cause insomnia. We have given her something to
help her sleep. In many cases, sleep is the only relief the patient
will get from their paranoia and delusions. You can come back and
speak with her in the morning, Ms. Richardson, but I must warn you
that she won’t be the Mary that you know. Her mind is crippled, and
until I have some time to work with her, she could be a danger to
herself or you.”
“I understand. Thank you, doctor,” I mouth to
him as I stare at Mary. She looks so peaceful in her sleep one
would think nothing strange happened to her today.
Beside me, Dr. Morrison takes his leave with
no further advice to give. I approach the bed, uncertain of what to
do next. I look down at Mary and watch as her chest rises and falls
with each breath. For some reason this comforts me. Logan moves to
stand next to me and I feel his arm slip around my waist. Though I
don’t lean into him, I’m grateful for his gesture of comfort. I
have no idea how long I stand there watching Mary, my thoughts too
jumbled to even think; my fear too raw to move from her side. I
know dusk has settled as little light now shines through the bars
covering her window.
“It’s time to go I think,” Logan says from
beside me.
Though I loathe leaving, there is no way they
will let me stay with her in her current, unpredictable condition.
Nor would I sleep much anyway knowing I would be surrounded by
crazies. I nod to Logan, and together we follow the signs that
point to the exit.
Lost within my thoughts, I follow Logan
blindly. I worry for Mary and wonder what she will be like when she
wakes up, if she will ever be normal again. I think of poor Kyle
from class today, and the boy from the cafeteria a few days ago.
What will happen to them? But more importantly, how did they get
that way in the first place? My mind keeps coming back to that one
thought—what in the world happened to them that caused them to go
instantaneously crazy?
I am so lost in my thoughts as we meander
through the stark halls of the mental facility that I just about
jump out of my skin when I hear a loud thud from the door to my
right. A small cry escapes my lips. My hand immediately goes to my
heart hoping to keep it in my chest.
“What the hell!” screams Logan from beside
me, clearly just as frightened as I am by someone pounding against
a (hopefully) securely locked door.
What the hell indeed .
I look up through the glass and my blue eyes
lock with a set of brown ones. But these eyes aren’t normal.
They’re hazy, glazed over, and almost completely filled with crazy.
The boy looks not much older than Logan or me, but his shaved head
makes it hard to tell exactly. He’s wearing the same white gown
with birds. He’s snarling at us, drool dripping from his mouth like
a rabid animal. Through the metal door, I hear a loud scraping
sound like fingers against a chalkboard. Even from the hallway, I
hear his chant, and I cringe as it grows louder and louder,
piercing what little strength I have left. I have no idea what it
means, but it shakes me to the core.
“He and you, the only two. Death of one,
destiny be done,” repeats the crazy boy over and over, louder and
louder until he is jumping up and down like a crazed monkey, his
beating on the door getting more and more intense.
Thankfully, Logan is as freaked out as I am.
“Come on, Aimee, let’s get out of here,” he says as he pulls me
away from the door and the crazy boy behind it.
My mind, already a jumble, can’t take anymore
so I shut it down and concentrate on only one thing: getting the
hell out of this loony bin.
I see the double doors that lead to freedom
and I run to them. I know they’re locked, but it doesn’t matter to
my addled brain. All I can process is that I want out. I pound on
the doors as I scream, “Let me out!” but no one seems to hear me.
Since pounding isn’t enough, I begin to kick and cuss at the doors,
the last obstacle to my freedom. Finally, I hear the buzz and
help her sleep. In many cases, sleep is the only relief the patient
will get from their paranoia and delusions. You can come back and
speak with her in the morning, Ms. Richardson, but I must warn you
that she won’t be the Mary that you know. Her mind is crippled, and
until I have some time to work with her, she could be a danger to
herself or you.”
“I understand. Thank you, doctor,” I mouth to
him as I stare at Mary. She looks so peaceful in her sleep one
would think nothing strange happened to her today.
Beside me, Dr. Morrison takes his leave with
no further advice to give. I approach the bed, uncertain of what to
do next. I look down at Mary and watch as her chest rises and falls
with each breath. For some reason this comforts me. Logan moves to
stand next to me and I feel his arm slip around my waist. Though I
don’t lean into him, I’m grateful for his gesture of comfort. I
have no idea how long I stand there watching Mary, my thoughts too
jumbled to even think; my fear too raw to move from her side. I
know dusk has settled as little light now shines through the bars
covering her window.
“It’s time to go I think,” Logan says from
beside me.
Though I loathe leaving, there is no way they
will let me stay with her in her current, unpredictable condition.
Nor would I sleep much anyway knowing I would be surrounded by
crazies. I nod to Logan, and together we follow the signs that
point to the exit.
Lost within my thoughts, I follow Logan
blindly. I worry for Mary and wonder what she will be like when she
wakes up, if she will ever be normal again. I think of poor Kyle
from class today, and the boy from the cafeteria a few days ago.
What will happen to them? But more importantly, how did they get
that way in the first place? My mind keeps coming back to that one
thought—what in the world happened to them that caused them to go
instantaneously crazy?
I am so lost in my thoughts as we meander
through the stark halls of the mental facility that I just about
jump out of my skin when I hear a loud thud from the door to my
right. A small cry escapes my lips. My hand immediately goes to my
heart hoping to keep it in my chest.
“What the hell!” screams Logan from beside
me, clearly just as frightened as I am by someone pounding against
a (hopefully) securely locked door.
What the hell indeed .
I look up through the glass and my blue eyes
lock with a set of brown ones. But these eyes aren’t normal.
They’re hazy, glazed over, and almost completely filled with crazy.
The boy looks not much older than Logan or me, but his shaved head
makes it hard to tell exactly. He’s wearing the same white gown
with birds. He’s snarling at us, drool dripping from his mouth like
a rabid animal. Through the metal door, I hear a loud scraping
sound like fingers against a chalkboard. Even from the hallway, I
hear his chant, and I cringe as it grows louder and louder,
piercing what little strength I have left. I have no idea what it
means, but it shakes me to the core.
“He and you, the only two. Death of one,
destiny be done,” repeats the crazy boy over and over, louder and
louder until he is jumping up and down like a crazed monkey, his
beating on the door getting more and more intense.
Thankfully, Logan is as freaked out as I am.
“Come on, Aimee, let’s get out of here,” he says as he pulls me
away from the door and the crazy boy behind it.
My mind, already a jumble, can’t take anymore
so I shut it down and concentrate on only one thing: getting the
hell out of this loony bin.
I see the double doors that lead to freedom
and I run to them. I know they’re locked, but it doesn’t matter to
my addled brain. All I can process is that I want out. I pound on
the doors as I scream, “Let me out!” but no one seems to hear me.
Since pounding isn’t enough, I begin to kick and cuss at the doors,
the last obstacle to my freedom. Finally, I hear the buzz and
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