"
I nodded again.
"Of course, there is still hope. But you've got to stop fighting me.
You've got to act *now*." He instructed me to take the drug.
I had no premonition as I swallowed the Stelazine that Atmananda would
later call me his "chemical experiment."
In the days that followed, Atmananda seemed to enjoy his assumed
role as psychiatrist and nurse. He knocked on my door several times
a day and, in a cheery voice, announced, "Hi, kid--reality check.
How do you feel?"
"Dizzy," I replied. I smiled. I was enjoying Atmananda's attention
and kind treatment. "I feel pretty relaxed."
"Good," he said. "Now tell me about your thoughts."
I did.
He seemed pleased that I was finding it difficult to concentrate,
that my thoughts had a fuzzy, dream-like quality to them, and that my
self-analyzing, authority-questioning nature had submerged beyond
my control.
"You should feel good about yourself," he said pleasantly.
"You are making some definite progress."
14. Bicycle Ride--St. Ignes
Two weeks into the cross-country bicycle trek, I pedaled from Utica,
New York, to Rochester, where I stayed with Noah, a childhood friend.
When I told him the story of my years with Atmananda, he congratulated
me for having left what sounded to him like an abusive marriage.
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