In this chapter Dan describes his encounters with some of the staff and other patients he meets in the psychiatric ward. To access previous chapters, visit Jane Read’s Author Page.

Chapter 15.                                                            

DAN 

              

          “Better mad with the rest of the world than wise alone”

Baltazar Grayling

 

God is telling me to get up out of bed, to talk to lonely people. I have to pee lots of times, every night because I’ve been drinking so much water to cleanse my soul. Each time I visit the bathroom, I wash my hands very carefully, following the NHS, step by step, hand-washing instructions mounted on the wall. I wash them so thoroughly and so often that they become dry and sore and the skin starts to crack.

There are hardly any people around in the small hours in this place. Night staff try to persuade me back to bed, but I know God wants me to drink as much of this Holy water as I possibly can. One night I fill several jugs and I keep drinking, and drinking. This well of water will fill me with purity and cleansing power and make me ready to breathe out the Holy Spirit onto the lost souls. The nurses have recently told me to stop putting my hands on people’s heads to bless them and warn me that some patients can be a bit aggressive. So, I ask if it is alright to blow on them instead as I pass. They seem to consider this a more acceptable alternative, provided I keep my distance.

On one occasion, I get a bit carried away with my preaching to the night staff. They want me back in my bedroom, but I refuse to go. A security guy takes me by the wrist and bends my arm right around behind my back. I can’t struggle free without breaking my wrist. It hurts. I yell at him.

“You can’t do that to people! You should not be treating anyone in this way!”

I tell them I will make a written complaint because I know my human rights have been breached, so they bring me the official form. I sit in the lounge and start filling it in, but I am struggling to focus. Suddenly it dawns on me that God would prefer me to forgive this man who has wronged me. I promptly crumple up the form and throw it away, telling him that although he’s hurt me and shown a lack of respect, he is forgiven.

I’m now starting to realise that patients are not always treated well in this place. Some things staff are doing seem completely pointless, like ticking random boxes on forms on their poxy little clipboards every day, while they stand and stare at me in silence. Most of the time, patients are not being listened to and they are hardly ever spoken to. I know that some people are in this hospital because of their mental illnesses. This doesn’t apply to me of course. I am here to spread the word of God and to bring new life into the ward. I am a voluntary patient, definitely not insane, free to come and go as I please, but I’ve noticed that all the doors are all locked anyway, so I’m not convinced.

Everything I read is another instruction from God, a special sign, exclusively for me. There is a ‘STOP’ sign on the wall, just outside the security door, for example. Visitors look at it then press the intercom button to announce their arrival. But I know it’s God’s way of instructing me to stop, to slow down and to rest. Every time I catch sight of it, I take a pause from my pacing, sit down on one of the seats in the corridor and keep very still, for at least one minute.

Most of the patients are older than me but one or two seem to be about my age, including a cool-looking French guy called Stefan. We hit it off quite well, despite his English being very limited and my French, much worse. He has bi-polar and is very rowdy and unsettled when he first arrives. I place my hand on his shoulder to calm him down.

‘Peace brother, I whisper. It seems to work and he thanks me, so I decide to do this with all the new arrivals from now on. I mention to staff that patients just need to be listened to and shown love and respect. But they don’t seem to appreciate me telling them how to do their job.

Stefan and I become friends. After a game of table tennis, he picks up my hoodie by mistake and puts it on. When he notices it isn’t his, he apologises. I just say,

‘It’s fine mate.  You can keep it.’

So, he goes off and fetches one of his jumpers to give me in return, which is a bonus, because his clothes are pretty stylish. We plan to swap some of our jeans and jackets the following day. We play table tennis and pool together and sometimes hang out in the downstairs café for a bit, in the afternoons. But suspicions about his true identity begin to grow and take root when I read the sleeve of a vinyl lying in the common room, with the words, ‘Jesus versus Judas’ on the front of the album.

I suddenly realise that Stefan is in fact Judas Iscariot in a cunning disguise, the disciple who ‘appears’ to be Jesus’ friend, but ends up betraying him. I’m getting quite worried about this, so I decide to confide in Reggie, the posh bloke on my ward. Reginald is well educated and well read. He dresses smartly in colourful shirts and bow ties, red braces and tartan waistcoats. I know I can rely on him. He is one of the wisest guys here.

‘What shall I do about Stefan?’ I ask Reggie, when I find him.

‘I just know that sooner or later, he is going to betray me.’

He replies with his usual certainty and his royal-sounding diction,

‘You must love him and forgive him Daniel. Love him and forgive him.  For that, quite simply, is all that you are called to do!’

I trust Reggie. His advice is sound.

Some days we are taken out for short walks as a group. I like to keep my headphones on to listen to music on my way round. One afternoon when I’m striding ahead of the others, I nearly walk straight in front of a moving car, which luckily for me, is sticking to the five mile an hour speed limit in the grounds. A nurse dashes out to grab me, then tells me to take my headphones off and to slow down. He says I must stay in the group with the others. We visit an ancient, thirteenth century church but as we step inside, I burst into tears because it’s my Father’s house and I am sad to see it empty.

We are encouraged to sign up for activities listed on the notice board. I decide I might as well go to the cycle maintenance session, even though I don’t even own a bike anymore. I did have one when I was younger, but it got nicked from the school bike sheds. After that, I used my brother’s and when that one got nicked as well, I gave up with bikes and decided to walk to school instead.

After the session, I don’t remember anything useful about how to repair bikes because everything the tutor said became a series of messages from God, directed towards me!

‘The shape of the frame is there to give the bike its strength and support. The connection of the chain to these pedals is the energy which powers the bike into motion’, etc. etc.

In the break, I start chatting to a new guy who tells me he’s being kept in here because he’s got schizophrenia. I tell him straight,

‘There is no such thing as ‘schizophrenia’, mate. It’s just a pointless label they give to you. It means nothing.’

He agrees with me and appreciates my common sense. I know I am definitely here for the sake of guys like him. I’m making a difference to their lives and helping them feel better about themselves. I’m also getting everyone to understand that patients just need to be listened to and the medication is redundant. My fellow inmates agree with me. Whenever one of them fails to get what they want from the staff, they come down the corridor to find me. One guy pokes his head round my door from time to time, showing me his clenched fist and saying,

‘I’m with you, mate. We’ll fight this fight together, pal!’

I am becoming their leader. This is God’s doing. The revolution begins here. Things are taking place as they were predicted and prophesied. Everything is happening for a reason. This is all meant to be.