Behavioural contract
This afternoon, I was talking to my mother. She’s been talking to an acquaintance who was recently diagnosed with bipolar disorder, and she’s been thinking about the Virginia Tech shootings, and she’s also getting worked up about the college mental health crisis. Specifically, she was talking about how irresponsible the psychiatrist at the student health centre at one of the universities I attended was, but since I don’t feel like getting into that right now, here’s something that’s at least tangentially related.
This is the non-story of how I could have gotten kicked out of my university residence merely for cutting myself. The residence life manager gave me the following letter on December 8, 1999:
Dear Polly,
Since January 1999 the residence staff, particularly [name of residence assistant], RA, have been working with you in trying to help you cope with the stresses that have been present in your life. I am aware that you have been seeking help from both Psychiatrists and Counsellors and I am very pleased to see you take the initiative in helping yourself through these difficult situations. However, I am also aware that there are still certain behaviours that you have engaged in both last semester and currently this semester that have me concerned. Firstly, I am concerned for your well being and safety, and secondly I am concerned for the well being of the community of [name of residence]. Examples of behaviours which are unacceptable in the residence community and have to stop immediately are:
• cutting yourself using razor blades or other means
• lying in the elevator or other common areas in a state of depression
• taking an overdose of medicationPolly, the intent of this letter is to put forth a contract that I feel must be adhered to for the well being of not only yourself, but the [name of residence] community as well. I encourage you to continue to obtain help from your Doctor and Counselling Services in order to be able to live by the guidelines as stated here in this contract and remain a resident of [name of residence].
Sincerely,
[name]
Residence Life ManagerBehavioural Contract
I understand the behaviours as set forth in this letter will not be tolerated in the residence community. I agree to abide by these terms and conditions and I am aware that any breach of the contract above will result in the termination of my Residence Agreement.________________
(signature)________________
(date)
I signed the contract because it seemed less humiliating than fighting against it would have been. I know I should have stood up for my rights, but I didn’t.
Did this contract help me? No, it did not. I don’t even think it helped the university. My very first thought upon reading the contract was how much I wanted to die. It made me realize that the residence life manager, who I used to confide in, did not actually care if I got better, she just wanted to keep me from disrupting everyone else’s lives. I never did lie on the floor of the elevator again, but I only did that once in the first place and I never would have done that again anyway because I realized how phenomenally stupid it was. I kept cutting, but I made sure to always wear long sleeves whenever I left my room. I stopped talking to the residence life manager and my RA about my problems.
I made it through the rest of the school year without being kicked out of residence. When I returned in the fall, I was told that I was expected to abide by the same contract. No, wait — they actually sent a letter to my home address telling me this. Luckily, I checked the mail that day and found the letter before anyone else in my family did. I don’t think my parents would have been mad at me, but I still would have been embarrassed to have them read it.
I still cut, and I still hid my self-injury from The Powers That Be in residence. TPTB found out about my near-fatal overdose in December of 2000, of course — you can’t really hide the near-fatal ones that land you in the hospital for three weeks — but they didn’t have to kick me out of residence because by that point, I had already told them that I planned to transfer to another university in January. And I did.
You can’t fire me, because I quit.
April 20th, 2007 at 6:18 pm
It’s a very sad letter, but I must admit that the “lying in an elevator” was kind of funny.
I always wear long sleeves when I cut myself, too. I’m so sorry that you had to deal with the hospitalization and that you felt so terrible that you wanted to end your life. I know how that feels and I know I’d never wish it on anyone. Aren’t our brains just the weirdest things? I wish I knew how to be “normal.”
April 20th, 2007 at 8:47 pm
That contract was not a well thought-out idea, huh? It has probably made other people go “underground” with their troubles, too. I’m sure they thought they were helping you, but maybe they should talk to counsellors to see if shit like that would actually work. Personally, I can’t see it working for anybody with serious troubles like ours. *shakes head* School.
April 21st, 2007 at 7:06 am
Maybe I’ve seen too many stupid Hollywood movies about all the cool and crazy things about people do while living ‘on campus’, but I would’ve thought that the elevators would have regularly been chock full of drunk, stoned people gone horizontal, so why pick on someone who’s lying around on account of ‘a state of depression’?
Seriously, not only was the contract of no help to you, it may not have even been intended to minimise the disruption your behaviour may or may not have caused the ‘community’. These contracts tend to get used, incredibly inappropriately, as ‘risk assessment tools’ - if you refuse to sign, that’s taken as a reason to regard you as ‘high risk’, even if you’ve only refused to sign because you think the whole idea is insulting and/or plain stupid. And if you do sign, they think that means (a) you’re ‘low risk’ and (b) if you do happen to break the contract anyway, they’re not legally liable - which, as it turns out, is nonsense.
I don’t know how much damage you were doing to yourself with razor blades at the time, but when I was asked to sign a similar contract while in hospital as a teenager, the hypocrisy of it really gave me the shits. I used to cut myself with broken glass, resulting in very superficial wounds, whenever I felt overwhelmed by particular feelings or memories. The contract said that I should talk to the nurses whenever I felt like doing it - but did the nurses have the time, or more to the point, the inclination to listen? Often they were overtly skeptical about what I had to say, which only compounded my distress. So I thought, why don’t they recognise that I’m doing both them and myself a favour by locking myself in the bathroom and making a few cat scratches on my arm, in the absence of more sophisticated coping strategies, on my part and on theirs?
Anyway, I ignored the contract and eventually they caught me doing it again. Only cat scratches as usual, but buttons were pushed, alarms went off, and several people came running in with all sorts of medical paraphernalia as if I’d accidentally amputated a limb. Not sure what point I’m trying to make here - perhaps just that people overreact to the whole idea of cutting relative to the actual damage it does.
April 21st, 2007 at 2:09 pm
I think the “lying in the elevator” part was why I really didn’t want my parents to see it. It was one of the most ridiculous things I’ve ever done. It’s easy to see why they didn’t want anyone lying in the elevator, but the “or other common areas” bit was really asinine on their part. When I showed the contract to a friend of mine, she said, “I lie on the couch in the common room in a state of depression all the time. If people really weren’t allowed to do that, they’d have to kick every single person out of residence.”
Ruth, I wasn’t doing serious damage to myself with razor blades at the time. I didn’t do anything that even required stitches. I’ve got noticeable permanent upper arm scars from that time period, but that’s only because it’s fleshier up there and it scars more easily. I don’t have any noticeable permanent wrist/forearm scars from that time period.
Jo, when I’m stable, like I am now, the idea of killing myself seems bizarre and I can’t relate to feeling that way at all. When I’m deeply depressed, though, I really believe that I’ve never been happy and I never will be happy, and so I think it makes perfect sense that I want to die. It’s so weird.
January 25th, 2008 at 12:57 am
Thanks for bringing this to my attention Polly. This situation is rapidly getting worse for students. People will go “underground” rather than seek help for fear of being scrutinized by school authorities or kicked out altogether. It’s really sad how certain groups are using the VT tragedy to push forth their own agendas. The article I posted links to a couple of more on the topic, and that only scratches the surface. This kind of idiotic response is becoming par for the course, and I suspect it’s only going to get worse. I am glad you got through it before all this new stuff came down. It’s like living in a shark tank these days. I just changed my major to art, so I best learn how to paint pretty flowers and fuzzy little kittens real quick.
August 27th, 2008 at 5:37 pm
I just happened upon your site through a google search and I’m glad I did. I had an almost identical experience to yours when I was in college.
After confiding in the RA about my struggle with self-injury I was forced to sign a contract saying I would see a counselor for the remainder of the year, stop self-injurying, and refrain from any “self-medicating.” This was all done because apparently my pain was a “distraction to residence hall life.” That was a complete BS way of saying, “We need to cover our butts in case you accidentally end up killing yourself.” I wasn’t suicidal before the contract, but I was afterwards thinking about having to tell my parents if I got kicked out of school. Thankfully, I’ve been injury-free since March 18, 2006, but not because of any help I received in college. Anyways, thanks for sharing your struggle and I’m glad that things seem to be going better for you. It really is remarkable how similar our stories are from the posts I’ve read. Take care of yourself.