"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."