Being admitted to the psychiatric unit was a disaster. Pulled apart by endless assessments and thousand meaningless questions of the personnel added to the distress and confusion. “Who are you? What is the date today? Do you know where you are now? Why are you here?”
Fear and misunderstanding mixed with the bitterness of prescribed mediation gradually and surely forced to the orientation in person, place, and time.
Who are you? – I am a human, I am a female
Where are you? – I am in a mental health facility
What is the time? – Morning, 9 am, March the 2nd… um … 2020
First, all these sounded like abracadabra, weird, surreal, and merely stupid.
Self-Identification? – Female. (Whatever). Labeling self and others through I, You, He, She, We, They …. split the whole reality into ugly pieces.
But it was indispensable to remember I am a female, 33 years of age, since saying this with an idiotic smile got her out of the crisis stabilization unit. No more intense surveillance, the prescribed pills were flushed down the toilet, and she breathed a sigh of relief no longer suffering from the upset stomach, skin blemishes, and drowsiness.
Trapping the identified HERself in the matrix of time: the past, the present, and the future was another torture. The time orientation made no sense: none of the personnel could adequately explain why the past that everyone sees differently should have the only one version sloppily reflected in history textbooks and broadcasted through mass media. Why the future that is never known should come as the definitively hopeless scenario, and why the present must be the bridge that connects the past sufferings with the anticipated hysteria.
She learned that the past was always the time when everyone was poorly trained and ignorant; horrid mistakes were made due to lacking in advanced knowledge and modern technology. While the far future presented as promising; the near future was pictured as the dreadful prognosis of stock market crashes, gory conflicts, infectious diseases, and environmental disasters. The present was the drama, the panic, the sensation widely spread through TV and the Internet.
Today is Monday, March the 2nd, 2020 – she said that nonsense looking straight into the dirty eyeglasses of the psychiatric nurse. She did her best to look as serious as possible.
– You are doing really good my dear, – the nurse hurriedly made notes getting ready to sign out for the day.
They discharged her a month after. She slowly walked out of the hospital, leaned up against the dirty brick wall, and lit a cigarette. She closed her eyes letting go of the espoused person, time, and place orientation; smoking, smiling, and disappearing in the cold November air.