Cookie Breaks

The mental ward was interesting.

If you've never been committed, it's an eye-opening experience.

The rooms have no doors - this includes the personal bathrooms adjacent to where you sleep - so that at all times orderlies can watch you to ensure you're not self-harming.

There are no sharp objects - even in the art therapy room, where you must wait until the lovely post-graduate hands you the kiddy scissors to cut up your magazines into some self-healing collage.

However, there are free cookies. A whole plate of them. Never empty, always sitting by the front desk. Because even insanity needs cookie breaks.

The range of folk in the ward can vary, depending on timing and who's in for what. Generally none are considered dangerous to others, otherwise we wouldn't all be together. Yet when you're recovering from mental illness it's easy to let paranoia creep in and get a bit judgey.

Me, I fit in just fine. Not sure if that's a comment on my mental stability, or just my own personal charm. I got along with the poor mom who'd take any prescription just to see her kids again outside of 30 minute supervised visits. I got along with the suicidal "incel" kid with the slashes on his wrists and the anime T-shirts. I got along with the old man who had a little bit more than dementia it seemed. None of these folks bothered me; I found them rather interesting company.

The only thorn in our little therapy group was the girl who just kept shouting at people.

Not honestly sure what her deal was - it may not be so much to merit this Challenge topic - yet the paranoia had definitely taken her. She accused the nurses of poisoning her food. She accused the other male patients of watching or following her (to be fair, one guy had a habit of "forgetting" to wear pants when wandering the halls at night, but he hadn't actually done anything and the orderlies always rounded him up quickly). She hated whatever show played on the TV, or whatever mundane topic our social worker had chosen for the day's group session. She had several opinions about everything, and generally kept herself isolated by loudly pushing people away with her words.

I hate people yelling at me; it usually triggers a visceral response to coil inwards while my stomach ties itself up in knots. Many people have a similar response and I watched as this girl beat them all down each day, wearing out even the most patient of nurses. As I listened to what she actually said, I realized how ridiculous her beliefs truly were. She had created a Wonderland in her head, trapped like an angry queen amongst cards.

Most people avoided her as much as possible, outside of obligatory therapy time. A few laughed at some of her absurd accusations. Others just shook their heads and rolled their eyes, content to ignore the loud one.

At dinnertime everyone ate together, choosing one of two options at breakfast for their later evening meal. For her of course both options always sucked. She complained regularly.

"I just eat whatever they give me so I can get the cookies later on." I commented finally, my voice pitched loud enough to match hers but with no where near the intensity.

She stared at me, her eyes extremely focused.

"You know they'll give you a glass of milk to go with the cookies too if you ask." I had gone down the rabbit hole - screw it. Here goes my head.

"This food sucks though."

"Yeah, well, it's still hospital food, right? I mean it's not like America has a great cafeteria system, I had to eat worse slop in school."

Fervent nodding meant I had avoided a death sentence. "Yeah - yeah you're right. Cafeteria's suck. But like they'd ever let us COOK in here." I got more nods, but my head and neck connection stayed intact.

She eventually settled into eating, shooting a couple other comments / questions / strange non-facts of life? at me over dinner, and I just listened patiently and nodded back. My attention seemed to have quieted her long enough the nurse on duty slipped me an extra cookie after dinner.

Because again, never forget - even insanity needs cookie breaks.

And we're all mad here.