk on the flakes, he'd pour vodka and eat that. He said he wouldn't go to school because by the time breakfast was over, he'd be sprawled out on the floor. This went of for a few years before his mother decided to do something about it. No sense in trying to nip a problem in the bud, right?   


Over the first week or so, I never saw Rusulan's mom visit him. I asked him where she was and he told me that she was no longer in Japan. Now, that's alarming! Because, you see, as a minor, he can't get out unless someone signs to be his guarantor and promises to provide him with a place to stay and food, clothes, etc. And just any old-body can't be a guarantor; in this case, they'd have to be relatives or something. Until his mom came back, and Rusulan seemed to not know when that would be, he wasn't going anywhere. He didn't seem to be especially upset about it. But if it were me, and my mom left me there in that place and didn't come to visit, and then left the country, I'd be a tad bit more than upset. 


As I said, Rusulan and I became very good friends. For the first weeks in D-41 he never had any visitors but I always made sure that he was first to get some of the chocolate that my wife would bring to me. 


My wife's frequent visits (and my only connection to sanity) were beginning to become a problem. The doctors had told us that they wanted to cut down the visits because the other patient's rarely had visitors so it was actually bad for me that my wife would visit so often. They also complained that my wife was "too beautiful" and asked that she not "dress up so much." I thought, "Right! Tell that to a Tokyo City Girl before she wants to go outside." 

Photo of my wife from about that time

It seems that the other patients were beginning to grumble and complain and the doctor's feared that I'd start getting bullied or there'd be some sort of jealous retribution. Even Rusulan had confided in me that he deeply wished someone would come and visit and spend time with him. Poor guys. Porr Rusulan. It all reminded me of something I once heard on a Sunday morning religious rock radio program once, "The most insecure people are usually confined to the highest security prisons." It was the never ending story of the hunger of the human spirit. I felt sorry for everyone, especially Rusulan. He was just a teenager. I tried to be his best friend too.


One day, a Saturday morning, Rusulan was in great spirits for he announced to me that had a guest coming. I was quite happy and surprised to hear this news too! It was the first visitor that, to my knowledge, he had the entire time I was there. Of course, he was ecstatic about it too. I asked him who it was but he wouldn't tell me. He wanted to show me. He wanted to make sure that I met his guest and told me to wait near the exit door. I did.


The rules at the hospital were strict about visitations. The doctors had deemed that they thought Rusulan was "safe" to walk the hospital grounds with a visitor and not try to escape. Of course, in a government run mental institution (it's besides the point that drug and AA meetings and patients go there too), it isn't good if people are leaving the grounds without doctor's permission... That could be misconstrued, in some circles, as "an daring escape from a mental institution" which would make for sensational TV and frighten a lot of neighbors but be most akin to an extra homeless person wandering around the streets for the night. (Some patients could leave the hospitals grounds alone; some with an escort or visitor; some could not leave under any circumstances - I will discuss those later). 


It wasn't my visitation time so I could not walk close to the exit door. Just inside  the door, much like a "loading and unloading area" at an airport, there was an area lined off with yellow paint in the ward's own version of a sort of "No admittance" zone. You weren't supposed to stand in there if you weren't going out. There I stood, just outside off the line, as Rusulan was called because his visitor had arrived.


"Just wait there, Mike!" Rusulan eagerly called back to me. He smiled as wide as he possibly could. I felt happy to be his closest friend there and kind of like his family so I could share in his happiness. The door then opened and there stood a beautiful and tall Japanese high school girl. She was so petite and she looked like a goddess out of a Japanese comic book...She was like an "anime beautiful high school girl!" She was very pretty and she smiled. She had long hair and long legs. Rusulan said something to her and she looked at me, smiled broadly and bowed. I bowed back and waved back at her.

She must have really liked Rusulan because since Matsuzawa hospital is an institution for people with mental disorders, and it just so happens that the drug addicts and alcoholics are throw all into the same place, that still doesn't negate the fact that the hospital grounds are still a pretty scary place to walk around in for most people. The patients can be pretty scary looking, even though they are  completely harmless. So it takes a lot of courage, and probably lots of love too, for some high school girl to go on the hospital grounds by herself to go visit her boyfriend. Nevertheless, she was there and Rusulan was on top of the world as he took her hand and they walked away with the door closing behind their back.


"Oh! I envied him!" I thought!


And with that I went back to doing whatever it was to pass the time. Later we ate dinner and, uneventfully, as always, I went to bed exactly at "lights out" at 8 pm. I slept quite well.


As I mentioned before, word travels fast in the hospital and, at "lights on" at 6 am the next morning, I was so surprised to find out that the hospital was totally and completely abuzz with the news! Rusulan was a hero! Rusulan's girlfriend had helped him to engineer a daring escape in broad daylight from the hospital! His girlfriend was a modern day Bonnie and he was a modern day Clyde! Oh that little criminal-minded minx! I would have never guessed in a million years that the sweet high school girl that I saw the day before standing in the doorway was such a schemer! To our great cheer, excitement and wonderment, Rusulan became a hero, swashbuckler and lady killer in one fell swoop! He was an inspiration to every patient in D-41. He was our own James Dean! 


"Wow! That's so cool!" I thought. So did everyone else.


In my bed I laughed and threw my arms in the air in victory, "Go! Rusulan!" I shouted! "Go! Rusulan! Go!" 


(The next segment in this series is here: Nowhere to Run to Nowhere to Hide - Drug Rehab at Asia's Most Famous Hospital - Part 7)

Mr. Cool, Chocolate Addictions and a Paradox of Insanity in Today's World - Drug Rehab at Asia's Most Famous Hospital - Part 4

(Part three of this series is here: Sexy Japanese Female Nurses? Schizophrenics and Jail Breaks! - Drug Rehab at Asia's Most Famous Hospital - Part 3)

So now I realized that my plan to break out of the hospital ward was a wash out. I had to abort the mission. But was it too late? Was I about to be caught and sent back to solitary confinement at the cooler?

I had five teaspoons that I had to quickly find some way to put back into the cafeteria dirty dish tray for washing without getting caught. For every tray of food, the cafeteria staff gave each patient one spoon, one fork, one butter knife. That meant after washing, they should have, for every tray they had washed, one spoon, one fork and one butter knife. It's pretty basic math. But suddenly, over the span of a day or two, five teaspoons had suddenly gone missing. Surely, they had noticed. Of course they did! Because the next day when they put out the same number of trays, bowls and utensils for the same number of patients (it wasn't like people were coming in and out of that place) they'd notice that something was missing.

The first day, when two spoons were missing, they might think it was just a coincidence, like socks missing in the dryer. But when it happened repeatedly, after a couple of meals and for more than a day, they had to have become suspicious. Especially when the number of missing spoons was increasing. Now I'm sure that would be a real head scratcher for the cafeteria staff (or as they do in Japan, cause much air to be sucked between teeth!) and they'd report strange goings on to the doctors and nurse station.

"One million dollars...."

I had taken those spoons to use as shovels in my own version of the Great Escape in order to dig through 2 feet of solid concrete and reinforced steel. It was a brilliant plan excepting for the fact that it wouldn't work. Why wouldn't it work? Well, being the criminal genius mind that I was, I had thought through the plan from beginning to end. Every little thing was considered. In the scenarios run through my mind, everything went perfectly like clock-work; we'd tunnel under my cot in my room, through the floor; we'd take the extra dirt we took from the tunnel and "do something" with it (we'd figure out what exactly later on - minor detail);  We'd take care not to get too dirty tunneling because we could only take baths twice a week; we'd then tunnel out across the hospital compound grounds and out to freedom at last.


Like I said, it was a brilliant plan created by the mind of a marvelous, yet dangerous intellect. A tribute to my genius. A virtual triumph of the will! And, on top of all that, it was an okay idea! But, it wouldn't work. Why? Because I realized that I had no idea where we were in the hospital compound and most likely neither did any of the other patients that I'd have to depend on. If we were to tunnel our way out, who is to know that we wouldn't tunnel our way out onto a busy freeway lane? Or out into the middle of the doctors lounge? Or even out into a cooler holding a patient who really was violent, deadly dangerous and had the strength of a grown male baboon?

Just your typical friendly neighborhood baboon

No, that wouldn't be good at all. 

So realizing that my idea probably wouldn't work also made me realize that I had to get rid of incriminating evidence! I had to get rid of the spoons quickly! Instead of returning them one by one like how I took them, I decided that I had to get rid of the booty all at once. At the next meal time at the cafeteria, I had the spoons in my pocket ready to dump them at the first good chance I got. 


Usually at meal time, the doctors didn't sit with us when we ate, but today, there were 4 or 5 doctors sitting around the cafeteria. They were watching us and taking notes. 

I began to get nervous. Why were they here? Were they watching us to see who had taken the spoons? Was the sting on? Surely they didn't suspect it was me? I watched them as they watched us. I tried to act nonchalant, as they tried to act nonchalant back. 

Three of them seemed to be peering out of the corners of their eyes watching me. I'll bet their notes said:

Doctor 1: "Patient Rogers seems fidgety" 

Doctor 2: "Patient Rogers seems nervous about something."

Doctor 3: "Call the wife and ask about groceries."

I kept my eye on Mr. Halloween sitting right in front of me and tried to time my eating to finish right when he did. The very second he was done, I stood up and said to him, "Oh? I'll take your tray for you!" He smiled and showed me all those teeth he used to have but were now a periodontal black hole. "OK!" he said as bread crumbs flew from the holes in his mouth. I grabbed his tray with the hand that had the five teaspoons in it and quickly threw the trays and the spoons into the dirty dishes tray in front of the cafeteria window and gave out a hearty "That was delicious!" to the ladies. They looked at me smiling and said, "You're welcomed!". With that, I was two steps out of the cafeteria and two steps away from any definitive proof that I had ever stolen the spoons.

I was lucky actually, the timing was very good, the lady that usually watched the return of trays and utensils took her eyes off the return tray for the moment I stepped up there.... I'll bet it was because they thought that it certainly couldn't be that nice Mr. Rogers who was stealing those spoons!... It had to be one of the other evil doers in D-41.

Guys! Former D-41 patients! Sorry about that. Sorry about making the doctors and nurses suspicious of you! I promise that it will never happen again! Honto ni gomen nasai!

I suppose here in the story, I should take a moment to explain about the rules and schedule of D-41. It is because of these rules and schedules that one is able to make plans such as escaping, stealing and then returning spoons. It is that way because everything is so scheduled that it is predictable down to a few minutes. Everything has a schedule and a time limit... Even brushing your teeth...

I will try to state the schedule as I best remember it at D-41:

Lights on at 6 am in the morning. 
6:00 ~ 6:15 am get up make your bed
6:15 ~ 6:30 am line up for medicine

6:30 ~ 6:45 am medicine

6:45 ~ 7:00 am line up for cafeteria

7:00 ~ 7:45 am breakfast

7:45 ~ 8:00 am clean up detail (Cafeteria & living area, ashtrays, etc.) 

9:00 ~ 10:00 am Tuesdays, Thursdays, Saturdays, shower time 

10:00 ~ 10:30 am Free time

10:30 ~ 11:00 am Walk in enclosed compound (surrounded by a extremely high wired 20 meter fence like a soccer field)
10:45 ~ 11:00 am line up for medicine

11:00 ~11:15 am medicine

11:45 ~ 12:00 am line up for cafeteria

12:00 ~ 12:45 pm lunch

I think you get the picture. The schedule above would just basically repeat until lights out at 8 pm sharp; no ifs and or buts. After lunch, there would be doctor & patient consultations but that was only for some patients. The ones without consultations had to watch TV or read books (hard to do when you're doped up all the time) or play chess to pass the time. I'd spend all my time climbing the walls trying to figure out a way out of that place. 

The other thing that I looked forward to every day was the daily visitation by my wife. Visitation hours were from 2 pm ~ 4 pm daily. They were the highlight of my day. 


You may notice in the above schedule that there are times set out for lining up. Yes, they did that. The patients lined up for everything; we lined up for medicine time, we lined up for meal time at the cafeteria; we lined up to take a shower; we lined up to use the bathroom at night so that we could brush our teeth; we lined up so that we go get in line to line up for whatever it was that the people in front of us lined up for. I asked a doctor why they made us line up for everything and he told me that,


"Rogers san, most patients here cannot even do the most basic things like close doors after they use them or close the lids to toilets after use (hell 95% of all guys on the outside can't even do that!) We require lining up as a way to start to teach simple rules." He then went on to tell me how most patients stay for several months, and if they are deemed, "better," they go to stay for a weekend at their parents home. If, while at the home, they show proper manners like being able to line up their shoes correctly at the front door (a strong traditional Japanese custom and basic manners) and closing doors, closing toilets after use, cleaning up after themselves, then after consultations with the parents, they may be allowed out of the hospital for more than a weekend. If they keep improving then, the times are extended until one day they can be released. 


Nevertheless, before the doctor had explained this to me (it made sense upon explanation) It always struck me as odd why it was that we had to line up for the cafeteria. At the shower, yes. There were 60 of us and only six shower stalls. To brush our teeth? Yes. Only four sinks or so... But the cafeteria? Why? There were always a set number of meals for the exact number of patients. Not one more, not one less. Why did we have to line up? Most of the patients would be lining up for food at the cafeteria, as scheduled, fifteen minutes (or more) beforehand. I did line up sometimes too, but only because I was so hungry most of the time and I wanted to eat as soon as possible. It soon became apparent to me why Mr. Halloween was almost always first in line and always taking so much sliced white bread back to his room; at about 190 + some centimeters the guy must have been starving all the time.


Still, there were times I wouldn't want to line up for cafeteria. That was when I  wasn't hungry. When that happened, then I'd hear my name called from the nurses station, "Rogers san! Rogers san! Please get in line for the cafeteria." Oh, I hate waiting in line... If I am starving and there is no other choice, well then, okay... But otherwise, no way. Still, at the hospital you had to line up. It was the way it was.

The hospital was very careful about our meals health wise. The food wasn't greasy or salty. It was very much like "hospital food" bland and healthy. They  monitored our calorie intake as, of course, they didn't want us getting fat while we were there. They (and we) already had enough trouble with our lives without obesity being one of them. Even so, while in the hospital, I think I gained 7 or 8 kilograms... Probably from the chocolate I ate while I was there.

I got so fat from eating chocolate because my wife would come to visit me like clockwork everyday at 3 pm. Everyday at 3 was visiting time whereby loved ones could visit patients. It soon became apparent to me that most of the poor guys in D-41 rarely, if ever, had anyone visit them. Maybe it was because they had been in there so long that their families had moved on with their lives or maybe because when they were high or drunk, they had done something really bad and their families had disowned them. Poor sods.


My wife would come to visit and I'd pester her to pressure the doctor to let me out of that place. Sometimes the doctor would stay in on the visit and I'd try to reason with him.


"Look, doc. These people are all nuts. I shouldn't be in here. These people can't even hold a conversation. You gotta let me outta here, doc." But it didn't work. I think the more I begged, the more I pushed myself away from the door.


For these visits, my wife would, at first, bring a reward for me for being a good boy; she'd bring a few chocolates for me. Chocolates are a big favorite for former drug and alcohol abusers as chocolate, like chemicals or alcohol, cause an unnatural release of Dopamine in the brain. Dopamine is the natural "feel good" chemical that your brain produces. Do lots of drugs or alcohol? Your brain releases an inordinate amount of Dopamine. Stop doing drugs or alcohol? Then you can get almost as good a high with massive dosages of chocolate. 


Take that to its logical conclusion and you'll know why some obese people who are chocolate fiends actually have an addiction problem. Chocolates don't just taste good, they release addictive chemicals in the brain. So when some people jokingly tell you that they are "chocolate junkies" they might laugh, but they probably don't realize just how close to being a junkie they really are!


My wonderful wife would visit daily. She'd bring chocolates daily. As I mentioned, most of the guys didn't have anyone visiting them so I really felt sorry for them. I started asking my wife to bring party bags of chocolates instead of just a few pieces. She did and, soon enough word spread around the ward that Mike had chocolates to pass out to everyone and they would, as if it were written on the schedule for daily activities, all be lined up at the exit of the visiting room where I would return to D-41.


As they stood in line, I'd walk down the line handing each one of them a piece of chocolate. Poor guys. I really felt very sorry for them. 

When many people say that they are "Addicted to chocolate"

 it probably isn't a very funny joke.

I didn't pay so much attention, but I didn't really see too many people sitting in the visitation room at other times. My wife came everyday so I noticed. I think I saw other folks only three other times. Of course, there must have been more. But the lack of visitation demonstrated to me just how lonely these poor folks in D-41 were.


Daily, I'd get my chores done and visit with my wife and eat my chocolates. I got to where I felt very safe at D-41. Oh sure there were some scary looking people there, but that was it; they were just scary looking; they weren't dangerous in the least bit. Once you got to know most of them, they were an alright bunch of guys... Some from rich families, some from poor... One guy that I got to know pretty well was the son of a guy who was the president of a very large and extremely well-known video and CD rental chain!


That was one of the big problems I suppose; one couldn't really get to know these guys all that well; everything was so transient and temporary it seemed. The reason for that is because if you were in that place for drug rehab, you'd know that the mental patients and the rehab patients were all thrown into the same wards, so you couldn't really tell by looking at any of them who were the crazy ones or who weren't. Either way no one knew how long you'd be in your ward. In just a few days I went from the cooler to D-40 to D-41. Was my next stop D-42? 


I thought it was amusing that the former drug, and now recovering, addicts looked the craziest of them all due to their loss of teeth from sniffing glue or their full body tattoos all the way up to the sides of their heads.

There is this fine line, you see....

Doesn't that seem like a contradiction to you? The supposedly healthy individuals who became druggies did stuff like get tattoos and piercings all over their bodies and faces and huffed paint thinner so that their teeth and gums fell out and looked like a regular freak show; while the mental patients didn't do anything to destroy and vandalize their mind and bodies and looked normal. Of course, I am an old fuddy-duddy, but it seems that there something wrong with that picture: the "normal" people look like they are crazy and the "crazy" people look like they are normal? Don't you think that is a curious situation to say the least? I do.

Thank god for the modern world! 


So you couldn't tell the crazy people in the hospital from the normal people or well, I should say, you couldn't tell the crazy people who were in the hospital because of some sort of physiological or psychological disorder from the crazy people who were in the hospital because of some sort of addiction problem just by looking at them.


As, on the outside world, you can't tell the crazy people from the normal people just by looking at them. But the paradigm on the outside world is different. I am reminded of two very astute and clear-eyed sayings about insanity in our supposedly "normal" society:

"Be normal, and the crowd will accept you. Be deranged, and they will make you their leader." 

And;

"Every great man was thought to be insane before he changed the world. Some never changed the world. They were just insane." 

Not being allowed to sleep through my days, I sat in the lobby. I sat and waited. I did that everyday for most of the time like everyone else did. Since I was like everyone else, I didn't know if the other patients around me were crazy or recovering drug addicts. And, in turn, they didn't know if I was crazy too. I realize now that, because of this lack of confidence and fear, very few of us would have the courage of any sort to strike up a conversation even with someone we'd seen everyday. Usually, it seemed to me, that the people who would walk up to you and start speaking to you and showing you some sort of human kindness were the mental patients. 


"Once again, a curious note." I thought. The particular point that it seemed the people with the mental disorders were the ones who would show more care and concern towards others than the supposedly normal people would was most certainly a cruel indictment of how indifferent and lacking in compassion people are to each other in today's modern so-called "civil" society.

Are these people inside or outside of an insane asylum?

There were two large areas to sit on comfortable chairs and sofas. One area was in front of the television. About 15 or so people could sit there comfortably. The other area was by the ashtrays in the smoking area. I couldn't stand the incessant noise and prattle of TV with the game and cooking shows so I always sat by the smoking area. That shows the disdain I have for TV; both TV and smoking are bad for you and, at that time, I had never smoked cigarettes yet even so, I still chose to sit by the ashtrays.


While the rest of us patients, myself included, might have seemed calm and collected on the outside, inside we were tearing ourselves apart. We were always climbing the walls trying to figure out when and how we could speed up our release - if even by one day. It was a massive frustration that engulfed our entire being and it seemed to grow longer by the second... It grew longer by the moments, by the seconds - that we spent counting them go by... And go by extremely slowly they went.


I had a few conversations with some of the other patients and those invariably would always turn to why we were there; how long we had been there; how much we had messed up; and when, if ever, we expected to get out. Even the topic of our conversations in order to pass time would lead us back to the cause of our frustrations. Everything was a cycle that returned to D-41 in some way.


For most patients, not knowing when they would be released seemed to be very good for a sort of Buddhist training as many of the patients meditated in their rooms or in the study area often... The ones who didn't "meditate" per se did their meditation through smoking cigarettes. 


It was there near the smoking areas that I met a guy who I called, "Mr. Cool." Mr. Cool looked like he played guitar for the Japanese Rolling Stones. He was about 40 some years old, skinny and had long hair. I was to find out later that he worked in a pachinko parlor and was an alcoholic. 


Mr. Cool always hung around with one of my room mates and smoked cigarettes. I liked him because he never seemed to be upset or worried about getting out of D-41. He never seemed in a rush for anything. This dude took it all in stride. He was way cool. Hence the name. 


And after all, why shouldn't he be cool? Why be in a rush? He wasn't going anywhere, I surmised. Neither was his food or his time to brush his teeth, wash or whatever was scheduled. Mr. Cool was always the last one in line. He was last for everything. So, of course, he was last to the cafeteria to get his food too. Even so, the nurses would never get mad at him or call his name on the loudspeakers. I thought that was strange because they'd always call my name and there'd still be a few guys standing in line. I'd find out soon why they never called his name on the loudspeakers too.


Even though the nurses would get frustrated at Mr. Cool at times, they would never get angry and speak loudly at him because, when push came to shove, Mr. Cool would always do as he was told, in his own good time, of course. 


Watching Mr. Cool helped me to greatly calm down and to realize that worrying about getting out of D-41 was a total and complete waste of time. I needed to grow more spiritually for myself and for my family to get out I thought.


One day, when Mr. Cool was standing by himself at the smoking area, I decided to get some wisdom from this wise and great enlightened priest of D-41. I said to him,


"May I ask you a question?"


"Sure!" He drawled as he toked on the cigarette.


"You know, everyone here is going crazy in this place wanting to get out of here as soon as possible. But you! Look at you! You seem so calm and collected and at one with the moment. You don't mind it here?"


He paused as he took a drag on the cigarette, "Sure, I want to get out of here too."


I was surprised that he said that! I never expected it. I reiterated, "But you seem so calm and collected. How do you keep from going crazy? Don't you want to get out of here?"


He said, "What's the point of getting out of here? You're just going to wind up back in here in no time anyway."


Now that answer really blew my mind and frightened the hell out of me!

Why get out? You're just going to wind up coming back.

Later on I'd find out from my doctor that the chances of going into Matsuzawa hospital for drug or alcohol rehab and fully recovering and being released and becoming a productive member of society was about 3 in 100... If you were readmitted after being released after the first time, your chances of a full recovery were about 1 in 10,000. If you were readmitted again, a third time, your chances for a full recovery are nearly zero.


Mr. Cool had been in and out of Matsuzawa hospital's D-41 ward a total of nine times up until that time. He was truly a "regular customer." I knew that I never wanted to be like him.

The next part of this series is here: Everyone is Your Teacher: Out of the Mouths of Babes Comes Great Wisdom - Drug Rehab at Asia's Most Famous Hospital - Part 5

Pop! Fizz! Glug! Drinking in the morning? What an Alcoholic is and What it is Not

Imagine the sound of a can of beer being popped open. Pop! Fizz! Glug! 

WHAT'S THE USE IN GETTING SOBER? 

(YOU'RE JUST GOING TO START DRINKING AGAIN)

Imagine that the first thing out of the mouth of that person holding that beer and popping it open is "Good morning to you!" Pop! Fizz! Glug!   

Imagine that this scene is happening at dawn... Perhaps 5 in the morning. Pop! Fizz! Glug!

Imagine that the person popping open that beer at 5 am is saying "Good morning" Pop! Fizz! Glug! And he's chugging it down and smiling. 

That person is me. Is that person an alcoholic?


No, there are more details you need. I have actually had this experience many times. You see, this is my dream in life. When I retire, I want to do this everyday of the year. Pop! Fizz! Glug!


Where am I in this scene? I am on a deep-sea fishing boat out in the Pacific Ocean a hundred miles from the coast. I am with my friends. We are on vacation. We left the harbor late last night and the fishing boat is just arriving, after a 10-hour journey, to the fishing spot.


It is a beautiful day. We are out in the middle of the Pacific ocean. There is no other humanity around excepting us on that boat. The boat's engines stop. The boat floats. We gear up our fishing poles and drop line waiting for fish (and drinking more beer). It is heaven. Pop! Fizz! Glug!


So, I ask again, is this person an alcoholic? Nope. Just on vacation and just fishing. It is wonderful.  

Drinking and fishing is good enough for Babe Ruth

so it's good enough for me! (Oh, but the Babe

had a serious drinking problem it seems!)

A few posts ago, I put to blog my thoughts on "What is an Addiction?" From that post, I have received many mails from people asking me what I thought about various addictions such as nicotine addiction and my take on the casual drinker.


Those were all tough questions to answer and, I suppose, like I stated in my article that since each chemical affects different people differently, then I guess it goes to reason that each person's method of abusing their body will affect those around them differently and how they (and their "amusement") are perceived.


Even if one's self-ordained medication doesn't seem to bother the partaker to the point of failing in their work and home duties, if it affects the thinking of those around, then I suppose, using my logic, it must affect their human relationships.


Once again, to recap what an addiction is for those who missed the first article, in a sentence or two from What is an addiction, consider:


Addictions are not the problem of alcohol, drugs, gambling, sex or whatever. Addiction is not a problem of the substance abuse in and of itself... Addiction is a problem of human communication.

For example, drug addiction is not a problem of drugs. Drug addiction, like all addictions is a problem of human relations. This is the part about addictions that people fail to recognize for what it is. Drug addiction, like all addictions become a problem when they start to interfere with your human relations and communications with the people around you.   


So that article discusses what an addict is. This discusses (with a hopefully humorous story) what an alcoholic (or addict) is not.


So, what isn't an addict? Now there's a tough question to answer!


It's only the middle of October and Christmas and New Year's are just around the corner. With this story, I cannot answer the question as to "what is an addict"? But I sure can answer what it is not. 


I'd like to share this humorous true story with you about exactly what isn't an alcoholic but is perceived as one. 


Perhaps I can get away with this unseasonably untimely article because I saw, at Tokyo's famous and extremely fashionable Takashimaya department store, people already lined up for New Year's "Oseichi Ryori."

Lining up at the start of October for Oseichi Ryori for January 1!

Crikey! The Christmas stuff wasn't even out yet! 

But, as I often do, I digress...


Trust that if you never drank alcohol or ever took any sorts of drugs at all, and you witnessed someone doing so in the early morning or sneaking off to do so where they wouldn't be seen, you'd think they had a serious addiction problem. That's happened to me... At my wife's parent's house.


That's the story today.


But first, let me recall my very first New Year's Day in Japan. It was in 1980. I was in Japan for vacation and visiting my then, and soon to be, first wife's house. I didn't know it at the time, but my soon-to-be wife's father was the president of a construction company and they had a dormitory. Several (many, all?) of the workers lived on the first floor of their house which was that dormitory. I stayed on the second floor of their house during my entire three week stay in Japan.


I didn't know what was going on with all these people living and staying at this house (my fiancee wasn't good at explaining things) so I thought this arrangement was a bit bizarre and figured that these people were all workers and/or family members. They were all very nice people and were always friendly to me, though I didn't know exactly who they were.


One day, it became New Year's morning, at about ten am, I went downstairs to the living room (I'm sure with a hangover).


When I got downstairs there were eight or so men, who worked at my girlfriend's dad's company who were passed out on the floor - drunk. I stepped over them and wanted to go to the bathroom... There was my wonderful future mother-in-law Komako and she smiled at me. She said,


"Akemashite omedetou gozaimasu!!" (Happy New Year!) and she offered me a drink of sake.


"Wow! I love Japan! What a wonderful country!" I thought. "People drink from the morning and enjoy life. I love this place!"


That was my very first New Year's in Japan. It was a wonderful memory and I'll never forget it.


Later I would soon learn that the Japanese had strict societal "rules" about alcohol drinking. It was considered fine to drink on holidays and special occasions from the morning, but to drink during the week, during work hours, or to drink so much that one missed work, was totally forbidden (though, of course, some people are alcoholics and do that). 


Japanese people who are gainfully employed still, to this day, and to my knowledge, never drink during work hours. This, as opposed to Americans who are known to have two-martini lunches (I sure did before I came to Japan - and those at my bosses' behest!) 


That New Year's day had a profound effect on me as to so-called "responsible drinking."


Fast forward at least twenty three years later...


I was a producer of many TV and radio shows and had gone the rounds with the people who are gainfully employed in the mass media. Let me tell you, those people can drink.


I have learned a few things about working in the mass media and sales in Japan (if you are in the mass media, then you are salesman, if for nothing else, selling yourself) then you have to drink. And that means drinking a lot. Drinking  a lot nearly every night of the week. The weak drinkers and faint at heart need not apply. If you want to succeed in those businesses, in Japan, then expect to drink heavily.


Let me give you one example. Mr. Sugiyama, Taro, Mikey and me. Four of us. Start drinking at 5 pm. Finish drinking at 8 am when the bar owner kicks us out. By then we have consumed 5 pints of beer each and between us downed 6 liters of Korean liquor that is 25% alcohol. I was so drunk that I couldn't walk. 


It wasn't the first time I'd been that drunk. It wasn't the last...


I do hope, though, in my old age, that I don't do that again...   


Now, I am a responsible drinker... 


But there are still two people who think I might be an alcoholic. Those two are my wife's mom and dad. 


They don't drink alcohol.


They don't smoke cigarettes. 


They don't gamble.


They live in the country and there's nothing to do there except go for walks and, for exciting entertainment, go to the one and only department store for miles around. Woop-dee-doo!


So, it used to be, I dreaded going there because there was nothing to do. They live out in the middle of the sticks. Even going to the department store is a good 8 minute drive by car... Walking? Oh, there's a 7-11 convenience store about 8 or 9 minutes walk from their house... I'd guess it's at least 1 kilometer away (about 3/4 mile or so). 


This 7-11 convenience store would be the exact cause that my in-laws think I am an alcoholic. Here's what happened:


It was New Year's Day. My son wasn't yet born and wife and I had gone to stay at her parent's home for the holidays. I was dreading that because, like I said, they don't partake in any particular, shall I say, "escapisms." In fact, they are very serious people and quite conservative about many things. 


I love my in-laws and they are good and kind to me, but they are definitely quite the prim and proper middle aged Japanese couple: Little sense of humor; he was the former president of a large Japanese corporation and she was the head dietician for all elementary schools in all of Kanagawa prefecture. (Imagine a person who was head dietician for all elementary schools in, say, Texas and you get the idea). They both had received numerous awards from Japanese prime ministers and came from strong and upstanding families and all that.


Me? I am a lowlife American who liked to drink to excess with friends at work nearly every night and smoked cigarettes and loved to gamble.


It was New Year's morning. I prepared for it by buying two large cans of beer from the 7-11 convenience store the night before. I knew that I would be the only one drinking at that household and that I would have to control myself; that's why I only bought two cans. I figured that I could probably drink the two cans really quick, get a buzz (maybe) then go back to sleep until it was time to go to the shrine and then food!


I sat at the dining table. It was about 10 am. I opened a beer. "Good morning to you!" I said to my mother-in-law. Pop! Fizz! Glug! She sat down by me looking very worried,


"Is it OK that you drink so early in the morning?" she asked.


I replied, "Oh, sure! You kidding? My friends and I drink much more than this!" I think I shouldn't have said that. My mother-in-law looked on with a worried face as I drank the next can of beer immediately. Pop! Fizz! Glug!  


Later on, my wife got mad at me and told me not to drink in front of her parents. She told me that they think I have a drinking problem.


"What!?" I said, "I only had two cans of beer!" 


"I don't care!" My wife said. "My parents don't drink at all, so if you are going to drink, go do it somewhere else!"


"Nonsense!" I thought. 


Later that day, I decided that I wanted to drink and smoke. Couldn't do it there at the in-laws house so I told them that I was going to "take a walk." I did. I grabbed some money from my wife and headed down to the 7-11. 


The 7-11 is a good walk down a fairly steep mountainside... The coming back up hill would suck, but I still wanted the booze... And there's not much to stop a man who is bored out of his mind, in the country with nothing to do, at a house where people do not drink or gamble or smoke, so I took the walk.


It was a brisk afternoon. I entered the 7-11 like a kid in a candy store. "Oh boy! Booze!" I grabbed a few large cans of beer and some cigarettes, paid for them, and walked out of the store...


When I walked out, I looked for somewhere to sit. Somewhere that I could leisurely relax and enjoy the sun and my cigarettes and beer. There wasn't any place good, so I popped open the beer and lit a cigarette in the parking lot.


"Wow! Drinking in a parking lot!" I thought. "Just like when I was a university student." It felt good!


I took another large swig of the beer and then walked over to the street corner to look around at Stickville. Nothing! Nothing to the left of me, nothing to the right of me excepting rice fields as far as you could see and closed shops and houses.


"Shit!" I thought. I took some more puffs and downed the beer. I put the empty can back into the vinyl bag and opened another. Pop! Fizz! Glug! 


Then it happened.


Just as I was standing on the street corner downing the second beer, they came. Right in front of me. My mother and father-in-law drove by in the car and they were looking right at me! They were shocked and had their mouths gaping wide open. I could read their minds. They were thinking,


"Oh, my god! Definitely Mike does have a drinking problem! He is sick! Our daughter married an alcoholic! What shall we do? He's standing on a street corner drinking like some homeless person! Oh, the shame!" 


They drove by gaping at me. I saw them too and probably looked like a deer caught in the car's headlights. I quickly tried to put the beer behind my back as they drove past. I tried to look nonchalant and smiled as I waved with my other hand that was holding the vinyl bag with the empty beer can. It was probably obvious that there was an empty in the vinyl bag from the way it looked.


Eyes wide open and staring at me. Their mouths gaped open like baby chicks waiting for their mother to feed them. They turned the corner and drove down the street in the opposite direction.


"Shit!" I thought. Pop! Fizz! Glug!  


Later on, when I returned home, my wife told me that her parents didn't want me out drinking in public because they didn't want the neighbors to see me and know that their daughter had married an alcoholic foreigner. They said that if I insisted upon drinking, that I should do it at their house where no one would see me. My mother told my wife that she thought I might need to seek professional help.


No thank you. I know how to drink. I don't need a professional teaching me how to do that.


That's been at least 7 years ago. In spite of what you think, I am not an alcoholic. I deny that completely.


Why can I deny that? Because we go to my wife's parent's house several times a year. I have come to enjoy going there now. I control myself and don't drink when we go there


Why? Well, when I go there,

I don't drink alcohol.

I don't smoke cigarettes. 

I don't gamble.

In fact, whenever I go to my in-laws house, I usually go three or four days in a row without any of the above (I take lots of naps). It's kind of like doing a body cleansing. I do feel much better whenever I return from visiting the in-laws house.

It's when I get home that the process repeats. 


Pop! Fizz! Glug!