The Southeast D.C. WonderNEW YORK CITYVOICES: November/December 2001
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By William Darrell Peterson
In the fall of 1976, I had achieved the ultimate high (as I understood then). It thrilled me to accept a full academic scholarship to Brown University in Providence, Rhode Island. Does anything good come out of Southeast Washington, D.C.? Yes, there is me. (My colleagues called me "THE S.E. D.C. WONDER").
I made a choice to attend college out of town, in unfamiliar territory. I decided to go away to Brown, although I was accepted at Georgetown. This was one of the initial choices that had severe consequences for me. Throughout my life, I have made choices some good, some bad! All choices have consequences. Despite the consequences, it has been fulfilling to stay the course. I greatly appreciate the many people, places and things this Black man has enjoyed. I am determined to conquer the struggle against mental illness.
A WINNER NEVER QUITS A QUITTER NEVER WINS
My first breakdown was on campus at Brown that fall in 1976. By December of that same year, I was placed in the seclusion room at the infamous Dix Building, on the campus of Saint Elizabeth's Hospital. The shift from progress to decompensation was quick and horrendous. I ate my meals through the slot under the seclusion room door. I grieved. It hurts to remember the losses manic-depression cost me. There was my scholarship gone. There was our family van gone. There was my wife and children, effectively gone. There was the possibility to become a lawyer, a doctor, a preacher, or a businessman gone.
Barely did my vision hold me together. I am thankful for the support of family, friends, and my GOD who have surrounded me these last twenty-five years. In 1986, I chose to terminate therapy with an area psychiatrist in private practice. This man told me that one cannot love everybody. Such a statement runs contrary to my heart-felt Christian principles. He said that I would not succeed! Apparently, he underestimated the strength of "THE S.E. D.C. WONDER."
My grandmother insisted that I go back to work after being discharged from Saint Elizabeth's inpatient care. So I went to work in a bank for twelve years, in a brokerage firm for two years, in a ticket sales company for a year, and in a church, as the assistant treasurer, for five years. These accomplishments are the experiences I bring to the table, today, on the Partnership Council of the Department of Mental Health and on the Board of Our Turn Advocacy Services.
Being sometimes heavily sedated and sometimes not, I found the balance of life. Small successes lead to future larger-scale victories. Aggressive searching out and taking charge of my individual recovery plan is a choice, I cannot surrender to anyone else but myself. I warn anyone to whom it may concern: I have the problem therefore, hear me treat me.
How long I will have to live with the diagnosis, or how long I will be dependent on the medication, or whether there will be more losses in the path to recovery the answer remains the same. In the words of my dear friend from Puerto Rico, Mr. Angel Rivera: "Vale la Pena!"
It is worth the pain. It hurts less to stay up, than to give up.
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