No Escape
Peter has been in a mental home for 20 years. He suffers from schizophrenia.
He is sat alone on his bed, staring at a blank white wall with a flat expressionless
gaze.
They tell me to do bad things…I don’t know who they are. They
tell me to do bad things. To hurt myself. I’ve given in before. (Hitting his head whilst rocking back and
forth) why wont they go away? Ahh! (Screaming
to someone that he claims to be sat next to him) Stop talking to me! They
tell me to do bad things. I must hurt myself, that’s the only way they will
disappear, I must hurt others too- they tell me. But I can’t. My helpers tell
me to do activities I enjoy, I enjoy jigsaws, but I can only concentrate for 10
minutes before they, they come back, back into my head, taunting, teasing and
tormenting me. (Tears suddenly rush down
his face) The torture of my disorder is making my life unbearable; my life
is like an episode in hell. They’re there again… Go and die! Why are you
laughing at me? Stop.
I can’t sleep at night. I toss and turn in my cold, dusty
sheets. I’m often too scared to enter my room because they might be sat there. Daring
me to do terrible things. They tell me to do bad things. I always creep cautiously
into my bed after brushing my teeth; I never know when they will appear and how
extreme the tasks they have in mind for me are. Nobody can fathom what I have
to go through, every day is a tiring struggle. (Reflecting) I could be conquering the world. I would have become a
lawyer. I would have earned thousands. Instead, instead I am stuck in this
grotty, unpleasant, vile, vulgar, ghastly place.
They tell me to do bad things…
(Suddenly
calming down) I count down the days until I get to see my daisy, she said
it was for the best, she didn’t want me to go, she promised. I miss her. Our wedding
was the best time of my life. She looked so beautiful. I am the luckiest man
alive, well despite them. I would give my right arm to go back to our wedding
day and relive it forever. She doesn’t visit me a lot, but I understand, I think.
Once every two months, if I’m lucky. Then again, I don’t believe in luck, what
is luck? Luck is overrated. Here they are again. Stop.
I hate my life, why me? I don’t understand. I think I done someone
bad in a past life to deserve this now. I told you to leave me alone. Stop. They’re
telling me to find a razor. I should do
it otherwise they won’t leave me alone. They tell me to do bad things. I can’t
do it. A few seconds of pain may be worth it, just to see them fade.
