Day In The Life Of The Clinically Insane
Jessica Ann Zidik

 

This morning I woke up rather groggy. The haze that sits on me is thick enough to make L.A. look clear. Tell me again why I woke up today. That’s right, I was forced. To say I had no choice wouldn’t be valid. There is always a choice only, varying consequences. Death is a choice ….. Pain is a choice … Happiness? The past few days have been exceedingly long. This new place isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be. Only been here a week at most and it’s a joke . I …

"You talking to yourself?", Mann, a veteran of the ward, asked.

"Was I? … Guess you caught me again. Don’t tell the group or they’ll have me write another five pager on sharing my feeling instead of wasting words on a silhouette.", I replied cynically.

"No prob. As long as you don’t mention anything about that little incident in the laundry room this morning with nurse wheeler."

"Deal. Can’t believe you had the balls to screw him in there .. With Doc Keel on duty… That’s some crazy shit.", I said with a chuckle.

"Hey, that’s why I’m here. By the way, you‘ve been here a month at least. Better get that time spatiality checked out or you‘ll never leave. See you at chores.", and with that she was out of view.

That whole time problem has gotten me in trouble more than once in past relationships. Forgetting anniversaries .. Birthdays .. New Years. What makes one day different from the next? Is there some type of happy drug that’s handed out that I miss on these "special" days? And the best answer people give me is that it’s a time to celebrate and remember special people and events. Christ! If they were that special why not remember them every day? I got my significant other little presents here and there to show I cared. But the day I missed their birthday .. Shit hit the fan, so to speak.

Time to check the mail. I think, unless I missed it again.

"Norma darling! How are you beautiful?", I inquired, with a overly dramatic English accent. Norma is the lady that runs the front counter. She lets visitors in, gives us our mail and answers the phone when it rarely rings. Her job is crucial. What she doesn’t know is that she is the butt of all jokes when patients occasionally speak outside of required conversation. Her hair is platinum blond. She believes herself to be the most attractive, intelligent, magnetic woman on the face of the earth over 275 lbs. I have to give it to her, she definitely has confidence. But she really ought to lose that black and white striped mini skirt. No matter how the stripes are fashioned, it doesn’t take THAT much weight off.

"Almost missed it again, just on my way out.. It IS three you know." Norma comes in at 10 and leaves at 3. She has it rough.

"You should tell your parents that you are here, instead of getting your mail sent home, then routed to us. You would get it quicker. Look, here is what looks to be a birthday card. Wasn’t yours 2 weeks ago? It might have cheered you up."

"I wouldn’t count on it." My mood shifted from sarcasm to pure and utter disgust. This tub o’ lard better mind her own Goddamn business, give me my mail and get out of my face. I contain myself, take my mail, give a fake smile and retreat.

I go to the dayroom to read my precious card. I would rather be alone in my room at the moment. however, since they are locked during the day, this second hand couch, by the window, must suffice. They think by not letting us into our rooms we will be forced to socialize with the other patients. I never understood their mentality over this rational. Do they think we can’t read? Write? Stare blankly out the window for several hours. There are other forms of entertainment that better suits me than allowing my brain to become tarnished by the stupidity of others. Most of the people on this floor are, unfortunately, crazy and stupid. I, on the other hand, are blessed with only having the former issue to deal with. Unlike the others I have a plan. I need to get out so the world can experience my greatness. Manipulation is the key. I will use my wit and charm to convince the staff that I’m as sane as the shmo who dresses as Santa Clause, hearing little brats demand whatever is the fad for that Christmas.

Oh yeah … the card. I could tell from a mile away that it was from my nana. The oversized letters stretching across the envelope, large enough for the near-blind to read, is her signature mark. I pull the card out of the envelope and a pin drops out, landing on my lap. It has a picture adorned on it of an inviolable lady, floating on a cloud. the attached card reads "You are an angel to our children. Place this pin in your car to protect yourself from harm on the road". See … I’m the eldest grandchild and being such I’m responsible for playing the role model for several littler ones. They all look up to me, God bless them. I’m the first one out of the house and the others are still in Junior High. Remind me to thank my parents for having me at 16. But, being the role model that I am … (I look out at the barred windows and almost shed a tear. I breathe. I‘m fine.) I have to put up a façade, and not inform my family of where I presently am. Since they have no intention of visiting me anytime soon, and since I’m an outstanding actress, I have no problem with this front. I’m getting out soon anyway.

Now, HA! .. Another thing that intrigues me is how people believe how a little pin, placed in a certain location could do any good. I’m sure the holy symbols worn by men at ‘nam helped them out a ton. Next time I get into a fight at a bar I’m going to announce "You can’t hurt ME .. IIIIIII, have a pin." (Said in an overly dramatic gay Indian accent). In all seriousness, Nana is an amazing lady, so, in respect for her, and merely this, I will honor her request.

"Hey, space cadet (I roll my eyes at this phrase with no clemency), time for chores". Mann is always helping out.

"Golly Gee! Thanks a Million! Be right there." I shout, rolling my eyes in the process. This is another way the staff believes is a good opportunity for us all to interact. I can’t think of a better way to spend my afternoon than by cleaning toilets with someone who used to (being optimistic that this is past tense) eat objects that aren’t supposed to be edible. Can we say dirt, live mice, ..well just about anything. I believe this goes WAY beyond what I would call an oral fetish. I accomplish this task without any dialogue whatsoever.

This is when the day really starts rolling. Right after chores there is dinner, the daily drug handout, then, my personal favorite, time for group sessions!

I wait in the short line for a cafeteria style meal. All the servings are divided neatly into their own separate compartments. I take the potatoes, corn, turkey, cranberry sauce and stuffing and mesh them together in a big pile on my plate. If WE, as humans, are compelled to live in this torturously syndetic state, why should vegetables get their own goddamn space? You think in this place I wouldn’t get many odd glances, but I do. The guy in the corner, who has been through some sort of trauma where he refuses to speak a single syllable, sees me creating a Picasso on my plate, shakes his head and returns to his own blank canvas. He’s just jealous.

On my return trip from dropping off my tray, I pick up the cure-all for people like me, Prozac, or the generic form thereof. I’m convinced that this is an experimental drug due to the fact that it doesn’t have a label. But hey, who would believe me anyway? I swallow, regardless of my theories, and they tell me to open my mouth so they can make sure I did my job. At times I feel that I’m back in elementary.

An hour before group. (I checked the clock while I was at the drug counter.) I better stay in the dayroom, even though our rooms are open now. This is a good way to assure I’m not tardy. I have my journal that we are required to write in, at least a page a day, with me. They never read it, just make sure we write in it. So, I scribble illegible notes on it. I tell them it’s my very own special language and that I’d teach it to them. But I know that they aren’t that interested in my well-being.

One by one the circle of chairs start filling up. I observe them as they sit down. Harry looks a little better today. He’s the one that got arrested for skinning his cat, or was it his dog, anyway… he got off on a technicality but the judge thought he should visit this lovely place for a better evaluation. He’s been here a year, so he tells the group. Mann and her big mouth comes in next. She chats away with poor Ronald, the mute. This way she won’t have to worry about anyone interrupting her. She slit her wrist and survived. Didn’t look like a call for help, she was gone for about a minute before they got her heart to start beating again. Her husband was luckier.. He ended up not being resuscitated. They lived in a commune. She’s only 18, another couple found them lying next to each other on their bed. Pity for them, less dessert to choose from. I’m not a doc but I’d say she’s got issues.

I pick a seat so I’m not stuck sitting next to the nurse again. Yeah, he’s a hottie, but after seeing what I saw at 3am I will never look at him in the same manner.

The rest of the crew comes in and soon the room is full of half-naked patients and uniformed staff. I was thinking of filing a sexual harassment suit for making us wear these "dresses", where our ass is hanging out. But, I’m quite sure I won’t get anywhere with that. I know they are all in it together.

I know I mentioned earlier that I was going to play cool and keep a low profile but the urge to get up and start a conga line is almost unbearable. I breathe. I’m fine.

So, the meeting starts and the same ritual rings through my ears. The nurse announces "I hope everyone has had a productive day, now let’s go around the room and please state your name, your hi for the day, your lo, and your plans for tomorrow. Of course, he picks me to go first.

"Hi. My name is Jennifer." (That’s my name for today)

Everyone unanimously shouts "Hi Jennifer".

I try again to suppress my repugnance and continue.

"My hi for today is getting a card from my nana?". These words came out more robotically than planned. HAHA! Ok, OK, I need to concentrate .. Come on Jess.. I mean Jennifer .. Be the actress you KNOW you can be … You are the STAR! But look at all these people shooting me with laser glances. I breathe. I’m fine.

"My low for today, was thinking about Ted and feeling sad that he hadn’t called". This is a bunch of bullshit. But I think I have them convinced. Ted can go to hell for all I care.

"My plans for tomorrow are .. I .. I …" They are staring at me again. Perhaps they can tell that I’m faking it. It’s my audience… all eyes on my , center stage. This is my chance to show them how good I am. I have to take this opportunity, only comes once in a lifetime. Look .. Isn’t that (fill in big director here). ? Is my hair ok??? I hope this dress looks good on me tonight. HE hasn’t heard my voice yet .. I bet it sounds amazing right now. "I …. I … " Lights come on and the microphone is calling my name. "I …. I…" From my diaphragm I let the words rejoice in the morbid room. "I… IIII love you more today than yesterday ….. But not as much as tomorrow …. (listen, even the band started playing for me) I love you more today than yesterday (Doodo doda) But only half as much as tomorrrrowwww."

I’m not sure how much time has elapsed but I’m in bed. The memories of the past few hours are vague and ambiguous. I only see the stars in the sky and try to devise a plan on how to get out of here. I’m smarter than the rest… I’ll be out of here in no time. With that I close my eyes. I breathe. I’m fine.

 

 

Copyright © 2002 Jessica Ann Zidik
Published on the World Wide Web by "www.storymania.com"