A New Member
"We have a new patient coming today," Glenda - a nurse - announced to us all one day.
I've always hated the name Glenda. It's so...ick.
"A new patient! A new patient!!!" Trixi jumped around, singing. I glanced at Jeanette with a look of annoyance. No-one knows what Trixi's in here for. I think her parents just wanted to get rid of her.
"When will she be here?" Jeanette asked good-naturedly.
"Tomorrow."
Great. I was already looking *foreword* to it.
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Leslie Hunter. That was a beautiful name. So was Leslie herself. She was a relatively tall person, with auburn hair and flashy green eyes. She too was diagnosed with schizophrenia. I felt that I could relate to her easily that way.
But Leslie didn't LOOK mentally ill. She looked as normal as Luka or Kerry; in fact she did resemble Kerry in a certain manner. I guess it was the hair. Or maybe the voice. But she didn't act like Kerry. Kerry was the type of person who took control. Leslie was just the opposite. She was tranquil and acquiescent. If the nurses told her to take her meds, she would. When it was "lights out" Leslie was never trying to sneak extra time to read or talk. Within two days of her arrival, the nurses had her on fifteen-minute checks. The didn't even need to check her anyway. She always stayed in her room, often just looking out of the window. We all wondered why she stared out of the window like that. Perhaps she missed her family. Or she was thinking up a novel. Like "The Bell Jar" or "Girl Interrupted" or "One Flew Over the Cookoo's Nest." Want to know the funny thing? I read all of those before I came here. The novel idea seemed like a good one to us. So, we voted, and decided that Jeanette should be the one to approach Betty and ask her.
Betty was the easiest nurse to get information out of. She was a bit of an airhead, and often forgot what was "classified" information and what wasn't. We figured out the prognosis of everyone from her, and many of the diagnosises. So, it was only natural to go to her. Someone must have briefed her thought, because her reply was a curt "That's classified information." It was a bit spooky, because we all thought she was dumb, and in actuality, she was showing a glimmer of a light in the attic.
Then it was decided that someone should ask her. The obvious choice was again Jeanette, but we decided she might be a little overbearing on Leslie. Gina was an obvious no; she'd scare Leslie back to wherever she came from. Bonnie was glued to the TV ("Worlds are on", she explained nonchalantly), so that would be no good. Monica was also schizo and there was me. Finally, they decided I should go visit her, so I did.
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"Leslie?" I asked carefully, stepping into the dimly lit room. The only light was from the small, bared window, most of it blocked by Leslie's figure. She made no reply, so I tried again. "Leslie, can I come in?" I thought I caught a glimmer of a shrug, but I could have been wrong. Either way, I walked in and sat down next to her. "Leslie, I'm Lucy Knight. Another patient here?"
She nodded.
"Anyway, uh well, some of the girls and I were wondering why we never see you but at dinner. We were wondering if you might want to join us some time. You don't have too, but we'd really enjoy it." I stopped and glanced at her.
She barely moved.
Boy, I thought. If you ever wanted to paint someone, she'd be the perfect candidate. "Well, if you ever need anything, we're right here." I got up and began to leave. When I was almost out of the door, she spoke.
"Lucy, will you come back some time?"
I turned to glance at her. "Sure."
------------------------
"So, what did you do before you got here?" Leslie asked.
"Doctor, in the ER. That's what landed me here. I mean, something that happened while I was there. I was stabbed by a schizophrenic, along with a resident, John Carter. He died, I didn't. After that, I was never really "right" and I lost it. I got really obsessive about the attack. I blamed myself, and I felt empty. I had been waiting months for him to ask me out, and...I guess I was heartbroken. They say people die of a broken heart, but I never guessed that it would land me here. I never imagined I would be in a mental hospital at all. I read many books about them, but I never thought I'd experience it first hand.
"I heard the weirdest voices. It was like having a devil on one side of my brain and an angel on the other. Dark. Scary. I hope I never have to go through it again. I can't wait to get out of here," I finished my little monologue and glanced at her. "What about you?"
"No one knows. One day I was normal, and then the next day came the voices. At night. You know, right before you fall asleep. They call your name, quietly at first. 'Leslie, Leslie, Leslie.' You can ignore them, and you're fine. But they are as persistent as the devil himself. They get louder, and louder. 'Leslie, LESLIE, LESLIE!' You can't ignore them. They become part of your life. You must listen to them.
"Then, then you get the headaches. Each one worse than the one before it, pulling, tearing, ripping, annihilating. Your brain is in shreds, and you can't do anything to help it. Try as you might. Advil, Bayer, and stronger. But no. They won't stop. They hold you prisoner, the ransom? Your life. It's their secret goal. To have your life, to control it. That's what they all are after. All of them.
"Next come the reading. The letters at first just switch places once in a while. They just pretend to move, really they are words, and won't move. But then, they get the idea that they are human, incarnated to a living thing. They are happy, and they begin to dance. The dance across the page, and play musical chairs. They change spots quickly, like a bee flying from flower to flower. Never happy with the position they are in. They must move, must confuse again. It causes the headaches to begin again. And soon your entire head feels like it is on fire. All purposeful life is destroyed. And there must be a way out. The defining moment."
I glanced at her. "The defining moment?"
"Suicide. The only way out. Pills. The glorious pills, which mean life to some, death to others. For instance, you use them to save. I used them to kill. When it comes down to the bare bones, it's simple. To end the voices, other things must end. Life is not so precious then.
"I took thirty-six pills. Bayer aspirin. My roommate found me ten minutes later, and rushed me to County General. Perhaps you remember me?"
I studied her a moment. "Yes," I said finally. "Vaguely. It was about when I was losing it too."
"And here I am."
I sighed. "You're brave! I could have never killed myself. Not after the attack!"
Leslie smiled weakly. "No, Lucy, no. You are the brave one."
------------------------
Leslie stayed with us the rest of my internment at the hospital. I don't think she ever got out. I think they kept her in because they figured she'd be a danger to herself.
"We have a new patient coming today," Glenda - a nurse - announced to us all one day.
I've always hated the name Glenda. It's so...ick.
"A new patient! A new patient!!!" Trixi jumped around, singing. I glanced at Jeanette with a look of annoyance. No-one knows what Trixi's in here for. I think her parents just wanted to get rid of her.
"When will she be here?" Jeanette asked good-naturedly.
"Tomorrow."
Great. I was already looking *foreword* to it.
------------------------
Leslie Hunter. That was a beautiful name. So was Leslie herself. She was a relatively tall person, with auburn hair and flashy green eyes. She too was diagnosed with schizophrenia. I felt that I could relate to her easily that way.
But Leslie didn't LOOK mentally ill. She looked as normal as Luka or Kerry; in fact she did resemble Kerry in a certain manner. I guess it was the hair. Or maybe the voice. But she didn't act like Kerry. Kerry was the type of person who took control. Leslie was just the opposite. She was tranquil and acquiescent. If the nurses told her to take her meds, she would. When it was "lights out" Leslie was never trying to sneak extra time to read or talk. Within two days of her arrival, the nurses had her on fifteen-minute checks. The didn't even need to check her anyway. She always stayed in her room, often just looking out of the window. We all wondered why she stared out of the window like that. Perhaps she missed her family. Or she was thinking up a novel. Like "The Bell Jar" or "Girl Interrupted" or "One Flew Over the Cookoo's Nest." Want to know the funny thing? I read all of those before I came here. The novel idea seemed like a good one to us. So, we voted, and decided that Jeanette should be the one to approach Betty and ask her.
Betty was the easiest nurse to get information out of. She was a bit of an airhead, and often forgot what was "classified" information and what wasn't. We figured out the prognosis of everyone from her, and many of the diagnosises. So, it was only natural to go to her. Someone must have briefed her thought, because her reply was a curt "That's classified information." It was a bit spooky, because we all thought she was dumb, and in actuality, she was showing a glimmer of a light in the attic.
Then it was decided that someone should ask her. The obvious choice was again Jeanette, but we decided she might be a little overbearing on Leslie. Gina was an obvious no; she'd scare Leslie back to wherever she came from. Bonnie was glued to the TV ("Worlds are on", she explained nonchalantly), so that would be no good. Monica was also schizo and there was me. Finally, they decided I should go visit her, so I did.
------------------------
"Leslie?" I asked carefully, stepping into the dimly lit room. The only light was from the small, bared window, most of it blocked by Leslie's figure. She made no reply, so I tried again. "Leslie, can I come in?" I thought I caught a glimmer of a shrug, but I could have been wrong. Either way, I walked in and sat down next to her. "Leslie, I'm Lucy Knight. Another patient here?"
She nodded.
"Anyway, uh well, some of the girls and I were wondering why we never see you but at dinner. We were wondering if you might want to join us some time. You don't have too, but we'd really enjoy it." I stopped and glanced at her.
She barely moved.
Boy, I thought. If you ever wanted to paint someone, she'd be the perfect candidate. "Well, if you ever need anything, we're right here." I got up and began to leave. When I was almost out of the door, she spoke.
"Lucy, will you come back some time?"
I turned to glance at her. "Sure."
------------------------
"So, what did you do before you got here?" Leslie asked.
"Doctor, in the ER. That's what landed me here. I mean, something that happened while I was there. I was stabbed by a schizophrenic, along with a resident, John Carter. He died, I didn't. After that, I was never really "right" and I lost it. I got really obsessive about the attack. I blamed myself, and I felt empty. I had been waiting months for him to ask me out, and...I guess I was heartbroken. They say people die of a broken heart, but I never guessed that it would land me here. I never imagined I would be in a mental hospital at all. I read many books about them, but I never thought I'd experience it first hand.
"I heard the weirdest voices. It was like having a devil on one side of my brain and an angel on the other. Dark. Scary. I hope I never have to go through it again. I can't wait to get out of here," I finished my little monologue and glanced at her. "What about you?"
"No one knows. One day I was normal, and then the next day came the voices. At night. You know, right before you fall asleep. They call your name, quietly at first. 'Leslie, Leslie, Leslie.' You can ignore them, and you're fine. But they are as persistent as the devil himself. They get louder, and louder. 'Leslie, LESLIE, LESLIE!' You can't ignore them. They become part of your life. You must listen to them.
"Then, then you get the headaches. Each one worse than the one before it, pulling, tearing, ripping, annihilating. Your brain is in shreds, and you can't do anything to help it. Try as you might. Advil, Bayer, and stronger. But no. They won't stop. They hold you prisoner, the ransom? Your life. It's their secret goal. To have your life, to control it. That's what they all are after. All of them.
"Next come the reading. The letters at first just switch places once in a while. They just pretend to move, really they are words, and won't move. But then, they get the idea that they are human, incarnated to a living thing. They are happy, and they begin to dance. The dance across the page, and play musical chairs. They change spots quickly, like a bee flying from flower to flower. Never happy with the position they are in. They must move, must confuse again. It causes the headaches to begin again. And soon your entire head feels like it is on fire. All purposeful life is destroyed. And there must be a way out. The defining moment."
I glanced at her. "The defining moment?"
"Suicide. The only way out. Pills. The glorious pills, which mean life to some, death to others. For instance, you use them to save. I used them to kill. When it comes down to the bare bones, it's simple. To end the voices, other things must end. Life is not so precious then.
"I took thirty-six pills. Bayer aspirin. My roommate found me ten minutes later, and rushed me to County General. Perhaps you remember me?"
I studied her a moment. "Yes," I said finally. "Vaguely. It was about when I was losing it too."
"And here I am."
I sighed. "You're brave! I could have never killed myself. Not after the attack!"
Leslie smiled weakly. "No, Lucy, no. You are the brave one."
------------------------
Leslie stayed with us the rest of my internment at the hospital. I don't think she ever got out. I think they kept her in because they figured she'd be a danger to herself.
