You and me both, Foggy. I was 5150’d about a month ago and was shocked at how badly the whole situation was handled. I was talking to a counselor on my company provided help-line while I was on medical leave for depression. It was around 2:30 am and couldn’t sleep and I had been drinking, but not to any black-out levels. We started out just talking about circumstances and medical history. The counselor eventually got around to what I think were a scripted series of questions.
Counsleor: Are you thinking about harming yourself or others or damaging property?
MonkeyMensch: No.
C: Have you been having suicidal thoughts?
MM: Yes, but none of them are actively suicidal. I always tend to characterize my thoughts along the lines the lines of George Bailey, from It’s A Wonderful Life: I wish I had never been born.
C: If you were to commit suicide how would you do it? (This was the loaded question, no pun intended.)
MM: I’d get a shotgun with no. 6 shot and put it in my mouth. You see, no. 6 shot is large enough to lacerate the brain tissue and yet not large enough to create an exit wound.
(This is just stuff I know from knowing anatomy, physiology and shooting shotguns. The specifics apparently raised every red flag in this moron’s book. His next questions made sense, however.)
C: Do you own any firearms?
MM: No, none at all.
C: Do you have access to firearms or ammunition?
MM: No. I’ve never owned a gun of my own and don’t have any ammo.
C: Do you have thoughts of harming yourself, or others or property tonight?
MM: No. Not at all. Like I said my thoughts are wishing I had never existed, not killing myself now.
Here’s where he covered the HelpLine’s ass…
C: Hang on a moment…
MM: Are you calling a mental health professional?
C: Uh, yeah.
Now the only place in my apartment with good cell reception is right by the slider overlooking the parking lot.
At this point C calls the Sheriff’s Department and tells them that someone at my address is thinking about suicide by firearm. We talk a bit more and I get to see five (count 'em, five) sheriff’s patrol cars (code 2, no sirens) pull up next to and eventually into my parking lot. I’m flabbergasted. Six deputies all pile out and while I’m still trying to talk to the counselor on the phone I start trying to answer the questions the deputies are throwing up at me. In the middle of the deputies is this 19 year old with a shotgun and bandolier ready to fire at me, in case something “bad” happens.
Senior Sheriff’s deputy: Are you MonkeyMensch?
MM: Yeah?
SSD: How do you get into this building?
MM: You don’t. It’s a secure building. What do you want?
SSD: We got a call about a potential suicide and that’s why were here.
(By this time I had lost the call to the counselor, so my attention was fully devoted to the cops.)
MM: OK. But I’m not actively suicidal, as I told the counselor. I also have no firearms or ammo up here, is that clear?
SSD: Yeah, that’s fine we’d just like you to come down here to talk to us.
You can probably guess what happens from there. It involves protestations of no active intent, handcuffs, asshole deputies (there are some) and dorks at the ER. N.B. that there is an ER three blocks from my house but they drive me half an hour’s drive away to some OTHER ER that has the contract with with the county.
I learned a few things, though. Don’t talk to deputies if it can be avoided. NEVER open the door to a deputy who does not have a warrant on his or her person. Don’t use the EAP network. They have incompetent staff who will cover their own asses at your expense. Thanks.