Remembering Central State Hospital

God "attempts to save what is lost and find value in every aspect of the world." - Monica A Coleman, Making A Way Out of No Way: A Womanist Theology

A few weeks ago, I visited Central State Hospital in Milledgeville, Georgia, with the Georgia Mental Health Consumer Network for Mental Health Month.  At one time, Central State Hospital was the largest mental institution in the United States, maybe even the world.  Now, most of the buildings are falling apart, and most of the people are gone, although there are still a few forensic units left.  The visit made me sad, especially as I thought of the current residents.  I can imagine how hopeless it must feel to be bussed onto those grounds and see the campus in disrepair, knowing that's where you're going to live for a very long time.  It does help knowing that not everything there is bad.  Georgia College and State University is also in Milledgeville, and they have an excellent music therapy program.  I should know, I was there, way back in 2007-2008!  Music therapists have been working at Central State for maybe over fifty years, and some of their instruments were displayed at the Central State museum.  There used to be dances and outings for the patients, so it was not all bad.

Still, it is a sorrowful place.  The grave markers only have numbers; for names to be displayed would be a disgrace to a family.  The only grave markers were for the white patients, anyway.  It made me sad to know that for over a hundred years, the hospital was segregated.  I would not be surprised if the white patients were treated much better than the Black patients.  There is a memorial statue of an angel in the  graveyard, and people have left stones and figurines in remembrance of past family members.

  I remember the last time I was inpatient hospitalized, I felt totally forgotten, but Central State Hospital was a place where people truly were - husbands would dump argumentative wives or troublesome teenagers at the gate, never to be seen by outside family ever again.

The feelings I carried with me after viewing the grounds at Central State stayed with me for at least a week.

May is Mental Health Month, and we must not let the patients of the past be forgotten.  They were people who deserved much better, and yet it was the best we had at the time.  Now, medications have improved, and due to the Olmstead Act, fewer people are institutionalized in mental hospitals long-term.  People can be diagnosed with a severe mental illness at one point in their lives and, with support and hard work, can still live a good life, have a life worth living.  I do.

And yet, advocacy is not over.  Certified peer specialists often do not get paid enough, and then have to find other work.  I've had to do that.  And the new long-term mental health institution is the prison.  I would like to work in Georgia prisons as a chaplain if possible.

This subject is heavy, so it encourages me to know that with God, nothing is lost, and everyone is remembered.  I may not know the names of those who died at Central State, but the Holy One does.  Not just the Holy One, but all of us are charged to remember their stories and to advocate for better ways.  We are called to take care of ourselves and make sure that we are mentally well.

That is my goal-to not just bring awareness to mental health, but also to bring hope that one can become mentally well.  Not all the time, but at least some of the time.  Mental wellness looks different for each person, but for me, it includes gratitude, community, support, worship, art, intentionality, and hard work.

What works for you?