Saturday, October 01, 2011
... --- ...
I didn't know quite what he was doing, tapping out that rhythm on my head. Took me a few minutes to get it but after a bit of explanation I got it.
I'm sitting in a psych ward, terrified, paranoid and the like. Figure that when I got here I'd be sitting around with a bunch of nuts banging their heads against the wall. Maybe I'm right, maybe not, but I seem to think that I am more right than wrong. Sitting in the lunch room watching two guys almost beat the shit out of each other over something so utterly minor makes me think, "this place is fucking nuts and I don't belong here."
But then there is this guy, "Mr. S.O.S.," I'll call him. He was the patient I first saw when I walked into this minimum security prison and I knew he could see the fear in my eyes. He didn't say anything at first, kind of took a moment to size me up (as I have found myself doing since I've been in here), but after a minute he just said his name and shook my hand. I went to the nurse's station, got my drugs and went to bed.
I awoke to blinding sunlight in my eyes (no shades, guess they figure I'll try to hang myself from them) and the nurses banging on my door to get my vital signs. Suddenly I remembered I was not in my nice bed next to my love, I was here. A mental hospital. I cried as they took my blood pressure and the thought washed over me. Finally I got myself together and went (was forced) into the cafeteria for breakfast.
Strangely enough, Mr. S.O.S. had saved a seat for me and waved me over. We started talking, not about why we were here, just talking. It was like he could see in my face that I was freaking out. HE made stupid jokes and managed to eke a smile out of me. I barely knew this guy, I figured that I'd be in here for months until he told me he had arrived only a few hours before me.
I really don't know what else to say about Mr. S.O.S., like I said, I barely know him. He saw me starting to freak out in the hallway and took me back to my room to lay down. But before he left, he knocked out the following pattern very gently on either side of my head.
... --- ...
I don't know quite what it means yet, but I have an idea and nothing but time to think about it. "Think about what this means," he said softly and then left the room. Strangely enough, he is a patient just like me, but he has helped me more in the 24 or so hours I have been here than any doctor has.
I don't know what else to say about that.