MADMAN'S ARMS

Prologue

London, England 1957

After five years of constant reading and intense studying, I was finally done with my exam. I could now officially call myself a psychiatric nurse.

The first three years were hard. All the learning about nature, biology, and physics could make my brain explode some days by the overload, but I knew all along there were better days to come.

Since I started studying at Queen Mary University right after sixth form I was already exhausted both mentally and physically. But I wanted to follow my dream and achieve the title I always wanted.

After the first tough and exhausting six semesters, it was time for every individual to choose an alignment, and it was at that point the fun part began. The remaining two years were all about the human brain, psychology, and medicine. I loved to learn about the brain of mankind, every vein, and blood vessel. It is just too complicated to understand it, but still, we know so much about it.

It satisfied me to learn about when it has gone too far, where the line gets crossed, and when you no longer have control over your brain or your emotions.

I always wanted to work with people. I wanted to help people, and even though I would gladly volunteer to take care of a person with a broken leg or stitch up a cracked lip, it was the psychology of the human mind that satisfied me the most.

I wanted to help the people who were lost and wandering in their minds. I wanted to help the people who couldn't find their will to live anymore. I even wanted to help the people who committed the worst type of crimes because of their uncontrolled brains.

When I was twelve, my mother took her life after a long time of suffering from depression, bipolarity, and mania. She was a sad soul and it tortured me to see her in that condition almost every day of my childhood, and to witness what it did to my father and little brother. I have a couple of bright memories of her, but most of the time she was just empty in every expression of appearance.

I remember late at night when she screamed out of pain and sadness, when she burst out on my father for no reason, and when she got her obsessive thoughts and ran up and down the stairs a hundred times because otherwise, she thought someone would come to kill her children. I know it wasn't her fault, because she was sick. But the images of situations like that were impossible not to penetrate and haunt the mind of her nine-year-old son and twelve-year-old daughter.

Although I'm glad I didn't have to go through it alone, I never wished for my little brother to see our mother in that condition. He was so small and vulnerable, he couldn't understand why she was so sad all the time or the reason she screamed loudly at night. He just remained devastated as he watched her getting torn apart more with every day. It has been tough to accept the faith of my mother and it has taken a long time for me, as well as for my father and brother to process and forgive.

After the suicide, my father was completely inconsolable. He was always kind, loving, and playful, but when our mother went away, he changed. He was still kind and took good care of me and my brother Walter even though I know it was too hard for him. But the pain and thoughts of our mother made him do things that could be described as impulses or blackouts.

One time, he set the table and cooked as if she was there, then he talked to the empty chair through the whole dinner before he threw her portioned plate into the wall and crashed down in tears on the floor. I remember him laying there for hours, not being responsive to either me or my brother.

Another time, he drove on the right side of the road which caused complete chaos. He didn't understand why people honked at him or why the oncoming traffic drove on the right side, he just kept going and honked back at the admonishing cars. It ended up with the police taking him, and Walter and I got to spend the rest of the evening at the police station.

The situation was embarrassing for me and my little brother, but we didn't realize back then that our father suffered from serious grief and that it was the reason he did mad things like that.
The condition of my father and his moments got better after a couple of years when he decided to see a therapist for his children's sake. He slowly started to let go of our mother and the blackouts got better day by day. I was so proud of him when he took the step and allowed himself to let go, not to forget, but to let go.

It was hard for all three of us who got left behind, but after all, we managed to get through it together. But then it was my turn to fall.
Soon after I started studying at Queen Mary, I fell into addiction.

Every day I was surrounded by strong medication and after everything I learned about the effects of them, it was just too hard to stay away from trying, and then I was stuck. I remember how I used to sneak into the repositories and stick my veins with morphine or snort up crushed anodynes through my nose.

Every rush and every high was so calming and relieving. I loved how I found a way to disappear from my brain and my past. It made me feel like a normal person, like every other woman in my class.

To my surprise, it didn't take long until my family noticed what I was doing. I lost a lot of weight and I isolated myself from them, which was very uncommon for me.

Gladly, my father and brother cared very much about me and forced me into rehab, and after two rough months, I actually could go back to school but with strict rules and supervision. It was an emotional roller coaster to go through all of that, but I was so lucky that I finally managed to get out of it.

Today, my father and I have a good relationship and we are very aware that when the dark moments come, we pick up the phone to call each other. Even though I know it has been harder for Walter to forgive than it has been for me, he is trying his best to have a good relationship with his only parent today.

After going through things like these, you'll most certainly get a new perspective of life. I remember feeling so helpless and scared when I saw my mother in her condition. The only thing I wanted was to do something, but I couldn't understand the state she was in and that there was nothing for her twelve-year-old daughter to do. It was already too late, but I didn't know that back then.

So conclusively, the situation with my mother changed me too, and after all, I'd say to someone better.

The same day I decided what I wanted to become, I swore to myself that when I finally held my certificate in my hands, I would do anything in my power to heal and help people in conditions like my mother's, and that day was today.