The Mental Health Maze

"What do you mean I'm in a Mental Institute?!" exclaimed the newest patient, his eyes a manifest of confusion, painted on a contorted mask. He was manic; hysterical with the harsh reality presented to him. "Why am I here? I don't need to be here!" he pleaded, exasperatedly laying his defense. The nurse who, up until now, had been largely ignoring the patient's pleading while filling in his intake forms, whipped her eyes at the patient, chidingly stating "You need to calm down, Sir! Consider the other people here who are in your exact situation." The patient, further inflamed by the nurse's attempted chastening, replied accordingly "Well, no one has provided any information as to why I am here and it's driving me nuts!" This outburst of emotion was a sobering reminder of the isolation he felt, despite being surrounded and monitored constantly. Ironically, despite his feelings of isolation, he just wanted to be alone. "Sir, please take a seat in the lounge while I look at your file. I need to understand your case in order to help you any further", the nurse insisted, subsequently gluing her eyes back on to the patient's file. Somewhat grateful for a momentary respite, he wandered into the lounge, finding a seat amongst the other patients who sought refuge from their twelve by fourteen square foot cage. He finds a chair and sinks into it, his troubles, like dew shaken off a leaf; the load lessened but the burden of existence still to bear. The man now slumped into the chair was Mario Claude, an IT Technician from Thunder Bay, Ontario. Although his skills with respect to computers were undeniable, working with other people and generally being social was his inevitable downfall. That is why, five years ago he made the switch to work as an independent contractor, indulging his desire to work alone. He had accumulated quite the reputation in his city, having even been offered to work for the city itself, a fact which he brandished often to anyone and everyone within earshot, regardless of their desire to hear it. It was then no surprise, rather an inevitability, that he was diagnosed with a narcissistic personality disorder soon after his independent contractor switch. As he would soon find out, the lounge was currently home to another patient that suffered from narcissistic personality disorder, who spent much of his time in the central lounge. By placing himself at the center, his finger was never far from the pulse and vibrancy of social discourse, something that satisfied his own ego greatly. This man was the very same that was currently watching Mario as he took in his surroundings. Sensing a watchful eye, Mario looks around the room, catching the gaze of the man staring back at him. Successfully capturing Mario's attention, the man introduced himself, "Hey, I'm Walter, Walter Howard." "Mario", he said with a nod of his head and a slight smile that disappeared as quickly as it appeared. He appreciated the gesture, but being an introvert, and still being slightly confused why and where he was, made it hard for him to respond in kind. Walter, however, was not about to let him off the hook and asked, "What brings you here?" (Not the wisest of questions considering the circumstances Mario was under) Mario was startled by the abrasiveness of the question taking a few seconds before answering, "Apparently, I am here because someone decided I was not acting like myself lately, without actually taking the time to think things through." Walter saw the way Mario's hands clenched while he said it, but it wasn't a new occurrence in this place. He couldn't count the number of people he had welcomed who said a similar thing. Walter, somehow not pleased with the lack of details asks another question, "Do you believe you are not acting like yourself?" Mario paused for a second. It was the first time someone had asked him that since arriving. So he took a few seconds to gather his thoughts as if to wager his personality compared to other times. "I think so. I mean, I did try my best to take care of myself, but I guess that wasn't enough for some people." Walter acknowledged the response with a nod, frustrated at the lack of details in Mario's responses. But Before Walter could continue the conversation, they heard the crackling sound of the old P.A. system - an assault on the senses which he would become well acquainted with in the days to come - suddenly announces, "Patients, it is snack time! Come get some before it's too late!" It was around 2 o'clock which means it was time to get refreshments so the patients have more energy to engage with their depression and loneliness. Walter was the first to launch up from his seat, a broad grin painted across his face, and yelled "It's about time!" They both got up from their seats, and Mario followed Walter to the line up by the snack room, which was longer than usual. The snacks were served by a nurse, and the choices were limited. They were healthy snacks, but provided calories nevertheless. Walking up to the snacks, Walter takes a banana for himself and asks Mario if he wanted to go on a walk today. Walter had noticed the slip-on shoes Mario was wearing and knew from experience that going on a walk with those shoes would prove difficult. However, Walter wanted Mario to tag along for the walk as he offered a new perspective from the other patients that he'd grown bored with. Walter could already tell that he wanted to be friends with Mario and thought going on a walk could break the ice. Wide-eyed, Mario responds with a confused look, a hint of hope in his tone, "Sure, but are we allowed?" Walter grinned, knowing the type of walk that was ahead of them was not what Mario was hoping for. Walter, taking pity on Mario's misplaced enthusiasm, clarifies quickly, "We get to go on a supervised walk once in a while. It's a good excuse to get out and do something different, and will give us a chance to learn more about each other. A change of pace y'know? It can get pretty boring here, just wait 'til-" "Have you spoken with a GP or a psychiatrist today?" The nurse comes from around the corner and interrupts the conversation after reading his file, a jarring reminder of his reality. Mario looked over at the nurse, with a deadpan stare, "No...I only got admitted a few hours ago...I need to know why I am here, but so far no one has spoken with me, apart from you and Walter." "Ah! I see! You are making friends already, eh Mario?" said the nurse with a smirk on her face. Interjecting small talk with patients was not a requirement from the nurses, but they sure tried to make you feel like there is someone there to listen. With a roll of his eyes, concealing a suppressed pride at the compliment "It's not like making friends is that hard for me." At this point, Mario could not see the irony of his narcissistic personality disorder and his introverted personality making it in reality much more difficult to become friends with him. However, he did possess a charm that made others look for friendship with him. Walter, growing impatient having already finished his banana, starts making his way to his room, and beckons for Mario to meet him at 4 PM by the nurse's station. Walter was not about to wait on anybody, a very selfish side effect of his personality disorder. Mario gives a slight nod to agree, as the nurse continues. "Tomorrow morning you will see the GP, and the psychiatrist for a proper diagnosis," Mario's ears turned red, usually a sign of imminent anger, questioning why the staff wouldn't take a look at him today, instead of tomorrow. "Why wait the extra day?" he asked. The nurse explained, "The doctors are not in at the moment, and we can certainly ask them to interview you today, but cannot make any promises." Mario acknowledged the nurse's explanation with a nod, hoping to end the conversation and finally get to the snack room to grab his snacks. Mario enters the snack room, noticing the walls were painted light green, sort of like a white paint mixed with dark green. The floors had white tiles, and each tile had its own design giving it a unique texture with every step. The room had bright lighting, shining even at 2 PM in the afternoon. He sees the roundtable in front of him and a fridge and oven to his left. The roundtable included a tray of different condiments, breads, and fresh fruits as well as pre-made sandwiches that looked appealing to the eyes. Settling with his snacks, he took a bite out of the pre-made sandwich, surprised to find it was just slices of white bread with a slice of cheddar cheese in the middle. Not being able to handle how dry the sandwich was, he makes a mental note to grab a glass of milk to help digest the sandwich before snack time is over. Seeing the grimace on Mario's face, the nurse chuckled "I swear, the chef here must not have any taste buds." Mario sighed and nodded in silent acknowledgement, biting away at his bland snack. He couldn't fathom how anyone could really think this was an acceptable thing to serve other people. Surely, they must have professional cooks in the kitchen who don't have the palette of a cockroach? Maybe they didn't care? Or perhaps they were so focused on getting the food ready quickly that they couldn't be bothered to care about the people on the other end? To say it tasted horrible would have certainly been an understatement. Wandering across the short distance from the kitchen to the lounge, Mario notices an empty chair near the window, and takes a chance to sit down. "Wow, I almost feel comfortable in these chairs compared to the ones in the kitchen!" Mario joked sarcastically, all the while manoeuvring his body, seeking the best position to avoid the lumps. The lounge itself was situated just across from the nurse's station, making sure they could keep an eye on the patients while they were socialising. The lounge could comfortably fit around 10 people, yet only half of that was currently in use. The room's odor was an intoxicating haze of mildew, a mark of the frigid conditions, apparently due to the malfunctioning radiators (if the obnoxious sign on the wall was anything to go off of). "Who left cheese slices on top of the radiators?" joked Mario, thinking back to his cheddar sandwich. This made the room breakout in laughter, knowing all too well the smell was not associated with rotten food "If only someone could clean the walls" said Mario suggestively, loud enough so the onlooking nurses would hear. One of the other patients in the room, a man likely around twenty-five years old, wearing pyjamas and bare feet, noted astutely "I don't think the janitor ever cleans the walls. I've seen him cleaning the hallways and the rooms, but never any more than a quick tidy." The bedrooms in the facility were connected to the halls that led to the main room. Every door looked the same. A picture of monotony replicated dozens of times. With the defining difference between the doors, being that some doors led to other areas of the building for staff only. The only notable exception was the main admittance door which was for security reasons much more protected in case of code white, which means a manic 'violent' person has shown his true colours like the green in spring. The patient rooms had square windows for the nurses to check up on patients when they do their rounds every 15 minutes. The patients had privacy in the form of a window cloth, stopping onlookers from looking into the room. Aside from that, most patients they passed, were wearing headphones connected to a phone or mp3, plugged into a different reality, an escape. If nothing else, it was enough to drown out the country music that could be heard through the P.A. system which could be heard in every room. So far, when not announcing snack time, all Mario had heard through the P.A. system was sad country songs; a questionable choice considering it seemed to evoke a range of responses in the patients, anywhere from singing along, to tears, anger, and the occasional grinding of teeth. Popular music was not popular in this facility, and was frowned upon. Somme patients listening to their rap and hip-hop music even received side-eyed glares for not using a headphone; unless it was country, then it did not matter. Most patients admitted to the facility did not bring headphones with them, which would prove difficult if they wanted to listen to any other genre than country music. Though even with these complex ranges of emotions, music does not seem to be the major issue with these patients. It was becoming increasingly clear to Mario that although this place was advertised as somewhere that can help someone get better, the environment did not seem to be conducive to that. As he would come to find out, some patients hadn't had a visit in many months. Some patients exclusively miss their pets, family, and friends in that respective order. Yet others couldn't care less what happens to them during their stay, an obvious sign that they had given up on association with the outside world. It was almost time for the walk, so Mario met Walter by the nursing station. "Nice, isn't it? Do you like the decor?" asked Walter. Mario looked over to Walter, noticing his smirk and replied with a returned smirk, "No, it's just plain boring". "What were you guys expecting, the Ritz?" snickered a nurse who happened to be walking by. This comment was not taken lightly by either patient. Why would the nurses want to make their lives more difficult? After all, craving a comfortable colour is not a crime. Mario can't help but speak up. "I am merely concerned about how this environment could ever foster us, or nurture our mental health, when I can guarantee that my world is much more understanding and supportive." The nurse stumbled for words but finally gave a small smile and walked back to his station. As Mario would soon find out, the efforts by the patients were always challenged by the staff members. Many staff members solely took pride in their education and the high accolades which brought them to this place, but were not actually passionate about helping the patients. This particular nurse, known as Rogers, looked well into his forties, and was clearly there to get his pay cheque and go home. However, as far as integrity goes, he was said to be one of the few who actually helped the patients. He was a very experienced nurse who knew how to speak to the patients with respect and his ability to diffuse situations was admirable. However, in this particular case, he did not manage to diffuse the situation as he was the one who created it. Maybe Rogers was having a bad day, the problem is, no one will ever know. Having compassion costs energy, but for the administration office, taking basic vitals, or the occasional needle administration for taking blood or other medical procedures seemed enough of an exemplary action. In reality, most patients had a smart watch or phone capable of providing vital information like blood pressure, heartbeat, and stress levels. As he was soon to find out, a nurse like Rogers was far and few between.