At 11:11, 11/11/2018, my eyes opened without the help of an alarm clock.
I was awakened by the noon sun. Its light and heat flowed through my window, and burned my torso and face.
It had been a long week.
A few days ago, I was lied to about the help I could expect if I was honest about needing help, I was lied to about my legal rights, I was lied to about my mental health situation, I was lied to by the last government institution I tried to trust, and I was detained against my own will for over 36 hours.
“In the last 30 days, have you thought about suicide?” Yes.
“Do you intend on committing suicide?” No.
“Do you have a plan on how you will commit suicide?” Yes.
“If yes, have you worked out the details of this plan?” Yes.
“If yes, will you carry out this plan?” No.
“In your entire life, have you ever attempted suicide?” No.
I wasn’t going to commit suicide. It’s just how I felt, and how I still feel sometimes when I think about not wanting to be around anymore because of how fucked up America is, and subsequently how fucked up my life is. However, I was still put into a psychiatric ward at the VA hospital, regardless of any and all rational thought about my situation, and the very real emotional responses I am still allowed to have about it.
“You said ‘xyz.’ That’s really alarming. Care to talk more about why you said that to the social worker?”
I wasn’t finished making my actual statements about how I came to her office that day; I was giving her context of my military service, but she was already getting up to call the VA police. So I just decided out of my own entertainment and for my own sanity to just say whatever bizarre shit came to mind. This woman wasn’t even listening anymore, so why take her seriously?
Well, apparently that was a mistake, because this woman had my rights and freedoms taken from me for over 36 hours, and I had to “play” their “game” in order to have my rights and freedoms restored, allowing the paperwork to be rescinded entirely.
I had my property seized from me without being given the legally required ability to inventory it with hospital staff, and I was never given the opportunity to sign paperwork that verified I had performed the inventory. Instead, the inventory was done without me. My property, to include sensitive information, petty cash, credit and debit cards, very expensive and fragile polarized Ray Ban aviator sunglasses, and my VFW life membership card, were quickly put into a brown paper bag, taken from me, and locked up in a place unknown to me until after I was released from the hospital.
I waited almost two hours before I was informed that I was being held against my will, and it was because I actually asked what was going on that I was finally notified. When a random ER nurse finally told me, I asked if my next of kin would be notified. This extremely fat and unhealthy nurse told me it was illegal to do that, that she would need my permission to do that. I thought that that was bullshit, and was later told by police officers that her statement was bullshit. Something could have happened to me in these last two hours, or something could have happened to my family in these last two hours, but nobody would have known where I was. A police officer would later notify my family for me, but prior to that, the ER staff started looking through my property, looking for a cellular telephone, assuming I own one like every other person who masturbates a rectangular piece of glass all day with their thumbs. This told me right away, once again, that nobody had actually done that inventory properly like I talked about before.
I had another fat and unhealthy woman, a social worker, try to “talk tough” with me like we were equals due to her rootless international trip around the world in warzones where she talked to war veterans about their problems. This woman’s face was caked with makeup. She looked like she hadn’t worked out in years, yet she wore high heeled combat boots, and talked like some hardcore veteran who spent time behind a rifle; she never had, and was simply a highly paid, war profiteering “contractor.” She disgusted me on a visceral level. The female combat veterans I know aren’t like this person, this caricature of war experience. She went around the world absorbing someone else’s experiences secondhand, and now she’s here in front of me, fat, unimpressive, lazy, yet in charge of my life’s future for as long as I’m stuck here with this saline lock in my arm in case they needed to sedate me against my will.
I had an ER psychiatrist who was over 7 months pregnant try to convey logic and reasoning with me. This woman was carrying a child inside her in one of the most dangerous and germ infested places in Pinellas County, but she is going to be the representative of logic and reasoning who will be another person to spell my fate for me while I am detained in this place?
“You appear to have brought home a lot of ghosts from the war, Mr. Hauser.”
No, I didn’t bring anything back with me except the steely eyed resolve that can surgically detect tyranny.
The same shit I saw and experienced in Afghanistan and the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan is all right here on American soil. It’s not that I brought ghosts home. It’s that I see the real demons that live on different continents that the average American is not allowed to see without a massive psychological war. Americans are now led to believe that America is a magical place, insulated from a very real war, The Gulf War Era, that has been raging since 1990 to a date to be determined. This is a sector of the battlefield, but the illegitimate imperials who wish to make this place an empire beneath their illegitimate regency don’t want us to see it that way.
When I asked her if I would be allowed legal representation, she told me that she wasn’t sure if that was possible, but I would need to stay overnight, detained in the hospital, before that question could be answered, before I could speak with a legal representative.
“It is already getting late, Mr. Hauser.”
The psychiatrist’s partner in training, a retired Army colonel, told me I wasn’t behaving nicely in so many words, and that I needed to “play the game” in so many words, or I was going to have a rough time here. I looked him in the eye, and told him that I have the right to remain silent. I told him that if he cared, he needed to look around and see the tyranny unfolding in this country, and that this was just another prime example. I told him to grab his kit, load his shit, move out, and draw fire…Sir.
Then a man came in wanting me to sign paperwork. I refused. I demanded he get me a VA police officer so that I could have proper security and to know my own legal rights among a bunch of people who clearly didn’t know how to do their actual jobs, other than imprisoning people and sticking needles in their arms to take their blood, and squirt sedatives into their bodies to make them more docile.
After five attempts to demand a police presence, a VA policeman finally arrived. I explained to him what was happening, and he informed me that he was also a combat veteran and Paratrooper. He told me that this was a common thing now, that veterans are being railroaded into the mental hospital process. He advised that, for my own welfare and safety, I do not sign any paperwork during my stay, and that I do not agree to anything they try to make me take, say, or ingest. As a veteran and patient at a VA facility, it is my right to refuse any treatment, and to deny consent to any VA employee. The police officer was very precise in his statements.
I was held against my will. I was denied legal representation and security of law enforcement until I raised my voice and demanded it five separate times to multiple federal government employees while I was in the Emergency Room, and when the police finally arrived, both officers were on my side, having seen this same unconstitutional scenario play out over and over again, that they are then forced to oversee; something that I could clearly see had continued to wear on their minds, causing obvious cognitive dissonance as they stood there in front of me in police uniforms.
For the next 36 hours and more, I was subjected to several more people of differing backgrounds and professional qualifications trying to indoctrinate me into the post-America and post-US Constitution ideology that a man’s words, not his actions, should give the government and other human beings the right to physically detain and imprison him against his will. If this is not the definition of a modern “witch hunt,” I don’t know what is.
I had government medical professionals tell me I was “talking crazy,” I had government medical professionals trying to label me with political talking points, political party labels.
“Would you consider yourself a libertarian, Mr. Hauser? A conservative? How would you describe your political stance, Mr. Hauser?”
I had the same person compare me to their son who appears to have the same values and ethos that I have. I had to listen to them give me excuses about why I was being kept in a hospital belonging to the very government organization that is causing the mental anguish in the first place.
I was told multiple times that I cannot tell the truth to the wrong people at the VA hospital because it will give them legal power over my entire existence. Instead of being given someone to talk to like I wanted, I was thrown into a cold hospital ward with nobody to talk to about my problems except for the other military veterans in the same situation as me.
The only other people who came around were government employees taking my vital signs, feeding all of us food from the VA cafeteria that had whole items missing from our trays that were described on our meal tickets, and the social workers and doctors performing basic and minimal functions aside from trying to ascertain my official political position no less than one time.
I even got the front row seat to one of the VA medical staff loudly arguing with his girlfriend over the telephone as he walked up and down the psychiatric ward hallway several different times late at night, screaming at her, cursing at her, and using language that I can only describe as “ghetto.”
I had the pleasure of being compared to Timothy McVeigh by another government employee.
I had the pleasure of being called a “Storm Fronter” even though I do not frequent that website.
I had to listen to this same person try to convince me that I should have my guns and right to bear arms taken away because I am a white man with particular opinions, and because I have a VA disability rating that should give the government the authorization to take those guns away.
I had to listen to this same person try to tell me that I am not to talk to certain people in real life or on the internet because I will be put on some watch list by the government.
I had to listen to this same person try to tell me that our current president is a problem for our country. This same person tried to tell me that people like his own son and me are a problem for America because of our so-called conservative opinions.
I was further given the pleasure of knowing that I am just one of many veterans now being treated this way, no matter what we say when we are given official questioning about mental health.
It no longer matters what we say, but if we say just the “right” things to these people, things that meet criteria that changes all the time to suit the political situation in America, these same people can use our words against us. In no time, we’ll be in a hospital gown with an intravenous line hanging out of our arm just in case we try to physically resist what is being done to us.
Even the US Department of Veterans Affairs police officers were and are disgusted by this. At least one police officer admitted to me that he will NEVER go to a VA hospital as a patient because of how he sees his brothers and sisters treated when it comes to their mental health.
Quote from the police officer, and fellow combat veteran: “Eric, these people treat our brothers and sisters like this is a jail. This isn’t a jail. This is a hospital. You are a veteran, and a patient. Write everything down from this experience before you forget. Everything.”
When I was finally released from the hospital, I was released to an elderly family member who was almost killed the last time they came to the VA due to catching viral pneumonia at the VA hospital. You had better believe the VA staff had an excuse for that one too.
Quote from a VA medical doctor, the same doctor who compared me to his so-called conservative son, who compared me to Timothy McVeigh, and who suggested that I was a potential “Storm Fronter” and domestic terrorist: “Certainly you don’t think your grandfather catching viral pneumonia at the VA hospital was a malicious act carried out against you, Eric? And let’s face it: more people die at the VA than they survive.”
Wow, Doc! What a great statement to tell an already potentially suicidal and hopeless person. Thanks, big guy!
On the morning of my release from the hospital, my grandfather was made to wait because my 1000am release had mysteriously changed to a 1030am release, and then a 1200pm release, until I finally put my foot down and aggressively argued about it with the staff at the psychiatric ward, at risk of me being put right back into their custody for my behavior.
I was handed my release paperwork, and as an added insult to injury, I was never given the opportunity to speak with the last person I was required to talk to in order to leave: the fourth and final social worker in this experience that lasted over 36 hours.
The social worker never spoke with me, but generated paperwork that stated that I did speak with her. The truth is that she used the words of someone else as her own, words of a different social worker within the last 24 hours. The nurses and medical doctors specifically told me that if I didn’t speak to this person, and tried to leave without doing it, I would have been considered an absconded patient. After all of their warnings and dramatics about me absconding without speaking with all of the proper personnel, I never got to speak with the last required person to be able to leave.
As I was putting on my regular civilian clothes, I discovered this on my paperwork. I spoke with a nurse who told me the name of this social worker, and her physical appearance. I knew I had never spoken to this woman even once throughout my stay. I ordered the nurse to have this woman come out of the hospital ward so that I could question her about it, and visually identify her so that I could confirm my suspicions. When the social worker arrived to the security area near the elevators, I visually confirmed that I never once spoke to her, and I ordered her to explain to me how it could be that I spoke to her that day if I never actually did. She admitted to this “pencil whipping” whereby she used a different colleague’s findings instead of verifying my stability for herself.
I looked down at this stupid, albeit pretty little woman, made a sound of suspicion about her behavior using my throat, motioned back toward the entrance to the hospital ward, and ordered her to “Carry on.” This woman ought to be at home raising children and making a combat veteran’s life easier. Instead, she’s in some cold psychiatric hospital ward, pencil whipping paperwork that has potentially permanent legal and life ramifications for combat veterans.
These, and other incompetent, inept, disrespectful, rent-seeking people are the cogs in the machine called the government at your neighborhood VA hospital. The “good ones” will be the first people to excuse the behavior, and try to circle it back around on the veterans and their families who complain about it. The only people I could trust throughout the entire ordeal were the police officers; they were the only ones who never once lied or deceived me. They performed their jobs with honor, and as fellow combat veterans, they were upset on my behalf without once excusing the tyrannical behaviors of the VA staff.
Since writing this article, I have tried to contact a military veteran lawyer who is well versed in fighting the VA, but because I have written this article, because I have decided to tell the world about this problem at the VA, the lawyer has informed me that he does not work with clients who speak publicly during a legal process against the government.
The lawyer informs me that what I am doing is what he considers a “public crusade against the US Department of Veterans Affairs,” and that he does not “work” like that. He instead “works” between a client and the federal government due to “differences of opinion.” This man is a military veteran himself, but after reading his legal bar biography, it becomes clear to me whose side he is actually on in this “public crusade” I am apparently undertaking.
I am not sure what part of “I was lied to multiple times, and held against my will” and “I have been compared to domestic terrorists instead of being properly medically and mentally treated at a government hospital” he didn’t understand, but apparently I am now “an intentionally nasty person” who he now “refuses to represent” in the court of law, thus furthering a potentially giant “narrative” against me if this ever comes to real blows in the real world. How serendipitous that this fucking Baby Boomer won’t be my lawyer after this turn of events.
So it looks like I will continue to fight this fight alone, as I have always done, other than VA claims representation by the VFW.
America has become a lie.
The US Department of Veterans Affairs has become a lie.
The United States Constitution has become a lie.
Enjoy your Feast of The Einherjar.
Enjoy your Blot of The Ancestors.
Enjoy your Veterans’ Day.
Enjoy your Sunday, 11 November this year.
Dine today with the knowledge that these massive lies are going to unravel and burn beneath the weight of the boots of men, and that these fucking criminals will be held to account for their actions that caused me, and many other veterans and their families, to unnecessarily suffer through their bullshit and divisive crimes against humanity.
I refuse to die without honor, just like I refuse to commit suicide, and I refuse to stand idle while America and its veterans suffer beneath the specter of instability that proliferates a very real shadow government that currently exists throughout our country.
Word of advice to the shadow governors: I am a Village Stability Operations (VSO) veteran, and I fought your kind in the past across the planet. I have no problem doing it again on my own soil, on behalf of my own blood, my own people, every man, woman, and child.
Don’t Tread on Me. Don’t fuck with me.