room3voluntary

[room3voluntary]

worlds collide

'Are you still going to do my eyeliner today?' I heard a small voice from round the corner. It was Jessica. Last night I did Sarah's make up, who asked me as it calmed her down, and last night Jessica asked me if I could do winged eyeliner tomorrow. Tomorrow was now today.

 She was tiny. At meal times we were all poking a re-heated shit brown lasagne round our plates, she had a bottle of lucozade. 250ml to be exactly. That is what she had to drink. Every single meal time not a morsel, just 250ml of liquid and even though I could sense it was against every inch of will, she did it. Robotically and emotionless like everything she did but with eyes so full of expression.

 'Of course ill do your eyeliner' last night my mother had dropped off some of my make up. I didn't want to be mental AND ugly, Jesus Christ that would be the end. I saw her big, round eyes perk up a bit. 'Where do you want to do it, your room?' So off to my room we went.

 I removed the towels from my chair and she sat down. Somehow it made her look even smaller, like when Alice sips from the 'drink me' bottle. Her eyes looks like she was drowning too.I have very limited resources. I have no eyeliner- my only option was to use a teeny brush and the remnants of my dry mascara.

 'I have a paranoid schizophrenia' she suddenly blurted out 'and I've lost a lot of weight' I said I have too and we compared waistlines. She asked who was skinnier, it was her. 'If I start talking to joe I'm sorry'. I've never met anyone so flat in speech and demeanour yet with so much emotion in their eyes. She looked nervous telling me this. 'That's okay' I said 'I have bipolar, no matter what we are in here for, we're all the same really, im not worried' 

 I then proceeded to haphazardly do her eyeliner. Everyone out there, in the real world, is so good at make up. The inescapable battle cry of 'contour' has somehow bypassed me. Everyone is so much prettier than me. I don't know how I've missed it, i guess I just don't have the time or maybe I'm just making myself feel better for lack of interest. This eyeliner business was a challenge. My hands were shaking, trying to be as delicate as I could. I'm not the gentlest of people, I don't think I've ever done anything gently in my life. 

 The waterline went better than expected, her eyelashes flickered with every stroke of the brush. The flick was so smooth, perfect cat-eye, maybe I should switch career. Onto the right eye- not so good. My mascara was now too dry and I tried to smudge the gaps as well as I could. Finally I was done, the best I could have done. She stood up and looked in the mirror and smiled. Her lips made the curve but the expression seemed hollow, however her eyes did look grateful. Almost like a wax work come to life. 'Thank you' she said. 

 'are you on a section?' She asked, I explained I was voluntary. She then opened up to me and told me she's been in hospital since she was 15. She was now 26. in my late teens I was very ill and the same myself. In those brief I'd missed out so much. Those are some of the most important years of growing, experiencing and developing who you are and I missed a lot of that. I’ve always felt lonely, it still lingers now, that feeling that I've still never quite caught up and even worse, the knowledge I will never have those experiences. Since then everything has been so rushed. Jobs which were way past my experience level, men that were far older than me and situations that were meant to be far into my future brought into the fore. Drowning in it all. In the space of a few years, I fell into the pool of life as a girl and pulled myself out as a woman, experience beyond my years and now lonely for different reasons. However, this is something for another time.

 From the age of 15 Jessica had only experienced the world outside through televisions and magazines, watching nurses and patients come and go. Never experiencing any 'normal' reality first hand- just locked away watching it all bypass her from a glowing screen under the duvet at night to a box in a crowded living room. The things she has experienced first hand, as we all have in our situation is, alienation and pain. Others with more than our own. Witnessing and feeling true fear and hurt. You grow up fast. The people being restrained and screaming at nurses, solemn families members pining for their loved ones, screams echoing through the ward at night and the ones that were lost forever. However, of bars and pubs, new housing developments, income tax, 9-5 jobs, tinder, conversations about instagram likes, how much a Starbucks costs, all the mundane and necessary in your unimportant and messy lives: she had never experienced it first hand. A girl frozen in time while the world twirls around her. I wonder what she thought.

 But at the same time she's not in this world, she has joe and her own world her mind has built for her. Maybe she didn't need the real world at all, maybe she is Alice in Wonderland and it maybe hell but considering what we know about our world, maybe it was a good thing. She has her own experience, her own reality and nothing our lives can compare too. I'll never know what really ran through Jessica's head, I'll never know joe but what I do know is she looked fantastic with winged eyeliner.

[room3voluntary]

Room 3: Origins

“we think you should come in for the weekend” he looked at me from over his glasses, nose wrinkled and concerned. Brown hair, medium height. he seemed nice. three of them were staring at me. everyone staring at me. So normal, so plain. Clones. All of them clones. Or where they clones? Was I a clone? I couldn’t listen the walls were too loud. Light fractured through the blinds and shone in distinct lines on the floor, crashing into the chair legs. My eyes followed the lines and shapes of the chair and brought me back staring into the face of the man. He was slouched in the chair, in forced relaxed posture like a parent trying to nonchalantly give their child “the talk” and failing. the same false nonchalance did not glide over awkwardness or soften the seriousness of my situation. “I don’t know” I said. I had plans, I had to go. “ we think you need to come in. you need some rest” he repeated once more in cool composure but more as an instruction than an idea. There were things that had brought me into this room but I didn’t understand what. I was here last week, they said I was going to be monitored over the weekend but now I was going in. What changed? This wasn’t the first time. I had sat in a room like this many times before. Different faces, different layout, same situation. They spoke amongst themselves and I heard something about “pressured speech” and I wish I had been listening but I couldn’t get rid of the tapping. I noticed I was dancing my fingers along the arm of the chair. My shoes tapping on the floor, My foot beating to the sound of the world, the world beating to the sound of me. One of the clones walked back out and walked back in with a woman. Black, shoulder length curls. “hello maddie, I’m the ward manager, nice to meet you”. they all looked at me. Nothing was real. We were floating. I was here, I was so here. I’ve never felt so whole but them? They weren’t there. Projected images. Images that didn’t quite fit the scene like badly photo-shopped holiday snaps. “lets get you sorted” she smiled. I walked out of the room with my entourage, the path filled with more angular colour leading to my dad, still sat in the foyer, clutching my handbag.

 The woman walked forward and spoke to my dad, soft and distant, he looked so sad. I didn’t want him to be sad. He’s too nice to be sad. “can I get some stuff from my house?” I interrupted “I will get stuff from my house. No one will know where anything is, I do though!” I then explained my detailed plan, the complexity and method and in which intended to gather my things but I wasn’t allowed. I had to go with them. “okay” I said as we walked on. I watched my dad grow smaller in the distance, still clutching my handbag.

 We went through a set of double doors and then through another set of doors before space extended out into of me to form a courtyard and six perfectly spaced buildings spread out in front of me, glittering the dark. Pathways splitting to reach each of the doors, like fingers extending from the palm of a hand, lined with inspirational quotes and dotted with topiary and abstract structures. I’d reached the wards.

 It was too serene. So quiet, so calm. In each building I could see dim lights and shadows drifting through the glow. This wasn’t a hospital, this was a village, a village for the mentally ill. Through the façade I could still sense it. dystopia. It covered the painful reality for the mentally ill, not out of disdain or cruelty but as distraction from the suffering. However this wasn’t a film, although it wasn’t real life either.

 We took a sharp right and marched towards the door of what seemingly looked like an oversized bungalow, this was to be my new home. I’d only just moved house myself, so much movement, so much change, I couldn’t concentrate, it just all spiralled into one. We entered through the doors and we greeted by a reception, warm and white, nurses on the other side of the glass. The ward manager tapped on the glass and one of the nurses came to greet us as she opened up another set of double doors. I want to leave. 

 I walked in and was hit by a wall of sound. this is too much. “i will show you around” said the ward manager and smiled as I heard the door lock behind me. I realised the rest of the party had left somewhere along the way and it was just us. it was so bright, there were too many colours. Suddenly everything came into focus and I found myself staring at four people in pyjamas staring at a tv crowned by books. These were my new house mates. I still wasn’t listening as we drifted passed the tv set and swooped through various doors, kitchen, laundry room, private rooms, quiet rooms, bathrooms and on through to the hall. It smelt like a hospital. Food and disinfectant. “here is your room. You are in room 3” she said. The large pine door was already open for me. Once more I stopped listening as my attention was drawn to a door a few doors down. i thought i saw someone there before it slammed shut. I nodded my head and walked in room 3.

It was how I expected. How they always are. One single bed, on desk, one chair. The bathroom was en suite access by some sort of weird half saloon door. I noticed the shower only consisted of a facet sticking out the wall. Nobody can hang themselves on that I thought. “we are just checking your things and I’ll be back with them soon”. she walked out and left me sat on the bed peering out into the corridor. I can hear faint echoes running through it. Chairs, footsteps and then shouting.

 A pause button. This is what this room is- a giant pause button to sleep in, a pause button on my life with no option to rewind or fast forward. i had no choice but to rest. I didn’t want to pause my life at this moment. I can’t be paused. i want to go back. At least I was alone. I guess I should enjoy it while I can.

[room3voluntary]

In meds we trust

I was in the toilet when I heard a polite knock at my door. 'Are you in Maddie? A man’s voice floated through the door. I was only in there looking at my face. Well, the chemical caused acne breakout that used to be my face. Urgh. I opened the door. 'I just have some paperwork to fill in if that's ok?' I realised he might be a junior doctor and he was as polite and his knock. I grabbed them from his hand and it was the usual. 2 pieces of paper, each with situation statements which I had to confirm with a circle. Never, rarely, some days, several days, always. Question 3 really got me. 'Do you talk to yourself while you're alone? What type of question is that ?'I asked aloud. He asked why and I said how do you know. 'How do you know if you talk to yourself while you're alone? That's like asking if a tree falls in the wood when no one is around does anyone hear?' He started laughing. 'I see your point' he said 'I know that I talk to myself' me too. I circled 'several days'. I think everyone does. He thanked me and collected the papers. He informed me I have formulation meeting tomorrow. A formulation meeting is where everyone gets together and discusses what to do with you. It sounds so clinical. How do you  solve a problem like Maddie? I've been a puzzle quite a few times. 

 I was sat at my desk when a seriously lady walked in, carrying a briefcase and a warm smile she perched on the end of my bed. 'My name is Dr Khatri'.

 First things first we discussed the events which led me here but after a while she clocked my note pad. She asked me what I was writing so I explained. It was partly this, partly my book and partly serious subjects. 'I wish I was as creative as you' she said. We then continued trawling through my history and uttered the words I knew were coming but still filled me with dread. 'I think you will benefit from an antipsychotic'

 In 2008, after the first serious admission i had, I left hospital at went back to college. I had my second psychotic breakdown 6 months into my first year at art college. It was now September and my first day back. i was so nervous but everyone was so nice, within a few hours i got my confidence back, i was ready to begin. I stared at the canvas in front of me and nothing happened. Creativity used to flow out of my hands. My mother was told I was gifted. I never saw a blank canvas I saw one hundred visual stories to be told. I picked up the charcoal to trigger some sort of idea but nothing happened. Then it hit me, I was normal. I was functioning but i'd sacrificed my creativity for it. Id sacrificed part of myself. 

 When you're young you're told to believe in you're dreams. You can achieve anything you want but as you get older you realise this isn't true and it takes hard work and sacrifices. My goal was to be normal and for that i realised I'd sacrificed part of my soul. Through the following year, I noticed not only had I sacrificed my soul, also my identity and it was down to a little blue pill called aripiprazole. aripiprazole was an antipsychotic and two years later when I had a trial coming off it, I came back. My soul re-entered my body, whatever what repressing me left and I got my sparkle again. I didn't want to be locked away again.

 'It's an antipsychotic called olanzapine' she said covering an awkward silence in which I realised I hadn't replied. 'I understand you have tried aripiprazole and quetiapine in the past yes?' I had but they were both the same, they stole who I was but quetiapine had made me physically ill as well. bad allergic reaction.

'What are the side effects?' I asked when I finally got out of my thoughts. 'There can be weight gain as a side effect' i knew this. Not only that I knew olanzapine was the worst one for it. I felt sick. I am Maddie and I am skinny. That's part of me. Throughout my life I've had patches where I've been a bit funny about my weight and for this reason I felt like I'd been given a death sentence. Logic once more dictates that this was ridiculous, but me and logic aren't always friends. I'm crazy and ill but at least I'm skinny and exciting. I'm not pretty enough to be fat. Medication weight is entirely different to normal weight. It's all on the stomach. You see it, a big round pouch. It's all on the stomach and flat in the eyes. I got one before, not big but it was there. People can be beautiful at any weight, size and shape but it made me so worried. My choice was be mad or be unhappy with how I look. I don't know what's worse. I know I was being dramatic, I know I was being shallow and vain but maybe It's what I deserved. 'Okay' I said. I wasn't really thinking. I'd already conceded to defeat to continue to participate in the decision. She asked if I had any more questions and smiled as she left. I smiled too.

 I am not anti-medication. I am pro-medication. I'm already on some. There are so many people, mainly who suffer with depression I've found, who point blank refuse any meds. I understand, they worry for the same reason as me but no matter how good your diet is, no matter how many miles your run, sometimes you're serotonin will not play the game. There is no denying these factors help but sometimes you need a crutch, a little helping hand to get you through the day but prejudice and fear seem stronger than logic. 'You don't need pills, why would you want to put all those chemicals in your body?' Preaches the person who nearly blacks out on tequila every weekend before inhaling a gram of cocaine through to Sunday morning. 'You just need a distraction' says the person who’s never even had a cold in their life, never mind any other health problems.

 It's a chemical imbalance: would you tell someone with diabetes it's a state of mind? And the same as diabetes, yes a diet can help, but you're not going to stop that imbalance by stopping their insulin. Ignorance causes suffering.

 The reason for my reservations was my complicated past with this type of drug. After a short time of contemplating in silence I started to cry. I felt heartbroken. Everything I had tried, the struggle and determination I had fought to stay off them, I was back to where I was a few years ago. I had failed. My heart sank into my chest not only through disappointment but the knowledge she was probably right.  I was being selfish too, my behaviour was also effecting the people around me, i had to be fixed. It was the most logical answer. I also knew that medication effects individuals in different ways but even that didn't help me. What could I do? I needed to formulate a plan of my own. Ferociously scribbled into my notebook cause and effect, feelings and frenzied suggestions but i knew deep down i was wrong.

 I went to find a nurse. I wasn't good at this whole 'talking to someone' business, I can do it in my own, but I needed to say my thoughts out loud.

 The ward has been busy. It was living up to a stereotype I tried to ignore. Sharon, the walker, was no longer wandering the hallways but yelping incoherently to herself in her room. Earlier a new girl was brought in by a flock of people who promptly tried to escape and hit her dad. I watched as she screamed and wet her self. I watched her violently thrashing as she was rugby tackled like a SWAT team by the staff and sedated. As we all shuffled off to our rooms as instructed by staff, I saw her legs were all bruised and bleeding. I saw her eyes too, she wasn't there. 

 I finally found a nurse to speak to. No, talk at. Through mascara stained rambling I explained. She said nothing. Finally she said 'don't worry about the weight gain, it doesn't happen to everyone'. What a pile of shit. Yes it does, it's the one that does it that most, im not an idiot. 'Tea is ready if you want some?' She said changing the subject and leaving. I didn't want some. I wasn't hungry. Probably because I knew soon that's all i'd be. Hungry and lost. 

 As the evening drifted on, it nearly time. I made my way to the treatment room like a prisoner on the way to the executioners block. I had to get rid of this negativity. i had to try. I slouched on the chair outside the treatment room, waiting for my name to be shouted. A few of the older and worse patients were watching TV. I looked at their facing staring blankly at the set. How do they do it? All of them are on antipsychotics and they just get on with it. That's all some of them do though, just stare at the TV in their pyjamas. I can't work out if they know what's going on or braver than me, stronger than me? Probably both, more so the latter.

 I heard my name and got my meds. I saw a new little pink one, poking out of the crowd of pills in the paper cup. 'This is a new one for me. I'm excited for the sleep but not the weight gain!' I joked. She just smiled and shrugged her shoulders. I took a deep breath and knock it back. Then nothing. I don't know what I expected. The whole world to change? To die? Everything was exactly the same. An hour passed and still nothing happened. I was just sat watching TV and very much still myself. 

 I got up to go to the kitchen and that's when I noticed the change. Fuzzy. Everything was fuzzy. From the floor tiles to door frames everything was like a slow slide show, doubled and swayed. I felt like static, my brain full of white noise. I stumbled into the kitchen but it was too bright so I abandoned my cup and made my way to my room. I felt as though i was walking through water. A 5 second journey turned into a 5 mile march of white corridor. I have spent more time in a drug fuelled trip wandering round hospital corridors than I have house parties this year. 

 I finally made it into bed and turned out the lights. Everything was better now. The white noise was quieter. Calm. The world has righted itself. The last thing I remember before falling asleep was my legs feeling hot against the bed sheet.

 *****

 I've just woke up. I can't get up

  It was two hours later and I was still struggling to move. Every twitch of my leg and flex of my arm made me feel sick. I needed the toilet, I had to move. My mouth was sandpaper dry, I needed some water, I had to move. I eventually pulled myself up and felt better I thought- until I stood up. It felt like my heart was going to explode through my chest. All my extremities tingled. I edged my way to the toilet using the wall as a frame and finally reached the bowl. That was the best piss I ever had. I looked over the mirror. I looked awful. Every time I closed my eyes I could see the veins pulsing across my eyelids and in my reflection that is what I saw. Blood shot eyes, the negative of what I saw in the blink, like a fingerprint. I got up and shuffled to the door.

 The hallway was white. Too white. My heart felt like it was beating into my legs, each step a slow and heavy thump. The pressure in my chest was radiating down from my head which was locked in an invisible vice. The heaviness of my head led the way as I went to find help. 'I don't feel very well' I said when I finally reached the dining room hatch. One of the nurses took my arm 'oh dear' she said 'Coincidence has it, a doctor is here, I'll get him to take a look at you, don't worry'. I lent in her shoulder and she grabbed me gently by the arm and steadily walked me to the treatment room. 

 wilted on the bed, I blinked and there stood a figure leaning over me, face shrouded by the strip light behind, turning his features into a silhouette which was crowned by a halo. My eyes adjusted to the lights and distortion melted away. The silhouette was now replaced with a dark haired doctor. He looked early 30s. Quite cute actually. First attractive person I'd seen in ages and i was in this state. The nurse from before leaned over and pulled my top up. I then also realised I had my tits out. Great. Faces of Meth, faces of Maddie, there was very little distinction. 'Hold up your arms, put then together onto your chest and lift them up like chicken wings' he said. What. He must have seen my expression of disbelief and confusion as he showed me how. 'I'm not going to press on your elbows and you have to try and keep them up, okay?' He was very authoritative yet polite. I liked it. From there proceeded a number of resistance tests, pulling and pressing on various limbs. After a while he pulled out his stethoscope and listened to my chest before checking my blood pressure. Everything was a little bit high. 'You are experiencing some very strong side effects but you are okay but we'll mention this to the consultant. Try and get some rest' Rest. That is all anyway says but it doesn't seem to be working. The nurse helped me back up and I hauled myself back to bed.

 'Maddie can i come in?' The staff nurse shouted the door. 'You have your formulation meeting at 1 o'clock is that okay?' It was 12:30. Oh god, I had so much to say, so much to explain, so much persuading to do and I couldn't in this state. I was struggling slur through a sentence. mind fuzzy. I started to panic, the kick of adrenaline woke me up and I pulled on some clothes and lumbered to meeting room. It was time to formulate my formulation, see where my path was headed next, and I was not prepared.

 When I walked in I was greeted by four ladies all sat in perfect symmetry, two on each side. There was my mum, a staff nurse, the psychiatrist and a lady I didn't know. I looked at my mother who couldn't hide her concern at the state I'd walked in. 'I don't want to take olanzapine again, please don't make me' I pleaded before anyone could even begin. 'It is your body and I can see you are not well' I looked at Dr Khatri 'They have had an unusually adverse effect on you. In the pasts you have tried aripriprazole and quetiapine and there were not successful either. I don't think this medication is for you. I see no benefit to continuing'  she smiled at me. 'Thank you' I replied. Thank you didn't even cut it, thank you for the bottom of my heart. A wave of relief washed over me. I said previously they are not good for me but no one had really listened. I have the symptoms, they fix the symptoms but they don't suit me. Antipsychotics are anti-Maddie. 'We have decided to the observe and see how you go' she continued 'we will wait for the increase in lamotrogine to take effect and if you manage to have two nights full rest, you can go on weekend leave and if that is successful we can discuss discharge' even better! This was the plan. This is want I wanted. I struggled to hold back tears as I thanked her. The lady was finally introduced to me. She was my work liaison officer. The thing is, and the thing you may not believe is, I am full time employed. Up until a while ago I was just like you. A Starbucks drinking, Tesco raiding, selfie taking, endless consumer. I was the one who accidentally walked into you in a heaving pool of people in primark. I am the person who sat opposite you on the train. A 'mutual friend',  a 'someone you might know'.

 Mental illness believes in equality. It doesn't judge or have prejudice. It will simply strike any of us at any moment. A monster lurking in the dark.

 For a while I’d felt like my life had been stagnant and now it was the most static and stagnant it’s ever been. I needed to get out.

 For the rest of the meeting I stayed slumped in my chair, the drugs still flowing through my veins. I watched them speak, their mouths moved but blurred sounds came out from far away. Dr Khatri hand grabbed mine and shook it, our faces smiling simultaneously. The plan was complete. The formulation; I just had to sleep. Not that hard right?

 *****

 I’m trying to sleep but It’s raining. It’s raining so hard. I overheard something about a storm earlier, about the sky turning yellow? I don’t know. It’s not just me that’s gone crazy recently, it’s the whole world. I couldn’t sleep though it like the slow motion crush of a car bonnet crumpling into a wall in a crash test simulation, dummy falling and bending inside.

 Suddenly silence. I flipped open the curtain next to me, only blackness peered back in. No rain.

 From behind me I heard the pitter patter of quick footsteps down the corridor and quickly flung myself into bed and pretended to be asleep. A few seconds later I heard the shutter fold up, the flash of a light and felt the eyes of a nurse observe me for a moment before moving on. I heard the shutter slap down I rolled over. Try again.

 I lay in the darkness, it buzzing around me like bees trying to shut down. Even if I don’t sleep even if they just think I have slept I can leave. I wasn’t going to move but then I heard the tapping. It was coming from outside of my window. Tap, tap, tap. I got up and went to the bathroom and slid under the sink, curling into a ball. Tap, tap, tap. I closed my eyes and breathed.

 I wont tell them about this