Memories I'd Sooner Forget

The ward is almost quiet, save for the soft sounds of nurses doing their nightly checks and checking up on the patients. My fellow prisoners- sorry, patients. My fellow patients are silent. They could be sleeping. They could be dead. I would never know, as I don't know what any of them are suffering with. I'm not entirely sure what I'm suffering with. All I know is that the nurses had to pin me down and wrestle my bracelets and pendant from my person while I screamed my lungs into my throat. They say I have Manic Depression. I'm not sure what that means...am I manic? Am I depressed? The only time I think I'm depressed is when they put those little white pills into my mouth and make me swallow. They won't let me take them myself, as I hide them under my tongue to spit down the ward's toilet when I'm alone. They all say I'm not to be trusted. Somewhere from the other side of this little white room, a patient begins crying. I wish I knew why.
      I must have fallen asleep, as now the ward is lit by sunlight and some of the patients are up and about. The nurse who seems to hate me wakes me up and tells me my schedule. She says I have therapy at eleven. I've been having it since I came, but I don't know why. It probably has something to do with my condition...the condition I don't know a thing about. The nurse, Erica, puts the white pills in my mouth and tells me to swallow. These are my morning ones. They taste chalky and I can't bear to keep them in my mouth for more than a second, so swallowing isn't a problem. She leaves me to get up and prepare myself for my day. I overhear her laugh to another nurse...about me? She uses the word 'Loony' and I cringe. Am I a loony? Are any of us? I see a patient sitting quietly on her bed. It's the same bed I heard the crying coming from. The girl is staring at the ground, her shoulders shaking. One of the nurses goes to her and they talk. I don't bother eavesdropping, I just continue getting ready. We all wear "safe" clothes. They're our own, soft t-shirts and trousers that do no harm. I overheard a nurse talking about them once, apparently they check the pockets in case you have any concealed items. No belts. No shoelaces. Many of us don't even wear shoes. I certainly don't. I check the large clock suspended above the door. It's five to nine. Five minutes until the first meal of the day.
      Breakfast is a usual disappointment. Soggy toast and juice. Safe food. A lot of the patients take their pills with food, and I see them doing so. It's very odd. When breakfast time is over, it's time for us to do a silly exercise wherein we all introduce ourselves and say little things about ourselves. We do it every day in case there are any new patients. Two girls forget their names and one starts crying again. After that, we watch TV in the large pastel room where all the books and board games are kept. It's a show about antiques and I lose interest fairly quickly. The other girls don't look too happy about watching it, and two go to where a nurse is sitting and play a board game with her. I would much sooner be reading, and alone, but all of the books here are ridiculous. Stories about vapid teenagers that have no real plot. No Plath. No Poe. Not even a tattered Harry Potter. The clock in this room (which is also above the two doors) shows it to be half past ten. Half an hour until my therapy session. An hour and a half until lunch and my second dosage. I look down at my hands as they fidget. My plain white t-shirt. The ceiling. A nurse bustles in and watches some of the TV programme with us. She looks far too pretty to be working here. She looks at me with a curious expression and smiles, assuming I'm crazy probably. I wonder if she knows where she is... one of the patients doesn't. She gets lost a lot and she's always confused. My mind slips back to the crying girl...but I don't get any time to think too much, as the pretty nurse beckons me over. It's eleven o'clock. Time for therapy.
      The therapist is a young man with too much aftershave. The smell makes me retch, but he doesn't seem to notice. The nurse stays in the room and watches us as he interrogates me again.
"How are you?" He asks. I shrug. How am I? How does he think I am? "We've been told you're behaving yourself very well." I nod. He asks more pointless questions about whether or not I'm sleeping well and if I'm making friends. He talks and talks and I just nod, shake my head or shrug. He then talks to the nurse, asking if I've tried to hurt myself. She says no. He talks more, to me and her. I can't recall what I say, but he makes notes. After an hour, the nurse takes me back to my room for lunch and my pills. We go through the routine we do every day, and soon it is time for bed again. The girl cries, the nurses stroll around and I just lie and think.
      I have new treatment. Electroconvulsive therapy. I don't know what that means, but it sounds scary. One of the nurses tells me I will be sedated and I shudder. Sedation is their fancy word for needles. I do freak out a little bit, but they calm me down somehow. I go through my daily routine again and prepare myself.
      These monsters...these bloody creatures...I struggle against them as the doctor holds his shining needle to the light. I kick out, screaming for help and trying to wrestle myself free. Two nurses are holding my arms down, and they say they need someone to hold my legs in place. As I fight for freedom, my arm catches something sharp and I feel it bleeding. I don't care. The doctor lowers the needle to my arm, but I don't stay still for him to inject me. He asks if I've taken my medication today. The nurse says I have. I shriek and continue to struggle. Another nurse appears by my feet and holds my legs down. I squirm, desperate to get away from that device. It's no use. The doctor manages to pierce my flesh and I feel myself go limp against my will...sleepy...I'm sleepy...
      OH GOD THIS HURTS. HELP ME. IT HURTS SO MUCH. HELP ME.
      The nurses say the Electro therapy is successful. I can't remember much of it, but my hands are shaking...The other patients keep looking at me like I've survived death. Even the crying girl stopped crying for a while when I was brought back into the room after I woke up. There's a smear of blood on my white t-shirt and part of my arm is lightly bandaged. I must have fallen down at some point. I can't remember. I take my afternoon pills. I feel tired...
      Can't be bothered to do much today. Taken pills. Tired.
      Tired. Taken pills. Nurse asks me if I miss my friends. Dunno.
      Tired.
      Tired.
      I wonder if they've changed my medication...
      Crying girl spoke to me today. She asked what happened. I dunno what she means.
      Had Electro therapy.
      ...What's my name?
      Where am I?
      The nurses trusted me to take my medication by myself today. They didn't expect me to hide it. It's defintely different. I can barely recall the past few days, and my name escapes me for some reason. As I spit my pills out, I make a mental note. I will never forget this. The crying girl talks to me again. She says that she's glad I'm better, and goes back to doing the stupid arts and crafts project they've set us...I wonder what that's supposed to mean?
      I lie awake in the ward. The world around me is dark, but I can just make out some shapes. My mind runs free, creating fantasies I can escape into. The ward is completely silent, as the clock says that it is three o'clock in the morning. I wonder about the crying girl, and why she's here. I also wonder about myself. When will I be allowed out? I miss my family so much. I can hardly remember what they look like, I've been here so long. I wonder if they miss me. Without warning, I feel a tear spill from my eye and down my cheek. It's followed by another, and another, and another until my eyes are sore and my face is soaking wet. I place a hand over my mouth to stifle any sobs and close my aching eyes. I just want to go home.
      I don't get much sleep. My pillow is still damp and my eyes are red when I look in the mirror. My heart feels broken. I wonder how I made it this far without breaking down...oh, of course...my attention turns to the two white pills lying at the bottom of the toilet. They're called anti-depressants, but they should be called anti-everything. As I fight to keep my legs from giving way beneath me, I sigh. My strength has vanished. I remember on my first day here, I was determined to remain strong and fight against the nurses, the doctors and anyone else who kept me here. Now I'm just weak. A sorry excuse for a girl. I flush the toilet and let the nurse in. She watches me and the others when we brush our teeth or do anything cosmetic. I continue my day in silence, my mind racing. The therapist barely asks questions. I tell him I would like to be quiet for a while, and he allows it. The nurse frowns, but he says something about my actions speaking louder than words. We all do crossword puzzles and silly things like that, and we watch a film. It's just a silly girlie film, but I don't try to block it out. I just watch. I've accepted my fate.
      It's soon time for my third Electroconvulsive therapy session. I allow the nurses to pin me down. I allow the doctor to inject me. I react badly, though. The needle touching my exposed skin causes me to jolt up and bite my tongue too hard. I taste me own iron-y blood as the sedative works. Only...it doesn't. I look at the nurses, who are muttering and shrugging. I ask what's happening and they say it's nothing to worry about. I'm injected again and this time...I'm sleepy...
      CHRIST HELP ME. HELP ME. PLEASE! PLEASE HELP ME!
      The crying girl is gone. I'm in the activity room and she isn't. She isn't in therapy. She's gone.
      I realise I no longer feel any sexual feelings. I know I'm attracted to men and women, but...nothing. Odd.
      I want to go home.

      It's been a while. I will never forgive this hell. The electro therapy is killing me, and I'm covered in bruises. I can't remember why. I refuse to take my medication, but they think I am. They say I'll be discharged soon. They say a bipolar girl is safe to release. They'll want me to continue taking the poison that they think is saving me when I'm out, but I won't. They'll have to kill me first. I will grit my teeth and clench my fists. I'll bear this torture until they discharge me. I will be free.