Feel
It All
So
here we are – rock bottom, disaster. To top it all I seemed to
be a walking, talking catastrophe.
I
couldn’t have gone any more wrong
if I’d tried.
Apparently,
I needed protection from myself.
That looked like the consensus anyway, from what I’d heard. According
to the saying, though, actions speak louder than words. If someone
saw me…wouldn’t that rain on his parade? Perhaps I
should take a minute to explain...
Since
being committed, I’d been sequestered in the back wing of the
building. Well secure and lacking any sort of windows, its purpose was
no secret. It housed the worst cases, the ones that were considered
hopeless. If you had the misfortune to be placed there, you accepted
that you chose neither if nor when you were released. Doc’s
office was situated right outside the entrance to the back wing. We
were the ones to watch.
No one
in the back wing got visitors. They weren’t allowed. It was the
point where the mask, the ‘face’ of this place, slipped.
The cracks were plainly visible, but Doc was far slyer than to let
anyone see them. He had a habit of pointing out the flaws of us
patients. He took those flaws, stretched and twisted them like you
might a rubber band until he had an amalgam of reasons for what he
did to us. Bluntly put, he could get away with a damn sight more than
most: a quirk of his own that made him all the worse.
He
kept the institution running with a pristine exterior, but all I had
ever known was its innards. Those had faded; the walls were dying for
a paint job and the lights sporadically failed. The back wing had
been left forgotten. I’d been thrown in there, beyond the reach
of any help.
I
was capable of ripping the wool from over the eyes of everyone Doc
had managed to sweet talk.
If
they believed me, that is.
Desperately
clinging to the idea that I might one day change things had gotten me
by without the need to make too much fuss. In the grand scheme of
things, it was a little ambition, but nevertheless it had to go.
Extinguishing the ray of hope began with a verbal reality check.
“I’ve
seen you hanging around that door, Watts”, he said
matter-of-factly, like it was undebatable. “Where were you
hoping to go?”
He
stared at me, looking as though he would do so for hours if need be.
An awkward silence fell between us as I sensed my demeanour becoming
sheepish and skittish.
‘Perfect’,
groaned Mercy. ‘You look
like you’ve been caught red-handed.’
Indeed I did as I
looked down at the floor. My stomach felt as if it were taking a dive
for the ground, too. I still hadn’t stammered a word for want of
a decent excuse.
“Colour
me confused…. Are you saying that I can’t just sit
somewhere awhile?” It was the first thing I could think of to
say.
‘Good,
good’, encouraged Mercy, trying to put me at ease.
I, however,
was distracted by Doc’s stare. His eyes were much flintier than
my almond-shaped ones. They were enough to set the tone before he
even started talking.
“You
never learn”, he chuckled. “I’ve seen it all
before.” I realised that not only did he not take me seriously, but that the supposed joke was at my expense as his low laughter
ceased.
“Do you know what would happen if you set foot outside
as you are?” he asked, tugging at my thin, white t-shirt for
emphasis.
I
slowly retreated a few steps. He had released his grip, but I knew
that was no cue to leave. He continued his offence. “Anyone who
saw you would most likely tell you this: Get. Back. In.” He
enunciated each of the last three words with a poke to the chest,
hustling me in the other direction.
My
mind floundered in last-ditch optimism. I waited to be led to some
quiet room, where he’d simply give me a more severe dressing
down. I could handle that. Subconsciously, I wasn’t convinced. A
calendar flicked by in my head, accompanied by a chant of next
Wednesday, not till next Wednesday.
“What?”
It
had been a long time since my thoughts had last slipped off my tongue. I
had not been here.
He
looked at me in bewilderment. “I didn’t say anything”,
he said. “Did you hear something? There’s no one else
here.” He still sounded confused.
Meanwhile,
the murmur of human voices had been replaced with the hum of
machinery. It sounded like so many angry wasps, coming from all sides
and going straight to my head. The mechanical noise awoke memories
with a start.
‘D’you
know, I’ll bet it’s placed deliberately - that noise,’
Mercy said thoughtfully. ‘What? I know where we are.’
All
this while we had still been moving, but now we stopped. Sure enough,
there stood a forest green door. I sat down in front of it, arms
folded, a hard lump rising in my throat.
“Now,
now – sitting sulking doesn’t do you any good”, he
rebuked. “Let's go in, that’s the best thing for
you.” I rose to my feet unsteadily, scowling at Doc
sceptically. The dreaded door was open now.
When
I saw the sharp centrepiece to the room, a table with restraints, my
response was as involuntary as pulling one’s fingers away from
a flame. Doc was ready. He caught me and began steering me toward the
table, kicking and shouting.
To
an onlooker, I imagined my efforts must resemble a petulant tantrum.
Not that there were any.
For
me, that distance was something like being marched to the scaffold.
Even
once he’d hauled me onto the table, I still wasn’t
prepared to give in. I writhed to be free, frustrated at the futility
of my struggle… of everything.
Right
away the leather straps began rubbing away at my already bruised skin
painfully. Doc left me stranded on the steel table while he fetched a
syringe full of clear liquid and a mouth-guard. The latter had a
gross texture in my mouth, as if it had been chewed like a dog’s
toy.
My
tensed muscles didn’t want to admit the needle, so it stung a
bit. That tension disappeared once the liquid was injected. I braced
myself for the usual drowsiness, but what I experienced was a strange
heaviness
in my muscles.
‘Definitely
not a sedative’, observed Mercy. ‘That means…
you’ll be… awake. I’m so sorry.’
I
looked over my heaving chest at the equipment used in electroshock
therapy, capable of inflicting so much pain that it couldn’t be
ethically used on a conscious patient for sure.
‘Yet
here we are’, Mercy murmured as Doc adjusted the voltage dial a
fraction.
He
daubed gel on either side of my forehead, which was so cold that I
felt something close to brain freeze upon its application. The gel
was what the electrodes stuck to.
The
first sound I heard was the switch being flipped; next came the whine
of the now active machine.
Red
sparks danced behind my closed eyelids, and a crackling noise like
popping candy filled my ears, louder than the pounding of my blood.
Clammy beads of sweat trickled over every inch of my skin.
Scorching
pain haemorrhaged from my brain downward to every nerve ending in
turn. I now remembered why the mouth-guard was covered in teeth marks,
as I tried to scream round it.
I’m
not exactly sure when Doc turned off the machine, because the pain
lingered, pulsing like a second heartbeat. My limbs had gone all
jelly-like, there was no strength left in them at all. Funnily
enough, I would rather have remained on the table once the
restricting bonds were removed than be carried back.
I
liked to be independent. We all like to maintain our pride.
‘There
is SO MUCH wrong with that man’, growled Mercy. ‘That
hypocrite!’ she raged. ‘If he’s taking on people
who need hand-mending, then PERHAPS HE SHOULD LOOK IN THE MIRROR!’
Truer
words were never spoken.
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