Grad's guide to graduate admissions essays - Colleen Reding 2015
University of houston law center
Law
Each successive door required a unique key. Buzzers sounded, signifying that the previous door was secured and the next could be opened. Two guarded driveways, one metal detector, and seven locking doors later, I was standing in Ward 10 on the top floor of a criminal mental hospital in the roughest area of Washington, DC. In what is certainly an intentional metaphor, the maximum-security patients are housed on the highest floor—a constant reminder of the distance to the doors to freedom. The words of the hospital psychologist were still ringing in my ears. “Never let a patient stand behind you,” he warned, “And always wear closed-toed shoes because you could pick up a disease off the floor that you might never get rid of.” With those intimidating words and a healthy dose of curiosity and adventure, I began my 4-year relationship with the men of St. Elizabeth’s Hospital.
In my experience, the only way to discover my true capacity is to step outside my comfort zone. With 4 years’ worth of Friday afternoons spent playing board games alongside, writing poetry with, and generally just listening to men who have pled “not guilty by reason of insanity,” I learned that my will to serve others is stronger than fear and stereotype as I have put a face—many faces—to the term “mental illness.” These men were diagnosed with schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, and sexual psychopathy, and committed crimes including rape and murder. Unlike a civil mental hospital where patients might only stay 2 weeks, most patients in this maximum-security forensic mental hospital stay upwards of 30 years, which allowed me to develop a rapport with certain patients over my college career. If the patients had family who visited when they were first institutionalized, they had long ago stopped coming, and we were generally the only visitors any patient received all week.
I understood when a student joined our club one week but was scared off and never returned. I do not claim that this is the Friday afternoon activity for everyone, but I found my niche in St. Elizabeth’s and I am glad the psychologist’s warnings did not scare me off that first day. By my fourth year, the patients saw me as more than someone with whom to play Jenga, but as someone with whom they could confide. Some patients wanted to tell me about their crimes. Others spoke of their rediscovered faith and wanted to discuss Bible and Koran passages about repentance and forgiveness. One amazed me with his knowledge of the philosophies of Plato and Locke. Another studied the dictionary all week long in preparation for our weekly game of Scrabble and took great pride in beating all of the Georgetown students. Still there were others who did not interact with us at all except to stand and receive us with a handshake as we entered and exited.
Above all else, reflection on my time at St. Elizabeth’s is a constant reminder of the tangible influence one person can exert on another’s life. A patient once told me I was “the best part of his week,” and I will never forget that. While I did not have the power to release patients from the mental hospital, petition to have their sentences reduced, or quiet the voices in their heads, I did have the power to commit to being there every Friday with a positive attitude and an open mind.
I do not claim that writing poetry with these men relates to law school or that it can speak to the kind of lawyer I will be, but this experience has forever changed what kind of person I am. Watching one man tenderly hold a picture of a 2-year-old little girl—his daughter—whom he hadn’t seen in more than 15 years, I became more attuned to the loneliness of others. After hearing their stories of mental illness triggered by drug use, childhood abuse, and war, I became slower to judge and quicker to listen. When certain members of the staff suggested that we cease all physical contact with the patients, I became painfully aware of the inherent human need for the dignity that comes from a respectful handshake. I looked forward to most Fridays, but knowing how much they eagerly awaited our visits pushed me to make the trip on icy cold days or afternoons when I felt overwhelmed with schoolwork and, in the process, I noticed myself getting better at following through on all of my commitments. In 4 years, I witnessed verbal and physical altercations between patients, I was evacuated after a cryptic coded announcement, I saw the instability and felt the anxiety in the new arrivals, and I celebrated with those who were being moved down to medium security, only to watch them return to maximum security a few weeks later. In seeing the rawness and vulnerability of mental illness and incarceration in the men of St. Elizabeth’s, I became more aware of my own humanity.
