The Nocturnal Voice
Jeffrey Miska
Vol. #3 of the “Sessions Series”
Published by Jewimi Book Publishers
Copyright 2012
***
Chapter 1 - Synchronicity
Daryl sat confidently in the corner of the room. He purposefully cocked his head to one side to appear disinterested in life and sat with his left leg propped over his right knee. The unconscious movement of his foot in an almost rhythmic bounce showed the true discontent with his surroundings. A small professionally dressed woman almost reptilian in appearance, sat across the room reading some documents and making occasional notes on a pad of paper. She was one of the staff psychologists and facilitators of the group therapy sessions at the Brish Mental Hospital.
Suddenly, his detachment with the moment was interrupted when he looked up to see a young girl about his age walk into the room. She had pale skin, dark eyes and long dark hair. She glanced up making eye contact only briefly as she became aware of his presence in the room. His gaze was immediately drawn to the image of a masterfully drawn black dragon tattooed on her upper arm.
That was also the moment it happened. He heard the voice.
It wasn’t unusual, for it was the voice that spoke to him in his head. Without warning, he sat straight up in his seat and directed a command to the young girl.
"Hey, look out!"
The words startled her and she looked up to make eye contact at almost the same moment she brushed her leg against one of the upholstered chairs in the room. A short shriek of pain and an involuntary movement of her hand to her leg made it clear something had happened. A small fabric staple had apparently come loose from the chairs upholstery, and had gouged a decent size cut into the side of her leg.
The woman in the corner of the room after seeing some blood on the girls hand, leapt out of her chair and began to direct the moment.
“Oh my god Ali, are you OK? What happened?”
She could immediately see the staple that did the damage and pushed the chair against the wall of the room.
“I’m so sorry that happened. I’ll contact maintenance to get that fixed but right now, we need to get that looked at and file an injury report.”
Ali snapped her head up from looking attentively at her leg.
“No way, are you fucking kidding me? It’s a scratch, I didn’t lose a limb! Just hand me a Kleenex and some scotch tape and we can go on with our productive days.”
The therapist smiled and shook her head.
“I know it may not be a big deal to you, but the hospital needs to make a big deal over issues and occurrences that cause patients injury.”
Daryl now approaching Ali with some Kleenex in his hand chuckled and said.
“Wow seriously? A scratched leg calls for immediate action, yet all these anti-psychotic meds that may cause tremors and sudden death are alright. Now who can pick out the real Psychotic people in this place?”
Ali looked up at Daryl and took the tissues from his hand. Smiling in a shy but warm way she said thank you for the Kleenex. She also admired the way he commented on the obvious gap of logic in this moment.
The therapist however, other than thanking Daryl for the tissue, showed absolutely no emotion.
“Ali are we still feeling up to being a part of group today? We can get that looked at afterward if you’d rather.”
Ali rolled her eyes.
“Really, I don’t care, it’s just a scratch.”
Daryl now returning to his seat made another remark.
“Do we have any people in group today with a fear of blood? Ali could be their go to girl for exposure therapy.”
Ali now grinning from ear to ear and walked over to sit in the chair nearest to Daryl.
She folded over the Kleenex and held it over the scratch again. Daryl said,
“Sorry I didn’t warn you soon enough. Sometimes that’s the way it goes.”
Ali still looking at the scratch replied,
“That’s ok, it’s really not a big deal”. Then she sat thinking about what he’d just said.
“Hey wait, did you see the staple sticking out or something?
I could swear it was me hitting the chair with my leg that caused it to bend back like that.”
Daryl thought for a moment and replied.
“Well…no I didn’t see it, I was just. I had this feeling that something bad…”
He stopped talking as two more participants from group therapy walked in the and took places around the room.
Daryl nodded a greeting to a young man in the room he obviously knew, then leaned over toward Ali.
“I’ll tell you about it later alright?”
She nodded feeling a bit confused but really didn’t think much of it. Odd behavior and unique events were viewed as ordinary and mundane in this place.
The group session began normally with the participants encouraged to talk about the challenges they faced in their lives. As each person in the group became more relaxed with the others in the room, it became clear what type of psychosis or act of irrational behavior had ultimately placed them in this undesirable place. Even though they were temporary residents the locked doors and iron clad rules made the feelings of being a prisoner immutable.
When it was Ali’s turn to share her thoughts, Daryl became aware of why she was in the hospital. She attempted an all too common act of desperation by attempting suicide with the use of prescription drugs. Listening to her describe all of the tragic events that led up to the present day made Daryl feel deeply sorry for her.
She’d lost two siblings and her closest friend to untimely deaths in a very short period of time. In many ways, her dark description of feeling painfully isolated made it clear how alone she really was and it was a feeling that Daryl could relate to with perfect clarity. It described him in many ways as well.
Usually the facilitator didn’t work to involve Daryl in discussions because of his past track record of staying rather neutral and detached in his answers. Today however, she asked if he would like to add anything to the discussion and was surprised to see him nod yes.
He leaned back in his chair and looked over at Ali with a quick almost unnoticeable glance before speaking.
“I guess I just want to say how much I get what Ali was saying about how it feels like we’re on our own. It fucking sucks to feel like you’re alone in this world and I know because I feel like that all the time, you know?”
The facilitator nodded.
“It takes courage to admit that. Are you willing to share what types of things happen to make you feel that way?”
Daryl smiled at her and replied,
“Sure I’ll share anything you ask me to, but you may not like what I have to say. That happens sometimes when I start to talk.”
The facilitator nodded with an encouraging expression.
“Just say what’s on your mind. As long as it’s respectful to the others in the group, you can say whatever you wish.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Daryl could see that Ali was looking at him and waiting to hear what he would say. He thought for a moment and then spoke.
“Well it’s not just one thing that makes a person feel like they’re alone. It’s a lot of things that all stack up and bury you. The most obvious one is when you really want to talk about something that’s bothering you, but there’s no one there to talk to or that you would trust enough to confide in them. I know it seems obvious that if you’re alone, you would feel lonely and that would be it but that’s not the whole picture.
I also feel alone when I’m surrounded by people. It’s because for the most part, people don’t connect to one another at all.
Most of them present you with a stylized fantasy of the image that they have of themselves.
They show off this generic mask that they want everyone to believe is their true self instead of the dream image it really is. I feel lonely talking to people that think that plastic image is really who they are. I mean they really truly believe it.”
Daryl looked over at Ali and then made brief eye contact with everyone in the room with the exception of the facilitator.
“How can you feel connected to people and share your deepest secrets when the majority of them are too terrified to look inside of themselves? Too fucking scared to walk blind, hands out in front just grasping at the dark places in their mind where the shadows live. It’s a scary place, I know. I also know that if you get lost there, you may not walk back out into the daylight again for a long time.”
He took a deep breath and looked at the facilitator.
“I also can’t connect to people who live in fear of questioning their own beliefs. Whether it has
The Nocturnal Voice Page 1
