Another room...

Patient Name: Abigail Alanis

Date of Birth: 03- 21- 1989


I hear the chatter of the orderlies as they walk through their daily lives... The echoes of droning conversations bounces endlessly off the cold interior. Of course, I don't mind this near as much as the muffled sounds that come through the isolation rooms. They told me that I had manic episodes... that my entrapment in the silent judgement was necessary for my safety. 

When I first sought help, I could not have imagine being ok with things that are just normalities now. The incessant dronings of the staff, nonchalantly murmur of the small nothings that troubled the guardians of sanity? Before treatment, I would have been horrified at this "distraction." Their duty was to help me, shepherd me into sanity's open arms and make sure she embraced me. But now... How could I expect so much of these people. Some of the other patients seem to be lost causes to me. Yet the staff help them to point of talking, where before there was catatonic stares. And yet... here I am, in another room, in another facility.

I first sought treatment when I had visions, or as some would reasonably assert hallucinations. It started simply enough, I was an artistic kid. I loved arts and especially drawing, and my muse was always nature. When I was 16, I started to become obsessed with trees, more specifically pomegranate trees. Each tree grew in its own direction, some anarchic others more organized and organic. My art began to take over, drawing and sketching in class, at dinners, during conversations.

Once my art capitalized my mind, the hallucinations began. I started to see a man that no one else would see. I say a man, because each time I saw what no one else would, he would always look the same. He was pale and bearded. Tall and muscular, he was always in black and always had a dog with him. I would see him in the store, on the street, and even outside my window. Though one would think that seeing a man everywhere would frighten me, I never feared him. Please don't mistake it, I did not like seeing the man, I just did not fear him...

After sighting him so many times, I began to wonder if anyone else saw him... It wasn't much longer after that when I was first admitted to a mental care facility. I was taken in two weeks after my 17 birthday... And I've bounced in and out since...

I've lost track of days and weeks in rooms similar to this one... A minimalist room, a bed and desk bolted to the floor. Minimal risks taken or given in the living quarters simply because the nature of incarceration for patients. The bed slightly better than a cot, dressed in linens that were worn out about 5 years ago, and a clinical air of clean permanently hangs in the air. The clean is comfort to me... no matter what happens during the day, during the group or one-on-one sessions, the clean, the room, the bed... they are my constants now. They are my home.

The End

0 comments about this story Feed