The Story of Channon Rose: Lessons between the Lines by Channon Rose Read Free Book Online Page B

life so many times. I was still coming to the reality that my parents put me in a psych ward, and now I had to take this brain altering medication. It was a lot for me to handle. My parents made sure I took every single pill the doctors said I needed. The doctor had scared us into thinking that if I did not take it, something terrible would happen. We were told I would hurt my family or myself! Being young, I believed what the doctor said and what my parents told me to do. I believed all of it. I didn’t know any better at the time.
    I was placed in an outpatient therapy program by the state called the Family and Child Guidance Center and saw a therapist twice a week to talk about my feelings. I hated it. I didn’t want to talk about all the horrible things happening in my life, I wanted to forget them. Naturally, therapists want you to open up and talk about your problems. I did the opposite and would just be quiet and not talk at all. This really annoyed my therapist when I went in for our meetings and didn’t say a word. I was extremely defiant and no longer respected or trusted my elders. I did this for awhile until one day she took out art supplies during our session and said if I didn’t want to talk I could paint or draw my feelings. The idea of art and painting caught my attention and it was finally something I was up for. So I ended up painting in therapy and it actually did make me feel better. Ever since that day I have always used art as my outlet for when I can’t explain what I am feeling or to make myself feel better. As I got older, I would write songs, do art, and now—write books. It’s a creative outlet I have always needed and used to express myself in ways I wouldn’t otherwise know how. During the time I was in outpatient therapy, my parents were given a book on bi-polar disorder to help them better understand my supposed mental illness, but neither of them read it. If they weren’t going to try and understand my illness, then why should I try and learn more about it? Maybe if we would have read it and educated ourselves more on it, maybe they could help me and wouldn’t keep sending me to everyone else to fix me. After all, I was doing all these things for their attention.
    One day I was extremely agitated in a therapy session. I really did not want to be there. All my friends were hanging out and seeing a movie and I couldn’t go because I had to go to stupid therapy. I was not getting better and therapy was not helping. I was pissed that I had to be there that day and was throwing some major attitude to my therapist. She was not having it and ended up yelling at me in the session. I freaked out and threatened to kill her if she tried yelling at me again like that. She immediately walked out of the room and left me in there by myself. I didn’t know if she was scared of me, or going to talk to my mother. Next thing I know I have my therapist walking back in with a security officer. He stood there in the room and I looked at her and said, “Really? You brought in a rent a cop?” She said, “Channon you can’t threaten to kill people, that will land you back in the hospital.” As soon as she said that, it set off a major trigger for me and I went ape sh*t crazy in her office. I picked up my chair and threw it at her. I started screaming telling her to not threaten me, just crazy stuff really. I think whatever meds they had me on really put me on edge and made me way crazier than I already was at the time. I tried to stab the security officer with a pen that was sitting on my therapist’s desk. He ended up restraining me with handcuffs but not after a serious struggle. I put up a good fight. I had turned into a mental patient that everyone was trying to help get better but I was only getting worse, much worse. I went back to the mental hospital again that day, and had been admitted to the psych ward seven different times that same year.
    Fast forward a few months and I was admitted to the