Chapter 4: Boy, Interrupted

(Yeah, I know “Boy, Interrupted” is a shit chapter title, but it’s the best I can do at the moment. Suggestions are welcome.)

As I look around the ward, I’m starting to get a real “Cuckoo’s Nest/Girl, Interrupted” vibe. It feels like I’ve been dropped in the middle of a movie. The blonde girl must be the Angelina Jolie “free spirit”... the dude shuffling along with his eyes half-closed is ‘The Chief’... the guy with his forearms covered in tattoos is the trouble-maker/rebel, and the other 3 guys with tattooed arms are his cronies...

But it’s not a movie. These aren’t fictional characters; they’re real, damaged people. And somehow, by some mistake, I’ve been lumped in with them.

I turn to Victor: “I really don’t belong here.”
“Ahhh ... okay,” he replies. We continue the tour.

There’s a TV room – “TV’s not bloody workin’!” says Tattooed Guy #1, who I will now refer to as The Loudest Man In The World; the kitchen, where I can make myself a coffee or Milo (at pre-specified times – now is not one of those times); the therapy room (locked), which contains musical instruments, exercise balls and a too-large pool table jammed in on a weird angle to fit; and finally, Room 8, my bedroom.

It contains a chair, a set of drawers and the most uncomfortable looking bed I’ve ever seen, complete with vinyl-covered mattress. It seems that the cure for depression is to put the patient in the most depressing environment on earth.

I realise that my parents will have no idea where I am, so I ask if I can check my phone for messages and maybe give them a call. Victor seems okay with that, so I follow him back to the nurses’ station. He retrieves my phone for me, and as we wait for it to power up, I try to explain to Victor that there has been a mistake; I shouldn’t be here, I’m not like these people. On cue, The Loudest Man In The World comes and stands next to us at the counter. “Nurse!” he bellows. “Can I have my medicine before I hurt myself?”

Victor smiles at me sympathetically. I have a text message from my dad’s mobile, asking me to give them a call. Victor says I can’t use my phone; he’ll dial out from the nurses’ station and put it through to a phone on the wall out in the day room. He dials the number, and I hear him explain in his terrible English (sorry, but it’s true!) who he is and where he’s calling from, then he transfers through to the wall phone. It’s my mother.

“We’ll be there in ten minutes,” she says. “How are you?”

“Great!” I reply. “Hurry up, and GET ME OUT OF HERE!”