Far from All Else

by Tom Lally

  Similar to what happened with Otis, I found myself going over my conversation with Leighton line by line. My stomach churned and twisted. I felt my intestines starting to wrap tighter inside my body and lost my appetite entirely. I got angry and started cursing myself silently. I wished I was able to hear her thoughts and conclude accurately that none of them involved me. I didn’t know what Leighton was thinking about and it made me worry that I had said something wrong or came off as someone I wasn’t.

  Why was I the one who had to think this way? I thought to myself.

  I picked up my tray which was nearly as full as when I received it. I dumped it in the trash and looked around the room. Most of the people had left. I hadn’t seen Otis or Harlan. I wanted to make sure Harlan was okay, but I guessed I missed him in the cafeteria. Natalie exited with me, guiding me back upstairs. I walked down the hallway and tried to think of something to do. My room was a hole with a bed and the common room was home to all of those whom I feared, those being people.

  As I walked with Natalie, she tailed off and went into the nurses’ station.

  “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes, Drew,” she smiled.

  “Okay,” I said.

  I continued down the hallway, glancing at the partially closed doors and tried to slow my pace in order to get a peek of who was inside them. I heard someone inside one of their rooms.

  “Get away. Get away!” he yelled. “Leave me alone!”

  The door flew open and Otis came running out. He swayed in the hallway while I backed away from him as he grabbed his temples in agony.

  “Get outta my fuckin’ head,” he yelled.

  His hood had fallen off his head and I got my first full sight of the dreadlocks he donned. His fingers were tangled within them, suddenly ripping two of them off as he tried to quell whatever was in his head. He fell to the ground as the nurses came running out of their booth. Dougie appeared at the other end of the hall after coming out of the bathroom. He ran towards us. Natalie grabbed me and led me away from Otis while a red-haired, skinny nurse and the nurse who had been watching the gothic girls eat ran over to him. The red-haired woman brought a wheelchair. The other nurse lifted Otis’s sleeve and sterilized his arm.

  “Don’t move, Otis. This will make you feel better,” she said and stuck the needle into his arm.

  Otis didn’t resist, but he grimaced like his head was going to implode and some creature would stumble out. As the injection sent whatever fluid it was into his bloodstream, his face became less stressed and his muscles relaxed so his teeth didn’t crush each other. His head fell slowly until it leaned against the wall. Blood ran from his head where two of his dreadlocks used to be. Natalie came with towels thrown over her shoulder and put them over his wounds. Dougie lifted him by his armpits and propped Otis so he sat comfortably in the wheelchair. The nurses fixed his legs so his feet rested on the foot pedals.

  “Bring him to observation. I’ll call Dr. Phillips to let her know the situation,” Natalie said.

  Dougie didn’t respond audibly; instead, he started walking back towards the elevator down the hall.

  I walked past the nurses who picked up the severed threads of hair and used the spare towels Natalie brought to clean up the blood. Lucky appeared with a mop and a bucket of water. I didn’t know what to do so I stood still and leaned against the wall, breathing slowly as I tried to comprehend what I’d just seen. Lucky saw me and dropped the mop, letting it land loudly on the floor. He came over and stood next to me.

  “You okay, Drew?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” I said as I calmed myself. “Never seen anything like that before.”

  Lucky nodded his head in understanding and put his hand over my shoulder.

  “Things happen here that you should never see. I’m sorry. I really am. But know that we are here to help. You’ll be just fine,” he said to me.

  I nodded at him and took one long breath, sending my head to lean against the wall. Another breath and my heart rate slowed to its normal speed. The pulse in my neck no longer churned like a piston.

  “You’re okay. Go take a seat in the common room. It will calm you down,” Lucky said as he let go of my shoulder.

  He walked me to the couch and I was glad to see only a few people. A woman sat in a chair facing the window reading a book. Her hair covered the back of her chair and I could only see her shaky hands turn the page to a thin paperback book, the pages covered in coffee stains and hand-drawn stars. I saw the man with the beanie playing cards with an imaginary friend at a table for two.

  “Don’t be so silly, Billy, I know you don’t have that hand,” he said.

  I sat on the couch and put my legs on the ottoman. I didn’t like how others could be watching from behind me like I had done before lunch, but it was open space for the rest of us to share. Egos collided and my presence as a newly appointed ward victim didn’t know what to expect, but based on my observations of people in the past, I had a feeling I would soon find out. That knowledge terrified me to the brink of running through the window and face planting onto the concrete below.

  I found the remote sitting on the edge of the ottoman and used it to flick through the channels. I passed the cartoons and news programs before finding ESPN just as the theme song played through the speakers at the bottom of the television. I watched as the anchors reviewed Thursday Night Football between the Rams and the Saints.

  I let my shoulders relax and stretched my legs that had grown sore from playing basketball a few hours earlier. I watched deep throws spiral perfectly under the dome lights and land right in the receiver’s hands two yards short of the end zone. The receiver galloped across the goal line and spiked the ball as hard as he could into the AstroTurf.

  Realization came next, however, the revelation that I was actually still here. I thought I’d noticed this in my first session with Dr. Phillips, but the stage had altered itself. This wasn’t a dream. I was here in the thick of what I imagined this place to be. My presence forced a spotlight to shine overhead and I waited for the doctors to surround me with clipboards and notebooks, jotting down every single irregularity I’d displayed. It was then that I remember thinking again, ‘Holy shit. I’m a psychiatric hospital patient’.

  I felt someone behind me, the way a crow looks your way when you try to take a picture of it. I leaned my head back so my eyes saw the hallway upside down. A bald head greeted me with a chin covered in scruff. Jared stood with his arms folded. When my eyes met his, he walked around the couch and sat down next to me. He sniffled once and kept his arms folded while he let his legs extend fully. His heels bounced up and down against the tile floor. His eyes stared directly into mine, though I tried my best to look away, but I continued to feel his glare.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  His boots continued smacking against the floor and he cracked his fingers using his thumbs. They sounded off like firecrackers. I looked at every facet of his appearance. He rested his right arm on his leg, scratching his fingers around his denim-covered kneecap. His knuckles turned white as his nails scraped harder against his jeans. I looked up and found his eyes still gazing into mine. The menacing possibility that he would leap with his arms extended and strangle me or pound my face in with the heel of his combat boot both felt like realistic outcomes. I grabbed the remote and put it in the space between us on the couch before standing up and walking silently away.

  When I started back towards my room, I heard him laugh. His laugh overwhelmed the hall, careening off of the walls like a handball. The feeling that I was being watched had disappeared and a new feeling crashed upon my shoulders, sending a heat strike down my spine. It was the undesired spotlight, the kind that comes with humiliation. I didn’t turn around fully, but I twisted my head so my chin nearly leaned on my shoulder. I saw Jared’s boots on the armrest which I had been using. His feet were crossed over one another. They fluctuated back and forth quickly, hitting against one another like Newton’s cradle. Others turned to see Jar
ed as he flicked through the channels while his body twisted and arched with every menacing laugh. I felt the others looking at me and I turned from them as soon as I became aware of their eyes. They didn’t need to tell me their understanding. It was practically scrawled across the hollowed look they each gave me.

  My frustration boiled over and I felt the nerves in my stomach anchoring themselves to my ribs. I wanted to scream, but instead, I went into my room while I listened to the echoes of Jared’s laugh droning on. I walked into my room and looked out at the sky through the prison bars. I turned the light out and closed the door.

  Reaching my bed, I pulled the covers over my head and sank my teeth into the fabric. My mouth salivated as I began to cry. The sheet turned soggy and tears fell from my eyes as I wished for this nightmare to end. I heard a knock on the door and rolled over.

  “Drew,” Natalie said as she opened the door.

  I turned my body over and stared into the holes that were in the wall, pretending to be asleep.

  “Okay,” she said to herself and left.

  I laid there for a while. I didn’t know the schedule for the day’s activities and I didn’t really care. Natalie came in four times after that and hadn’t said a word. I just heard her pen marking the clipboard which I assumed meant I was still alive. The fifth time she came back though, she walked to the edge of my bed.

  “Drew, we have activities in fifteen minutes,” she said.

  I didn’t want to answer. I didn’t even know how to do so. My body remained still, but the sniffling and saliva that cluttered my throat caught her attention.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said with a traumatized voice complete with slurs and sniffling.

  “Hang in there. I’ll be back with Dr. Phillips in a second,” she said and closed the door.

  I heard the footsteps jogging down the hall towards Dr. Phillips’s office. My legs felt heavy and unusable while my arms sagged and I looked at my wrists. I pried off the bandages and looked at the swollen skin held together by stitches. I ran my fingers across the cuts that could potentially sever me from reality.

  I stopped once I heard voices speaking to one another just outside my door, the subject of their conversation being me. Over their voices though, I heard one particular voice, a voice that would visit me every day following.

  “I promise,” I muttered, “I promise.”

  ***

  I woke to the early morning grayness the following day. I’d slept on and off the previous day, only leaving my room to take my medication when they called my name over the loudspeaker. An empty chair sat in the doorway and I wondered who’d been watching me through the night.

  I rose and felt the sweat that had filtered into my jeans and I quickly took them off in search of fresher attire. Changing into a plain red shirt and gym shorts, I put on my moccasins and walked to my door, sidestepping the empty chair and stepping into the hallway.

  “Drew,” Dr. Phillips said quietly.

  I turned and saw her walking out of the women’s bathroom.

  “Morning, Dr. Phillips,” I said once she was within a few feet of me. “Did you watch me through the night?”

  “No, I just took over for Natalie a few minutes ago so she could get some coffee. You’re up early,” she said.

  “Yeah, slept a lot yesterday,” I said.

  “Well, the alarm doesn’t ring for a little while. Could we have a word in my office?” she asked. “Or do you want to wait until after breakfast?”

  “Now’s fine,” I said and knew she wanted to talk about the night before.

  The doors to each room were closed and only the sound of a vent in the ceiling came from the hallway. I followed behind Dr. Phillips whose high-heeled boots struck the floor with that amazing sound.

  We reached Dr. Phillips’s door and she let me walk in first. I remained standing upon entry into her office until she was present within the room as well.

  “Please, sit,” she said.

  I nodded and sat. She walked to the other side of her desk and sat gracefully in the leather computer chair. Dr. Phillips placed her hands on the arms of her chair and looked at me though I tried to avoid her stare by focusing on her wall of scholastic achievements or reading the book titles residing on her bookshelf.

  “Can we talk about last night?” she asked.

  “I guess I don’t have a choice,” I said.

  “No, no, I guess not. I told you I talked with Dr. Merriweather, right?” she asked me.

  “Yes,” I nodded my head.

  “He told me you have a history of excessive sleeping,” she said.

  “Yeah, it’s been a bit of an issue,” I said.

  Dr. Phillips nodded her head.

  “Drew, I need you to work with us. Please let us help you,” she said.

  “I know,” I said.

  I tilted my head and licked my lips. I tried to spew up the few words I’d been thinking of, but they’d cemented themselves in the back of my throat.

  “Go ahead,” Dr. Phillips said and leaned her head forward.

  I took one long breath before I uttered the words that seemed like the only thing that would help me cling to life for the sake of those who I managed to hurt.

  “I promise,” I said.

  Chapter 12

  A week and a half had passed since I promised a second person I would try to survive.

  I’d followed the consistent routine of being observed at all times. Waking up, taking a new medication I’d been prescribed called Nortriptyline, eating breakfast, going to group therapy, recreation time, then lunch, then come back for free time where I tried to either kill seconds in my room staring at the ceiling or reading one of the few books offered at the nurses’ station. Then, I’d go to another therapy session with one of the nurses where we’d combat negative thoughts by writing five positive ones about ourselves. And then you tell others amazing things about them despite not really knowing any of them, then one of the nurses, either Natalie or Helen, the red-haired nurse, reiterated the hospital’s support guidelines that reveal not taking your medication is harmful to you and the work the staff is trying to do.

  After this, we ate dinner and came back upstairs where Dr. Phillips held up a selection of movies in which we, the patients, at least the functioning ones, voted on which they wanted. The movie choices ranged from Stand by Me to Big Hero Six to The Notebook to Mamma Mia to a bootleg copy of Baby Boss. I thought Stand by Me would offer a future plethora of interesting film selections, but I was mistaken, though it’s not to say those movies weren’t entertaining. They’d even given us popcorn sometimes.

  After the movie ended, we’d be called up for our nightly round of medication and then we would be allowed to hang out in the common room or in our rooms until ten o’clock. Then they would call lights out and either Natalie, Olga, or Helen would sit in my doorway watching me sleep until the alarm sounded at 7:30 the following morning and the cycle would repeat itself.

  Riley visited me five more times. Twice with Brock. Every conversation was less painful than the one before. Their visits gave me time to breathe and a pure moment in which I didn’t feel so incarcerated.

  I wasn’t healthy enough yet to be left alone on the outside, but there was something about time that lessened some of my pain. I grew more comfortable around the others and my initial fear of their judgments had diminished some as I talked to them more often. I didn’t hear my father’s voice spewing through the letter he’d given me. I was able to somewhat block it out after a week or so, but it never went away entirely. I came to the conclusion that it never would.

  The reasons I was here were embedded in my identity. Understanding as opposed to quivering with the reminder of my worst moments was a battle that penetrated every aspect of my life. The constant voice I spoke to myself with and only to myself was like a ghost that haunted me. It resided solely where no one could see it, but it was an aspect I would have to explain at some point to t
hose who were close to me.

  I didn’t talk to Harlan once during this time. I’d seen the nurses outside his room while he slept with the covers over his head. He just remained in his bed for all hours of the day while I wondered what had caused his withdrawal. I wondered if I had said something or if I had made him uncomfortable, since my first day on the ward was when he shut down. I didn’t see him in group therapy, instead, Dr. Phillips had him in her office for one-on-one meetings. I wanted to talk to him, but he seemed like he just wanted to be left alone.

  Harlan finally returned to group therapy and we were put in the same section. Dr. Phillips had us sit in a circle, the same way we always did.

  “So who wants to start today?” she asked.

  We looked around the circle and waited for someone to either get called on or raise their hand hesitantly. I was slightly shocked when Harlan raised his. His corduroy pants and suede shoes looked the same as they had the first day I’d met him. I noticed his Rush T-shirt with sleeves that were too long for what I had normally seen him wear. It looked like he lost weight though he was already skinny when I first met him.

  “Thank you, Harlan. Everyone give your eyes and ears,” Dr. Phillips said.

  Harlan smiled to himself and it became apparent from the seconds of silence that followed that he was nervous.

  “Hello, everybody, um, I, um, I’m struggling with my Bipolar Disorder. I haven’t been able to move really and I haven’t eaten much either, but it’s getting better every day. I find that the medication is helping, but it’s still a struggle,” he said.

  His voice sputtered through most of the words. His body didn’t look relieved when he finished. It seemed like this was something that would always weigh on him and I never got the feeling that he believed he could beat it. I wondered if that was why he wanted to speak because it didn’t matter if he did or didn’t.

  “Has it gotten better over the past week?” Dr. Phillips asked.

  “Yeah, I think so. It’s just frustrating when it comes back and I have to deal with it,” Harlan said.