Psychiatric Hospital - Part one

Observing the sign, suspended above the double doors to the Victorian built establishment, Ryle house gazed back at me, resembling substantially bold vibrant letters virtually glowing in my presence.

The onset twitch began to make my feet move beneath me, half attempting to make a quick exit from this “Nut House.” Without warning a skeletal hand pressed against my back forcefully edging me once more towards the unpleasant Ryle house. “ this is the best place for you” came the words that made my Bloody run Icy cold, I did not wish to be here, I certainly did not need to either!

I nervously edged towards the doors almost taking my first baby steps again, My Head spinning, besides perspiration seeping through my pores, tainting my underarms, Why was I here? Surly I wasn’t that insane...Or was I?

Once inside, my attention shifted to the putrid olive coloured walls accompanied by an off white floral border that barely clung on. The floor I imagined once white now resembled a tiered grey with specks of the white that once was. Metal chairs lining the outer rim of the room, one propping up what I imagine was an Inpatient, her eyes appeared sunken her complexion pale, her hand tightly clasping the other, no expression upon her tiered face. I pitied her, was this how this place moulded you? ... An impression of resentment and anger began erecting in me, how could my husband send me here? After all Was this women a resemblance of how I would be after a few weeks here?

Yet with the hustle and bustle of doctors, psychiatrists and patients flowing through reception, I had never felt so alone, I comprehended the thoughts racing through my Head, overwhelming sadness clung on to me, the same as a wasp does to an open bottle of coca cola. My hearts rhythm exhilarating, instigating the familiar feeling of nausea rising up through my oesophagus.
In the background my first name was called, slowly crossing the room towards the depleted desk was once most likely elegant.
I became aware of a Chubby faced receptionist gazing at me with her dark almond shaped eyes, noticing her snagged tooth protruding from her thin lips that were caked in aluminous pink lipstick, her over peroxide hair coarsely scraped back in a half hearted attempt of a French plait. Snapping back from my daze, her Protruding unsightly nicotine stained hand, accompanied by a stale cigarettes aroma that wafted over the desk, thrust a piece of paper towards me “ward B, the psychologist is expecting you” she breathed, her halitosis fumes invading my nostrils. Gasping for Air I motioned towards the stair well.

Upon reaching ward B a dated telecom system hung from the wall, gingerly pressing the button, the heat was miserable in here, my brow profusely sweating, my hands began to tremble, shaking uncontrollably, I felt so nervous when a small buzz echoed from within. Peering through the glass another chubs strode towards me stopping a few feet from the door, “yes” she boomed, her green eyes piercing into mine, breaking her gaze I informed her of my name and that of my assigned psychologist and he was expecting me. The buzzer sounded as the door released, my whole body trembled, my mouth as dry as saw dust, heart rate propelling itself through the roof, as I began pushing the door open I panicked. Trying to compose myself, I began to breathe deeply and calmly attempting to overcome the onset of a panic attack, allowing me for the first time to enter this foreign place.

Following the lady who now was swinging her behind as she walked through the elongated corridor, my eyes adjusted to the surroundings. Sensing the pool of water welling up in my eyes, a small tear descended down my cheek, I hated him! How could he send me here? What about my children? Who would comfort them when they needed me? I had to get out of here but how!?

Masses of extensive windows lined the corridor, alternate white doors to the right, the walls covered in posters concerning rules, fire procedures and mental health awareness leaflets. Four leather sofas forming a circle met us at the end of the corridor, widening into a vast open communal area with tea and coffee making facilities, magazine racks with other rooms leading off. One particular room had no solid plaster walls, instead a glass fortification.
Within this room were desks, computers, chairs, planner posters, a vintage radio that could of easily been from WW1, next to this a opened box of celebrations along with two further women chortling amongst themselves.

Silence fell as I entered the room, under the watchful gaze of the women, I was informed my belongings were to be searched and all contents documented. I was escorted to a nearby table where my suitcase was placed onto a grubby looking vinyl table cover. “open it” reluctantly I unzipped the main compartment, her chubby sweaty fingers delving through my belongings placing each item on full view of everyone.