Chapter: Stages Of Insanity
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Liz. That's what they call me. Well, it really depends on who they are, doesn't it! Haha.
They could be dead for all we know.
Although, that's doubtful. The dead don't talk.
They whisper.
And we hear them in the rustle of leaves and the howl of the wind, softly carrying the tales of those who have fallen before us.
That's what Nana Belle used to tell me, before I got sent here, I mean. Then again, Nana Belle was of a questionable mentality.
But who am I to judge? I'm Liz. That's what they call me.
Wait, we've already been through this haven't we? Everything has already happened once before, at least. War, triumph, laughter, tears, evil, good, death, it's all been done before.
It's unoriginal.
I like to think of myself as unique. Like a lily on ice. What? Who? Where? When? If you start with one, you have to follow through with the others I suppose.
Follow through. Haha.
I don't think I'm half of what they think I am. Maybe a quarter. Maybe a fifth.
The woman who endured my birth called me a 'monster' once. That made me laugh. She was always a good laugh, my mother.
Well, right up until I started to 'change', as they like to call it. They have an arrogance to them, do they not? Going around calling everything what they wish, picking names and titles and not giving a shit about... well, anything. Poverty, pain, cruelty, death.
But that wasn't what I was talking about, was it? I get so lost. I have so many thoughts, they all get jumbled up. Like bee's buzzing about in mind, constantly battling to buzz louder than the others.
My thoughts of bee's and buzzing and everything are interrupted as The Blank enters my Dungeon with a tray of steaming food on it.
I call her The Blank, although, they all wear their white lab coats here. All of them. Every last one of them. Well, not The Bitch, and not The Victims.
So, I guess that was a lie. You shouldn't trust me, I'm a liar. I'm Liz.
This Blank makes me happy, she's my favourite one. She has beautiful dark skin and a bright smile with thick bright red lips and dark gray hair that's always pulled back into a fuzzy bun. She has eyes so green that they look like the fields that my Nana Belle used to take me walking on.
"Hello, Liz. Feeling merciful today?" She raises her eyebrows at me. I like the way she doesn't call me 'dear' and doesn't say 'so, how are we are feeling today?' every time she sees me.
I don't know how 'we' are feeling, but I'm feeling like I want to stab that ball point pen in your eye. That's my usual mental response to whenever The Blanks or a The Bitch asks me pointless questions like that.
I grin at her, shaking my head. Raring for the battle. It's not that I'm anorexic or anything, I eat lots, then for a couple of days I don't. And then I stuff my face all over again.
When I do eat, I eat so much that it's painful. I do this so even though my days of not eating take their toll on my body, as soon as I do eat, I gain every pound that I've lost, straight back.
The Blanks say that's unhealthy for me, but at the end of it all, I don't gain or lose a single pound, so why do they care?
They don't, they're just paid to act like it. I may be crazy, but I'm not stupid.
I last stuffed my face two days ago, so I'm scheduled to eat again, willingly, in a couple days.
"Don't you ever get tired of putting up a fight just to swallow some food?" The Blank puts her hands on her hips and raises an eyebrow at me.
Is she indirectly asking me if I swallow?
"Nope. You're just old, that's why it tires and bothers you so much." I laugh easily. The Blank smiles at me sadly and shakes her head.
"It bothers me because it's not good for-"
"My health and emotional stability." I recite the well known words.
The Blank gives me a dead-panned look.
"C'mon, let me strap you up then." She sighs and walks over to me, waddling slightly with her large figure.
I don't struggle or put up any restrain as she wraps the belt straps around my body so I can only move my head.
It's more fun if there's a challenge to it.
The first couple of spoonfuls of porridge end up on the floor as I thrash my head about, the others end up on my clothes, or The Blank's.
I think it's most hilarious when I take the mouthful and her eyes fill up with hope and then I spit it right back out.
In the past more than one or two Blanks has requested to The Bitch to just feed me through a 'goddamn tube'. Of course, The Bitch denied, replying that I do eat eventually, so there's no point in going through the legal stuff with my parents. Excuse me, parent.
More like she wouldn't want to spend the money on me. Not that I want a tube.
God, she's a bitch.
Finally after managing to getting me to swallow the great amount of three full spoons of porridge, forcibly might I add, The Blank gives up, unstraps me and sends me off to get a shower. My room, (dungeon more like), will be cleaned while I'm getting washed up.
And of course it is. As soon as I get back, it's spotless per usual. I don't know why they do it like that.
I'm not here for OCD. I like things to be a little untidy. I think it makes things feel more homely. Well, as homely as this place can get.
I also think the mornings are always the most boring. I mean, there's nothing to do. Everything gets better after lunch.
I'm allowed to go to the cafeteria for lunch because I'm 'not that bad'. As in, I've never tried to kill myself, I've never tried to kill anyone else, my 'illness' has no sexual nature to it, and I do not have random fits of rage.
So basically, I'm not violent. Not that I condemn violence or anything, I think it can quite the solver of problems, at times, it's just never been my calling.
Being stubborn, now there's my calling. P'ha, and they call it a mental ilness.
So anyway, I'm allowed in the cafeteria at lunch. Like, with other people. Unshackled and unguarded.
Just sitting and (sometimes) eating, with other Victims. Almost normal. Ish. Not really.
That's how you know you're not full on crazy. The real nut-jobs have their own ward, and they always have to these special Blanks with them at all times, some of them are even cuffed.
Which is necessary, they're complete wacko's. And that's coming from me.
It's technically not a 'Mental Institution' because that's really just where murderers and criminals go when no one can seem to think of a reason as to why they're so frickin' cruel.
Nope, this is not one of them.
Firstly, no one over the age of twenty-one is admitted here, and secondly, there are different stages of sanity, or lack of it. They go; The Disorders (insomnia, anorexia, any eating disorders etc.), The Depressed, The Emotionally Unstable, The Suicidal, The Mentally unstable (although, I think this one is just a good name to generalise the insanities), The Violent Mentally Unstable, The Sadists, Diagnosed Mental Illnesses, And then there's the full of nut cases (like, they seriously belong in padded rooms and stuff.)
Here, it only goes up to the 'Violent Mentally Unstable' stage. And not every stage technically contains symptoms of the stage before. It's always technicalities though.
I'm currently at 'Emotionally Unstable' stage, although I have a hint of an eating disorder in there. This basically means I'm prone to have mental breakdowns, quite frequently.
But thanks to the lack of my violence, I'm allowed to be around people, like I'm allowed to go into the games rooms without a guard and I'm allowed to go out onto the tennis court, eat in the cafeteria and go to see The Bitch unshackled.
I think if I wasn't allowed to see other people, or always have to have a Blank following me everywhere, I probably would have bumped myself up to 'The Suicidal' stage already.
Actually, The Suicidal's are allowed to see other people, they just have their own specially guarded ward, incase of any attempted 'accidents'.
These 'accidents' happen so often that I have learnt to just sleep through the alarm bells that ring at least once a week.
Like a lullaby. Yeah, a loud, blaring, fucking annoying, lullaby.
That was a joke. The alarms are almost as bad as Dez, who's in the boys dorm over. Yeah, he's a screamer.
That's what she said.
Ahahahahahahahahahahahaha. It's funny because, Dez looks like a deformed toe, is socially impaired and is most likely still a virgin.
That was probably mean? Ahh, that's another one of my problems, or so I'm told. Apparently, I have what The Blanks like to called the 'no filter syndrome', basically meaning I don't think about things before I say them.
Which, by the way, isn't true. Of course I think about it, or otherwise I wouldn't say it, would I? I wouldn't. Don't be stupid.
Although, stupid people will outlast the intelligent, because they're so oblivious to everything that's harmful to them, they're not the targets.
Another saying Nana Belle used to say. She was full of sayings and quotes she had learnt through her life. I don't think anything she ever said was truly her own words.
Maybe that's why I liked her so much.
I walk slowly towards the cafeteria, taking my time and whistling under my breath cheerfully. As I pass the boys dorm, I see H.D.
I like H.B, he makes me laugh, when he's not err... ah busy. H.B is an abbreviation for Head Banger, because, well that's what he does. His relief of sanity is whacking his forehead against any solid surfaces. H.B always has a permanent red mark on his forehead.
Of course, that isn't his real name. His real name is Roan, I personally think H.B is better. Even The Blanks call him that.
H.B stops mid head bang when he spots me.
"Hey Liz!" He says cheerfully, and I wave back.
H.B resumes his business and I carry on walking down the corridor. I pass a Blank as I go and he smiles at me. They always do that, smile at you in familiarity, as if they've known you for years, although, I've never seen this Blank before.
I didn't even glance at the name on his 'Rosdale's Youth Psychiatric Institution,' name tag.
The smell of the slightly uncooked and inedible food wafts through the cafeteria's open doors and into my nose. Hmm, smells like mashed potatoes and slop. Ha, a meal I won't have to endure just today.
I think I'll eat again of Wednesday. We have macaroni and cheese on Wednesdays. I love macaroni and cheese.
Even if it isn't cooked properly.
As I get closer to the cafeteria, I think of Margery. I also like Margery. She's my. . . friend?
I guess that's what you could call us, we've never actually spoken, so I don't particularly know.
Margery and I were admitted here not that far apart, and we have sat at the same dinner table together for most of my time here, just us two. Margery doesn't speak to anyone, actually she doesn't show any type of communication or acknowledgment to anyone at all. She ignores everyone.
Except me.
I think it took all of four months, when finally one day I sat down at our table and she looked at me and nodded slightly, and she has done it everyday since. I guess that means we're friends, I mean, she has never nodded at anyone else here?
Maybe she's not nodding, maybe she's signalling for me to go away with the motion of her head? But surely not, if she wanted me gone, she'd shove me of something, wouldn't she?
None the less, every lunch time Margery and I sit there, she eats her food and then continues to read her book in silence. She has a different one everyday.
I usually just sit and watch across to the other side of the dining hall, where Sandy sits and talks to her spoon. It's quite literally hilarious. Sometimes they get into really heated conversations.
There's a hop in my step as I walk over the cafeteria's threshold, thinking of what Sandy and her spoon would talk about today, when suddenly I spot mine and Margery's table, and I freeze.
Okay, so, technically I'm emotionally unstable. And these breakdowns I'm prone to having, they can happen, unfortunately, over the slightest things.
Like someone sneezing on me, or stubbing my toe, or when people crack their knuckles around me, or when someone sits in my seat.
Yeah, when some little fucker decides to sit in my goddamn fucking seat, it kind of pisses me.
And there, with his back to me, his shoulders shaking with laughter as he chats away to Margery, who has a startled expression on her face, is some stranger, a boy.
Sitting in my freaking seat.