The Ward

Day 10

The Ward flickered.  Walls evaporated, reemerged, slowly vibrating in rhythm with some unheard tune.  The paint shifted colors, all pale shades, light blue and green, whites and dingy yellows.  Doors appeared, opened to nothing, faded back to blank, ethereal walls.  The other patients laughed, cut to silence, bawled.

The patient, Mr. Apple, does not exhibit any signs of serious mental disorder.  Though he has insisted in the existence of both absolute good and evil, he seems unable to apply his beliefs to the real world.  Whenever he is asked to provide concrete examples, he fails to connect his ideologies with any existential occurrences.

"This shouldn't be happening," I said.  The Ward was falling apart.  I locked myself in my room and closed my eyes.  The other patients had gone silent.  Day swallowed night in quick succession, the light spinning madly as if the world had forgotten its schedule.  I could feel the colors of the room peel off the still-blurring walls.  There had to be something concrete in the room.

I opened my eyes and looked at the bed.  The sheets disappeared, returned and turned into grass, water, dirt, existed in moments as all three, as nothing, shifting without thought, without purpose.  I closed my eyes again.

When pressed, Mr. Apple often withdraws into a state of severe self-criticism.  For whatever reason, despite any substantive evidence, he has convinced himself that he is proof of absolute evil.  As far as this observer can tell, he has never committed any act that would give anyone reason to believe his claims.  Therapy sessions have often revolved around attempting to convince Henry that his thoughts, no matter how unpleasant, are not to be considered with equal weight alongside actions; That it is a natural part of human existence to produce terrible scenarios, so long as they remain purely in the realm of thought.

The ground shuttered and I lurched out of bed, landing on my back in the middle of my room.  I opened my eyes and stared at where the ceiling used to be.  "This isn't the Ward," I thought as I looked out at the night sky, the thousands of visible stars sitting peacefully amongst the dark expanse.  Orion pointed his bow at me, hesitated, did not shoot, the Big Dipper stuck, mid-pour.  "Where am I?"

Increased isolation is most likely to blame for his most recent state.  Suffering from guilt, anger and depression, Mr. Apple has descended into a minor state of solipsism.  There are times when he will express discomfort in sessions over events with which he has had nothing to do.  Though he skirts around the issue, it is clear that he feels he is capable of creating "evil" within the world and has mad an attempt to remove himself from the world for fear of causing further damage.  This belief has not resulted in any suicidal tendencies, but this observer is aware of the possibility and has taken measures to observe any potential signs.  This observer believes Mr. Apple will not pursue such ends, preferring instead to completely isolate himself from any close contact with other people, save for this observer and other therapists involved with his case.

I felt calm under the stars.  They glided through the sky, an ever-revolving showcase of night, dawn never coming, never wanted.  I closed my eyes and slept for days, the sky spinning above me, endless.  I awoke, but curiosity began to take control.  I knew I rested upon something, but the stars were not enough. Pushing up, I rose to my feet and looked at the ground.  Grass stretched for miles, shifting with a slight breeze.  I was on top of a hill overlooking the expanse. 

The ground began to shake again, the hill split in half, a chasm opened and the earth swallowed me.  Looking up throughout the fall, I caught the last glimmer of Orion's Belt until it faded and there was nothing but darkness.  I closed my eyes again.

Mr. Apple recently admitted to feeling "awake" for the first time in years.  Though the crisis that initially brought him to this observer seems to have been handled, it was almost immediately apparent that there was more to Mr. Apple's case.  I believe the progress he has made in therapy, and in his personal life, despite his continued isolation, has put him in a position to begin his transition towards a happier, more functional life.  His feeling of being "awake" could most likely be attributed to this progress.  Though there are still issues to work out, this observer is confident that Mr. Apple will show marked improvements over the next several months, barring any regression or further trauma.

-- Dr. Andrew Coucher, 3/31/11

"Oh, Henry, what have you wrought?"  The Ward was gone and just darkness remained.