Yesterday. (Edited).

'Shit!' The lump of rubbery scrambled eggs slides off my plastic fork and lands on the tablecloth. 'Use the spoon,' Alan offers helpfully. 'I can't get the damn thing to my mouth,' I reply, knowing my trembling hands will make an even worse mess. He leans over and puts the dried-up bacon slice between some bread, adding his own fried egg on top. 'Thanks,' I think I can eat a sandwich more easily, 'but what about you?'
He doesn't bother to answer, just slides my plate over and tucks in, ignoring the plastic cutlery in favour of scooping up the food with a piece of bread.
I'm still fuming though, wondering why we can't have proper cutlery. Bert tries to spear his bacon with the knife, snapping it off in the process. Dignity is in short supply here in ward C.

Breakfast is meagre. Margaret slipped into the dining room and poured all the milk jugs away, saying it had been poisoned by the staff. So no cereals yet again, just one slice of bacon, a tablespoon of beans and either scrambled or fried eggs. Bert is near to tears again, Julie stomps off and we all form a queue for our meds. Manic's to one side, the rest of us to the other. I look at my reduced dosage, prepared to make a fuss, but it won't do any good. By lunchtime I'll have the shakes again. Why don't they give us the meds first? The bored male nurse can't give a damn; his shift is due to finish soon.

Alan links arms with Bert and me and we troop off to the smoking room, our chairs still retaining mild warmth from our nighttime session. They caught up with Jason last night and brought him in kicking and screaming at 2am. The three of us didn't bother with trying to get back to sleep, Jase is a regular, hooked on the big H, he often runs away but soon gets picked up again. It takes an age to get him sedated and meanwhile Margaret slips out and goes around prodding people to see if the doctor's have replaced the batteries in the patient's chests. The first night she did it to me was nearly her last. Fighting the crawlers I hit her in the face and knocked her out. They gave me Temazapam for the next few nights but I soon got used to them. Now I stick to Diazepam and the shelter of the smoking room.

Bert is crying quietly, curled up in the corner armchair he looks five instead of fifty. Some of the youngsters try to come in but Alan sends them packing. There's another room near to the closed entrance they can use for now. Al's a schizophrenic but stable at the moment, me, I'm an Alcoholic; Bert is supposed to be in for R & R, nerves shattered, near to a breakdown. This place isn't helping him either.
We're a mixed bunch, addicts, schizo's, depressives of every kind, arm slashers, wrist slashers, those like Margaret who have lost touch with reality, and some even the nurses haven't got a name for.
Bert's a gentle soul, worn out from looking after his disabled wife; this is his third stay in a year. There should be special places for people like him but budget cuts have already closed half of the hospital and we are housed in an annex to the main hospital.

Al's finally got Bert laughing and just in time, big Alphie enters the room in one of his up moods. A controlled Manic depressive, his mood swings are enough to drive anyone crazy.
'Gis a fag Kate,' he leers down at me.
'Roll your own, lazy bastard,' I say, knowing he's a pussy in this mood.
'Liar, liar ass on fire,' he sings, 'what's that peeking out your pocket, B&H golden box.'
'Give over Alphie, you know she can't roll her own until she loses the shakes.' Julie walks in and plonks her skinny ass next to mine.
Bert passes round his own pack, wanting only to keep the peace.
We all take one, its not sponging, just something to help Bert fit in.
I glance at the clock; only nine-thirty the day stretches away endlessly.
More people drift in, fogging up the room with blue smoke. I wonder idly if there is a correlation with mental health problems and tobacco, about 80% of us smoke heavily.

Alphie paces up and down, eager for his day pass. I can't understand the system, some patients are allowed out, others can't even walk in the grounds. I'm one of those; perhaps they think I've got a stash of booze hidden in the grounds? How then, can they have missed George's stash of whiskey under his bed? I guess the cleaners aren't that thorough. We sit and smoke, one fag after another until the clock ticks away to ten am.
'See'ya kiddies,' Alphies off for his five-mile walk.
Now I have a choice, either stay in the smoking room, join one of the group sessions where we sit around and play word-games or let Alan thrash me at badminton once again.
When I signed myself into this hellhole I thought I'd get some one to one counselling, fat chance of that. My "assigned nurse is more interested in chatting up his female colleagues or sending out for pizza and chips.
What the hell, I choose the badminton, making the duty nurse scowl. The games room is in the main hospital and we have to have an escort. That's fifteen minutes to get there, an hour of play and another fifteen minutes back, leaving just a half-hour to wait for lunch.

'Thud,' 'Thwack' I'm battling the booze my own way. This one's a lager, the next a large vodka. I don't want a drink, I don't need a drink, who am I kidding? Still it gets the endorphins going. 'My game,' Al yells, I concede defeat and give Bert a game of ping-pong.
Taking time on the walk back gives us an extra five minutes, just time for a fag before lunch.

'Fuck it! The cooks must be sadists. Roast beef, Yorkshire puds, and all the trimmings, how the hell can you eat that with plastic cutlery? Somehow we manage but I have to pass on the peas, no way am I going to get them in my mouth. I'm not happy with Julie joining us, there's something very sly about her, but I can't qute put my finger on it.

1pm, what can we do until dinner at 6pm? Maybe an hour's kip, but I need something to keep my mind off the booze. Bert goes to lie down; Al wanders off in the grounds he's allowed that now he's temporarily stable. The mood is sultry like the August heat. Too many people with too much time on their hands.
I try to read, the words skipping across the page like ant's crawling. A sudden commotion with the wringing of the fire bell. People mill around, the two harassed nurses trying to calm everyone down.
I knew something was up with Julie, it appears she got some cider from the local shop, drunk it quickly and dropped her fag in the bin.
Now's my chance to sneak outside. I find Al in the bushes; sprawled on the ground, smoke drifting up from a large spliff.
'Hey Kate, broke out at last?' He offers me a drag and I draw it deep into my lungs, head whirling crazily.
It's good grass, enough to get us giggling like crazy. Al shows me what a blowback is and time seems to fly by.

We race in late for dinner, cold ham salad; Bert kept our places and tells us Julie had the needle. 'Fucking Ace,' says Al, we'll have a concert later.'
'What's he talking about?' I ask Bert, who's been here longer than me.
'I haven't a clue,' he replies, 'but anything's better than the TV.'
I'm still high but acting carefully, I don't want to get grounded. Bert and I drift off to the lounge, put a record on and start to dance. Nobody uses the lounge; you can't smoke in there.

We're all in the smoking room when Alphie arrives back at 8pm. He's sunburnt but laughing, 'the missus wouldn't let me in, well fuck her, silly bitch, I still saw my kids coming out of school.'
'Good for you,' we all agree, ' about bloody time too.'
Jase decides to put a spoke in the wheel; I can't believe he's awake and allowed out of his room.
'Fucking bloody wankers all of you, he's crazy, nuts, walking ten miles in one day? I bet he didn't get further than the nearest pub.' He breaks down in hysterical laughter.
Alphie just smiles and drops his leather shorts, bare assed undereath, groin rubbed raw from the friction of walking. One of the girls screams, we ignore her; it isn't like she's never seen a cock and balls before now. I'm more concerned about the raw area and his bleeding feet.
'Best get that looked at,' I tell him and like a lamb he reports back to the night nurse.

One of the other men, I forget his name, says 'get moving to the front entrance.'
This is the lobby where visitors wait, its more plush and out of bounds during the day.
Now there's clapping and cheering and the sound of voices singing, one high and pure rising over the others. Al is holding court, sat upright but head bent over his guitar, his long blonde hair let out of the ponytail, he's playing and singing to an old Beatles song.
"Yesterday, that is one song I remember from that night. His voice is raw with passion but gentle at the same time. There is peace in the lobby, nerves strung from tension ebb away; the cravings vanish for a while, and most of the patients join in.

I can hardly believe this is same guy who broke into his parent's house and stole money, along with anything worth selling. Not the same person either, who was picked up off the streets, brandishing four knives and saying he was a Samurai warrior. He's already on a "section 8 which means he can be picked up without anyone stopping it. All I can see is the gentle soul who looks after everyone in need.

He's popular too with the staff, if anyone can calm a situation down, it's Al that does it. Hard to think then that it took six nurses to hold him down and plunge the needles into his arms this last time they brought him in. The first day I met him, he was like a zombie, drugged up to his eyeballs and crying for his mother. When he's on his medication there's a different person, one who deserves a wife and family, one who writes amazing songs and sings like an angel.

It's then that I realise the staff are standing in the background, listening with the same pleasure. He looks at me and starts to play a Patsy Cline song, one I know well. My stage nerves are gone; we are all in the same boat here, even the staff.
'I launch right into "Crazy, belting it out as I never could with half a bottle of vodka inside me. He winks at me and it's then I know that given another time and place, without our illnesses, we could have fallen in love.
Maybe I'll beat the booze, but he will be trapped forever in the dark illness of his mind.

© Lisa Fuller February 2006.