Manic Winter - Chapter V

Chapter V - Here We Are At The Ward

          On the way up to Iowa City it started to snow pretty heavily. That always depresses me even more. I despise cold weather. It just sucks the life right out of you. And boy was it cold. Maybe I have “seasonal affective disorder” or some crap. I’ve always thought that was a load of garbage. Everyone has to have “seasonal affective disorder” to some degree or another. Everyone acts a little bit different based on the weather conditions. I mean, when you’re walking around and all the trees are dead and your teeth are chattering, everyone wiping their noses and throwing their tissues on the ground. That has got to depress just about everybody. Pretty soon my dad couldn’t take the silent car drive anymore and he decided to strike up a conversation. I didn’t feel like talking.

          “So Bud,” he said. He always calls me “bud”.

          “…yeah?” I said. I really wasn’t in a good mood.

          “You can talk to me, you know. W-w-w-we’re all just worried about you.”

          I don’t know why they were all so worried. It’s not like it was a big deal or anything. I burned myself once just for kicks. And then I got slapped with a teacher who can’t mind their own damn business. If I really think about it though, maybe I really did need help. I mean, I wasn’t exactly a happy person. I’m a bit of a nut. I care a lot about what people think, but at the same time I’m not even actually sure if people think or not. I’m kind of bordering on a solipsistic attitude in my weaker moments. It’s a scary thought, but sometimes I think that I might be the only conscious being in the entire universe. It could be true, I mean, it’s not like I’ll ever be able to see the world through someone else’s eyes. Even after I die, and I’m reincarnated as a kangaroo in Moodlu or wherever, I would still be “Jerry”, just in a different body. It’s just me, looking through one set of eyes, from beginning to end, forever and ever. So I don’t even know why I give a shit, but I do.

          “None of you would understand. I mean, seriously Dad.”

          That always gets to people. If you tell someone they can’t understand, it’s almost an insult. You are basically saying to them that the way they think isn’t sufficient to understand the complexities of your existence. In my opinion, that sounds like an insult.

          “Well, w-w-w fuckin’ w-what is it? Have you done something?”

          Truth is, I had done something. But I wasn’t going to spill my guts. Not yet.

          “No.”

          “Well then what’s bothering you so much?”

          “That’s just it. Nothing is bothering me. So why don’t you just turn this truck around and take me back home. I’m fine, really.”

          I sure was telling a lie now. I wasn’t fine. It was really starting to snow hard now and I was really starting to get even more depressed. When I look back on it, it probably was best for me to go to the hospital. The burn didn’t really have a whole lot to do with it in all honesty. That was just a fluke. But boy did I need help in some form or another. I felt awful. I really did.

          “Jerry, we can’t take you back home. I would like to, I really would. But this is for your own good.”

          That always strikes one of my nerves. How does he know what would be best for me? It’s not like he can predict the future or anything like an indigenous shaman.

          “Dad, you don’t understand. You don’t have a goddamn clue what’s going to happen. Maybe they’ll drag me into this place and give me some frontal lobotomy and screw my brain up all permanently,” I said as I made scrambling motions with my hands around my head, spastically. I continued,

          “Do you want some robot vegetable for a son? Is that what you want? You said you’d really like to take me home. If you really did, you would take me home. If you would just listen to the words that are coming out of my mouth. If you take me here it’s going to be bad news. I just don’t like the sound of this whole thing. A psychiatric unit? You know that doesn’t sound good,” I ranted angrily.

          “I’m sorry, Bud.”

          I was too frustrated to talk anymore after that. He wasn’t going to listen to me. All of those damn jerks at the school already had him convinced that I was a nut and that they needed to lock me up. So be it. I just sat there and crossed my arms and tried to look pissed off. I would never forgive him for dragging me to this place, I told myself.

          The car ride lasted about another good hour. My dad probably smoked a whole pack of cigarettes on the way there. He smokes like a chimney. I shouldn’t give him shit though, I smoke cigarettes sometimes too. I kind of felt like asking him for one, just to calm my nerves, but I didn’t. I mean, what’s a guy supposed to do in a situation like this? When you are all fed up with everyone in the world and everyone’s pushing you around picking on your id and everything, sometimes you just want to smoke a good cigarette. That’s my theory, anyway.

          I remember that by the time we reached the parking garage there was a good foot of snow on the ground. My dad pulled into the parking garage and found a nice parking spot. We got out of the car and walked through this little walkway to the hospital. While walking I scooped up a handful of snow and rolled it into a snow ball. If I was in a more decent mood, I probably would have chucked it at my dad. But I was definitely not in the mood for fun and games at this point in time. I was about to be locked away to wail in a padded chamber for an indefinite period of time. And besides, chucking snow balls at people is something that you definitely have to be in the right mood to do. Because you never know how people are going to react to something like that. I know these were my last moments on the outside, but my mind just wasn’t open to the idea. You really do have to have an open mind and be ready for anything. Lots of times they will just start chucking snow balls right back at you. But you might chuck a snow ball at the wrong type; some guy who is really full of himself. He might as well just turn around and break your jaw like he doesn’t even have good sense. You just never know how people are going to react to some things. I never even threw the snow ball. I just set it down in front of the door before we went inside. I just hoped some kid would find it and have the sense to throw it at their father. Maybe someone else was in a mood?

          We wandered the hospital for a little while, neither of us saying anything. The whole thing was very ominous. There weren’t even that many people in the hospital at the time. It made the whole thing seem very spooky. I would have done anything to go home at this point.

          “Do you want something to d-d-drink?” my dad asked me.

          “I guess so,” I sighed. I was actually very thirsty. But when you’re pissed off it’s important to act indifferent to everything.

          We stopped by this stand that was set up just to the left of the elevators. I checked out their selection and was very happy to see that they had iced tea. Iced tea is my favorite thing to drink. It is one of the few things that I genuinely enjoy in this world. I like iced tea because it doesn’t try too hard. There are some drinks, like sodas, that just try too hard to have a good taste. Iced tea is good because it’s a humble drink, in my opinion. My dad bought me the iced tea, and we went and stood in front of the elevator. Somebody had already pushed the down button. When the elevator opened a nurse pushed out this old man on a hospital bed. Boy did that depress me. I mean, my God, things were depressing me left and right. There is nothing that depresses me more than seeing people that are sick and dying. It makes you feel incredibly powerless. It’s like, you want to help them feel better, but you just can’t do anything about it.

          We stepped inside the elevator and pushed the bottom floor key. I swear while standing in that elevator I felt my stomach sink big time. I took a sip of my iced tea and it made me feel a little bit better. Before I knew it, we hit the bottom floor and the door opened up. This kind of reminds me of a game me and my friends used to play. One time when one of my friend’s dads was in the hospital we played “elevator rage”. We would go to the top floor and then push the bottom floor button. While the elevator would be going down we would jump around and push each other and sometimes even throw a kick or a punch; like you’re in a rage, you know.

          We walked out of the elevator and through the halls to the receptionist’s office. There’s nothing I hate more than a waiting room. If I’m waiting for awhile, I start to feel pretty crumby. It drives you crazy. It’s like I need some sort of stimulation. You can’t just sit there doing nothing unless you’re a Zen master doing shikantaza or whatever. I looked around for something that could stimulate my mind for awhile. Boy did I find some ridiculous things to read. I found this pamphlet for Bipolar Disorder. On the front it had this woman looking really depressed and resting her head on her hand, glossy-eyed and frowning. Now that just killed me. No wonder these people are depressed. I read through this pamphlet a little and it said, “People suffering from Bipolar Disorder have about a 20% increase in the risk of suicide.” My gosh, isn’t that an excellent thing to tell someone. “So, Mr. Patient. You have Bipolar Disorder so you might, just might, commit suicide.” It’s ridiculous. In all honesty at this time I thought Bipolar Disorder was just a joke. I thought that everyone had pretty big fluctuations in mood. I mean, I knew I did, and I wasn’t Bipolar or anything.

          My dad came and sat next to me and started to fill out a lot of paperwork. I just continued to sit there, thinking about that pamphlet. I didn’t read a lot of it, but what I did read kind of creeped me out. Some of the things it said sounded a little intriguing. But I wasn’t too worried about it or anything. I started to think that everyone was probably Bipolar just like everyone has SAD and OCD and all those crappy acronym diseases. It’s just a bunch of garbage, I told myself. Eventually my dad finished the paperwork. I was about done with my iced tea by then too.

          “Okay, thank you Mr. Stout. Now if we could just get your son to sign right here. This just says that he is agreeing to be committed.”

          Oh God, I thought. This was it. After I signed this paper I’m done for. I was just too upset at this point to even put up a fight, so I just signed the paper without even thinking.

          “Alright!” she said and smiled real big. God you could tell this receptionist was some kind of phony. No one is that happy all the goddamn time, especially if you catalog crazy people all day. I don’t understand why people have to act so fake around strangers. Everybody just has to put on that goddamn happy face like it’s some sort of requirement. We are all people and have a lot of the same emotions. I say, if you’re pissed off be pissed off. I can understand pissed off. If I met someone and they said to me, “Hello sir, I’m all sorts of pissed off, how can I help you?” I would be completely fine with that. I would say, “Sir I understand your sorts of pissed off. I too can be pissed off at times.” But one thing I can’t understand is “fake”. Because when someone’s fake, you can never understand because you don’t know what’s really going on in that head of theirs. You shouldn’t care what people think. However, I do care. I can’t help it. I try to keep a Zen mindset but boy is it hard. I’m always wondering about what’s going on behind those eyes. If there is anything going on behind those eyes for that matter….Christ

          “Just wait here, and we’ll get somebody to take him down to the Unit,” she said, smiling really big again. Good grief. I could’ve lost my lunch right there.

          We waited for awhile and before long some guy named Laramie came down to the receptionist’s office to get me.

          “Hey Jerry. My name’s Laramie. How are you doing?”

          I couldn’t take this shit anymore. Who the Hell do these people think they are? I mean, he just meets me and all of the sudden he wants to know how I’m doing when obviously he knows that I’m being committed to a psych ward. If he had even the slightest clue as to how I was doing he’d want to puke just as bad as I did. I was so fed up with all of this that it put me in the mood to raise some Hell. He put his hand out to shake mine. I took one look at that crumby, greasy, goddamn excuse for a handshake attempt and I put my hand over my mouth and puffed my cheeks out like I was going to start barfing. I wasn’t really going to puke but I pretended like I was. After that I just collapsed out of the chair on to the floor and stopped moving. Lifeless.

          “Jerry, quit yer’ m-m-messing around! Get up so he can take you to your room,” my dad said.

          I realized I was fighting a losing battle at this point. So I just got up. However, when Laramie saw me almost puke it put quite a funny smirk on his face. It seemed like a real smirk too. That got me, it really did. Sometimes I feel a little glad if I make someone smile.

          “Welp, just follow me and I’ll show you to your room.”

          “Sure thing! Laramie!” I said. Goddamnit, I was being sarcastic at this point. This whole thing was so surrealistic that I was starting to just go along with it just to see what exactly would happen in the end.

          I followed this guy all the way to this set of big doors with little square windows. This is where my dad had to turn back. I turned around and gave my dad a hug, but didn’t say anything. He told me he would be back to visit soon and that he loved me, and then turned and went his way. Laramie whipped out a key and unlocked the first set of doors. Then we stepped into this little tiny room. He locked the doors behind us and then opened the second set of dungeon doors.

          “Well, here we are,” he said.

          Here we are, indeed, I thought.