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Once upon a time there was a guy whos tale yet has to be told. It is a sad tale about being detained. A tale about hope and distrust. This is that story.

20th October 2017 something happened that at least said would set marks in my life history. Something small, like a butterflys fluttering normally does not matter much. I got detained, and have been that ever since.

I got arrested. First I was sent to the eastern hospital psychiatric ward. There they snapped some pictures and I had to change to hospital clothes. I did not like that they took pictures on my bloody feet. Then we went stright across the corridor to another room. There I laid on a bunk while they took a blood sample on me.
-I didn't know it was so hard to stick someone, I said distressed. The nurse sticked me multiple times before hitting a vein.
-You have such veins that just slip away. Normally I am goot at this, she said. I had got some band aid at the crime scene, first by a carer while being held by police and then by a police. I remember a strip of flesh hanging from the wound, and it disgusted me. I had already pulled out several long hairs from the wound.

At the hospital I met a doctor who started talking to me. He asked a bit of annoying questions about the incident that had just happened. I noticed that he was more inclined to convince me of how wrong I had than trying to understand my view of it all. Then I talked a little with a police officer, actually about mushrooms.
-Yellow swamp russula could be recognized by the white stem that turns gray on aging or bruising, I said. The police took out his mobile and looked up the svampguiden. Then he read.
-Yellow swamp russula. Stem white, graying with age. He nodded.

Then they went away with me again to a new place. I didn't know where, and I became worried when I saw the double fences and sluice to enter. We went in through a gate and then stepped off the car. Then we went in through another door. There we were greeted by some carers who presented themselves. The police went away and I followed the caregivers through another door. Then through a door that can only be unlocked from a control room. They looked up at the camera until it clicked. The door was unlocked and we could pass. Thus we were inside the hall and we were greeted by a patient who was naked and reluctantly was brought out through the door we were just about to pass. They asked me to look away.
-I already said I am sorry. I can go by myself, the patient said. I understood then that I had come to some kind of madhouse. What I did not dare to fear was how long I would spend at that place.

I was taken to a room. Room 6 it was. I hate that number. Then a stranger came to me who I would later get to know. It was the chief physician in the department. She said that I had committed a very serious crime and then she pleaded for something that I do not really remember.
-Can I get a belonging to me? I asked.
- We don't know that.
-It's a book I need right now.
-Not right now.
- Can I get it later then?
-We'll see.
-My hand then? Shouldn't you do something about the wound? Then we went to a treatment room.
- Any nurse here? We have someone who may need to be sewn. Hello! Cried them. Then I was examined by a nurse. She removed the bandage I had around my hand.
-It's rather deep. Hmm ...

Soon we went to östra sjukhuset. There were some problems when we were off.
-I'm exvak. I have to come with you, said the carer.
-We know nothing about that, said the police. In the end, she got to come with us. Once we arrived we went out of the police car and I had a police on each side of me. We went directly into the treatment room and waited there. The doctor came, and then I did a test to test my tactilely in the hand.

I had cut myself above my left index finger. The tactilely had disappeared in half the finger so it must have been a nerve injury. I first got a local anesthetic. Then I was sewn with two stitches. I do not really understand the meaning of anesthesia syringes. They bring more pain than the actual sewing, I think. When we were back they took the opportunity to take pictures on me at the police station and bring it into the crime register along with my fingerprints. I remember that they took all the fingers except my right thumb, which I had band aid on. On the way back, my attendant said we were going home again. I had only been there for a few hours and she already called it my home. I refused to see it as my home, but what I did not know was that I would spend several months in my now called "home".

Back at my new "home" I ate calops.
- Exactly what I was going to eat at home, I exclaimed. Then it lit up in the carer's eyes.
-So good! He said. At nightfall when I wanted to sleep I noticed that I was not allowed to be alone in the room.
- Will you be here all night? I asked my exvak.
-Sorry, I will, he replied.
-How long will it be like that? I wondered.
- Until Monday. Then they have a meeting about it. I tried to swallow my despair. I really did not want to sleep with a carer watching me. But it was just to realize so was the case. It was only Friday so far. Exvak means that a carekeeper must be in the same room as you 24/7. You were not allowed to be on the toilet alone and you slept with someone looking at you.

On Saturday, I met my lawyer for the first time. I had just decided not to talk to anyone more at the time, but he seemed kind and sweet, so I introduced myself and listened to what he had to say.
-We can meet twice a week, he said. I refused to believe that I would stay there for several weeks. Then we went to another room with two police officers in. It was an interrogation room, and the police wanted to interrogate me this Saturday morning. My lawyer said I didn't have to say anything, so that was exactly what I did not do. I was silent throughout the interview.
-You did great, the lawyer praised me afterwards.

Luckily, they picked up weather I should keep having exvak or not on Monday, and I got rid of it. from then on I only had supervision, which meant that they looked in to the room a bit every now and then. On the same day, a transport car came to pick me up. I didn't know where I was going or if I would come back. A female prisoner (like police) came with a pair of handcuffs and a belt.
- Don't take it personally now. This is something we do at all, she said. They put me in shackles and then went into the car with me. Oh how embarrassing it was. They held the belt as if I were their dog. I went to a courtroom at the detention center. There I first met my lawyer for a short while. A little too short actually. He did not get to say much, but by what he said I understood that they would have a negotiation on whether or not I would be arrested. It was a short negotiation and I got to see my dad who had taken time off from work to see me for a few seconds. He was not allowed to participate in the actual negotiation. When it was over I was sent back.

I met a medic too. He inspected my injuries, so I had to show my hands and feet. Then he took some pictures and it was over.

There was a conservatory that I was allowed to be in. It differed from the rest of the place in appearance. Iron bars instead of ceilings made it different from the hospital environment elsewhere.

A nice memory is when I was offered a choclate cake and a carer had made fun and sneaked in an extra piece to me. Then my carer came and the other carer said:
-We do absolutely not want to have an extra piece of cake.
-No, you can't, she said and smiled. Then she looked at me and said:
- But maybe you want a piece?
-No thanks it's good, I said.

I noticed that it was difficult to make a sensible conversation with the carekeepers. I asked if I could borrow a pen. Someone said the pen was in use. Another said that both pens were in use and a third said that the doctor told me I was not allowed to use pens. Then there was someone who actually lent their pen to me. They have their excuses.
-When can I get my black book? I wondered.
"You have to bring it up to your lawyer," said my nurse.

I was disturbed all the sounds that was heard from outside the room. There was someone who sounded so eager, and obviously someone was bothered by him and said "I hate you". Then he replied "I love you" and so they kept telling each other.
-I hate you.
-I love you.
-I hate you.
-I love you.

I was there for seven days. On Thursday, a doctor candidate came into the room and said that I had no supervision anymore. A little later my nurse came and said that I would soon be transferred to the custody. I didn't know how it was like, so I had nothing to expect. A little later, my transport came. I was put in shackles and got into the car with only one page of paper as belonging.

The first few days at the custody were the worst days of my life. I wondered when I was going to leave. You are in a room all day. I thought if I didn't eat anything, they would probably move me to another place. At first it went well, but then they started to place the food in the room. When it was Sunday and I had not eaten for two days I could not resist the rice pudding I got for lunch. I continued to barely eat for maybe a month. Mostly because I found reassurance in being hungry.

The guy in the room next door was German and they spoke English to him. I could hear I hate you, I love you in MY head the first dayS. Then it disappeared.

I was on the seventh floor, support and guarding as it was called. I had supervision which meant that they opened the hatch and checked in once an hour day and night. At night they either lit the fluorescent lamp in the ceiling or lit in with a flashlight. On the day, they wanted me to show my face every time they checked. If I did not show my face, they shouted first and then came in.

The rooms at the custody are equipped with a bed, a toilet entirely in metal, a bird bath for basin, a desk, a stool, a bookshelf, ceiling lamps and a window with iron bars. One could not look straight forward through the window because of parsiers that could not be regulated were in the way. One could only look downwards. There were parsiers between the thin glass plate and the somewhat thicker. These parsons could be regulated and pulled up. The outermost window was a centimeter thick, and the whole building was wrapped in a layer of thick glass. I could see into the smaller Ullevis football field, so if there was any match there I could watch it. You walked around in green ugly pajamas day and night. I know it was pajamas, because a psychologist said so.

Every time you were to go somewhere you were bodily searched. Some just stroke a little on your pockets while others really squeeze your feet and felt all over your legs. It was a "walk" once a day. By "walk" they meant being locked out in a small outdoor room surrounded by concrete and iron bars on the top floor. There you had to choose to be either 30 or 60 minutes a day. You were on the top floor alone. The doors were self-opening.

The evening of October 30 was the worst evening of all. I had been told that there would be a new police interrogation the next day. I just wanted a meteroid to wipe out all life here so everything would be good. During the interrogation I finally got my black book. I also answered the polices' questions this time.

I learned what it was for lunch at the custody. Mondays there was soup with bread to. Tuesdays there was fish. Wednesdays it was something cold. Thursdays it was soup with something sweet. Fridays there was fish. Saturdays seemed to be anything. On Sundays, it was rice pudding. I thought the hot food was pretty good anyway. The breakfast and supper, on the other hand, were no high-ups. There were cheese sandwitch and flakes with milk for breakfast, and cheese sandwich for supper. The supper was given at dinner so you could spare it until later. You did not get a butter knife to spread with, but I noticed that the toothpaste tube fit perfectly for the butter packets, so I spread it with that.

I did two puzzles at the custody. One with 1500 pieces and the other with 1000 pieces. I also had other things for me to let time pass. I folded shurikens of paper that I tried to hit the thermos with. When I hit it it let out a dinging sound. I put the phone card on the thermos and placed my calendar beside and tried to hit them.

It was that time I was treated very badly. It was when I was to take food. I did not know it then, but afterwards I was told that it was because I had left the room without slippers. I was going to take my Sunday porridge but then the prison officers took me and threw me into the room again. Then I pulled out my leg so they could not close and so I got up and got out of the room. Then they grabbed me and tried to get me down on the floor. After a while a third prison officer came and interfered and then it became too much for me. They took me down on the floor and threw everything out of the room. They alarmed and there were soon ten prison officers there. Then I got into the room again. They had taken everything except the mattress and a shuriken lying on the floor. A little later I was taken to the floors below, the security section, and I was holding my shuriken while they took me down a floor. I got three scrap wounds, broke off three nails and had a sore shoulder afterwards.

The security section was very similar to support and guarding. They had no supervision and instead of hearing desperate screams I heard them shouting mean things to each other. There was a bookshelf fewer and a hatch more in the door. It was just so the tray you get with food fit through the hatch. I thing it was so you would be able to stay in the room all day without having to open the door. The doors could not be unlocked by the prison officers themselves, as in the section before. They could only be unlocked from a control room.

I got to meet a psychologist at the custody. We met about eleven times. At first I liked the conversations but all the while I noticed that I felt worse about the conversations. I wanted to complain about the personnel, but they did not tolerate saying something bad about them. Not even the psychologist tolerated that I said anything detrimental to someone else. You cannot have an adequate conversation if the only thing you want to talk about is not tolerated as a subject of conversation. Then I went to the Forensic Medicine Agency on an investigation. When I came back to the custody, I asked to see that psychologist again. She had said it would be so good there, but it was anything but good, and so I wanted to tell her. I asked to see her for several weeks to come and finally I had to meet another psychologist, but she was no good at all and there was no point in saying what it was like at the Forensic Medicine Agency, so I told her I did not want to see her any more. I had no one to talk to and my very strong need for just that made life much worse. I never had to meet the first psychologist again, and I regret that the last thing I did was not to poke her in the eye.

At the Forensic Medicine Agency, it was pretty good at first. There are two forensics in Sweden. One in Gothenburg and one in Stockholm. Then you think you come to that in Gothenburg when you live in Gothenburg, but no, I was sent to a city with red buses.(Stockholm has red buses) A red bus was all I saw about Stockholm. No more that excelled the city appeared to me. I went with a transport car with shackles and behind me someone else was going to the custody in Örebro. In Örebro there was a car exchange, and I ate lunch there. The custody was much more worn than the custody in Gothenburg. Doodles were everywhere in the room, and someone had written "Josef Rosengård". The rest of the trip I sat at the back. It was much better when I did not hear the car radio. Once arrived, I was bodily searched twice, signed on a paper and was shown around the building. It was very fresh rooms. Very calm.

There was a ping-pong table, several TV sets, a lot of board games and sofas. None of that I got to take part of because I had restrictions, so I was only allowed to be in my room.

The food was amazing. You got a lot to choose from for breakfast and supper. Then there were lunch, dinner and coffee in the middle of the afternoon. For coffee, you got crusts, butter, cookies, marmalade and cheese. I had juice in the room all the time.

The investigators presented themselves the second day. It was a doctor, a social investigator, a psychologist, my contact person and one who seemed to be in charge. I don't really know what she did in the whole, and I came to not like her later. I filled in forms, built with blocks, answered idiotic questions and chosed pictures that did not fit in.

It was December and the snow was laid like a cover on the ground. The patio was nice to be in. It felt so free compared to the patio at the custody. It was big and without iron bars. I wrote JJ in the snow with my shoe prints. There were cameras everywhere except on the toilet. Even in the rooms. All doors were sliding doors for some reason.

During a conversation with the psychologist, I got so idiotic questions that I refused to answer them. I burst out in laughter. I do that when I get very annoyed. Then I left. Apparently, they thought it was the most awkward way you could behave. They followed me into my room, glared at me for a while, and then went away. A little later, one of the investigators came, she I did not like much, and wondered why it became as it became. I sat quietly and watched the TV.
-Then we do so that we move you to the other side where we have compulsory care. I don't think you would like it there, she said. Then she went and I could hear an alarm going. Then many personell came into the room, grabbed me and went over to a room on the other side. The only thing that was in the room was a belt bed that was screwed shut in the middle of the room. In the room besides there was a toilet and a shower. It was wet all over the floor, because the floor did not lean against the well more than the square meter just the well was in. There was the same inside the toilet in my room that it did not lean towards the well. There were two windows to a room next to it. One where they could look into the toilet and one where they could look into the larger room. There was someone there all the time and looked in. Later someone came to give me a mattress to sleep on and a sleeping pill. He thought I had come there because I threatened. I actually managed to sleep well that night. The next day the doctor came into the room and said I did not have to stay there. Then I went back to my room.

The next day I went back to Gothenburg. I had by then got another diagnosis. I sat behind someone else who was going to the same place that I was going to, namely to the place I was first on which I had exvak at. I had learned that the place was called Rågården. We stayed in Jönköping and ate at the custody there. On the last half of the trip, we went with a little nicer prisoner. We let go without handcuffs and they offered sweets.

Back at Rågården I got to be without exvak, but not supervision. They locked the toilet door and took away the bedding. There is a button that you can press to call the carers, so I had to push it when I wanted to go to the toilet. I could hear him who I was taken back with. I recognized his laughter. I did not get to go out to him. I still had restrictions. On Friday I was told that my parents would come. They came in the afternoon the same day and we talked to each other with two police officers in the same room. Then I went back to the custody. I was told that the reason I was at Rågården the first week was for increased suicide risk. I was often asked if I wanted to kill myself and each time I took offense. Just as often I answered no to that question.

I celebrated Christmas in the custody. To that Christmas celebration included Christmas food, some chocolate and a calendar for 2018 as well as a gift from mom. It was a world atlas. I like to study the world map.

The trial was in late January. I absolutely did not want to be at it. The night before, I thought about things I could do to avoid the trial. It was something I had feared for a long time to come. In any case, I did not have to be in the courtroom. Instead, I was on a video link. It was a camera that filmed me and a microphone that recorded my voice. I saw that my dad was there even though I had mediated that he would not come. I cannot describe how disappointed I was at him. The trial went bad. I got a lot of things said against me, and only my lawyer defended me.

I was now in the security section, and I would stay there until early February. Then they sent me to Rågården again. There I was two nights before I was sent to the custody again. The chief physician said that I had been sent to Rågården because of a misunderstanding. They at Rågården thought that I would not appeal my judgment, but I would, and then it would take several months before the verdict was brought. For so long they did not want me there. I just took up place someone else might need more. I had no restrictions anymore so I could walk around outside my room. There was another patient who wanted me to remember him, so he drew Homer Simpson in my black book.

I was once again in the security section. The others shouted bad things to each other. Someone had been in custody for nine months for robbery. Robbery is what you have the longest time arrested for, and Sweden has the longest arrest times in the world.

I had a visit booked on the hand surgery at Sahlgrenska Hospital. I could not come to that when I was detained, so my lawyer called my dad and told him to cancel the visit.

There are about 300 detainees at the custody and about eight percent of them are women. Women get it much better than men. They do not have to be detained for as long.

I appealed to the Court of Appeal, and in the Court of Appeal I sat on video link, but I just needed to be at the beginning and end of the trial, which I am grateful for, but I still had to hear a lot of bad things about me.

The Court of Appeal established the district court's judgment, and I tried to appeal to the Supreme Court. It is so frustrating how long time everything takes. Much longer than in healthcare. It takes several months to appeal and the investigation will be completed in a few hours but you will not be notified until a few weeks.

The whole process feels as if it is only there to get one to feel bad. You get a preliminary investigation protocol with all the police officers who say I am stupid and a lot of pictures of when I stand half naked and blooded. I injured my finger and they did not want to help me with that. The claimants got the help she needed and more. There were certainly 50 attachments, and I got to take part of about one third of them.

I was sued for SEK 165,000. It was adjusted to SEK 145,000. Remaining way too much. No, I have not killed anyone. In fact, murder is usually about SEK 100,000.

I was sentenced to forensic psychiatric care with discharge testing. My lawyer said that if I got prison it would be about eight years. Then you sit in at least two-thirds of the time. Instead, I received forensic psychiatric care and will be here for about five years. I think it is good that I did not get prison, but bad that I got special discharge test.

April 16 was the big day for me. It was the day I got to get out of there. I received a letter stating that the Supreme Court will not take it up and that my judgment will be enforced. I called my lawyer who had received the same message. Then the transport came that drove me to Rågården, and there I have been ever since.

This is the end of my arrest history, but not the end of my time as a detainee. That story is being written right now, and telling it I can do another time.


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