Another world

If the lunatics really are running the asylum, which would you rather be: a patient or a member of staff?



It was New Year’s Eve on the Locked Ward,
The lithium flowed like wine,
A psychiatrist from ‘G’ wing
Was singing Auld Lang Syne;
And sometime after midnight,
When sane folk are abed,
They started telling stories
And this is what they said:


I am being detained under the powers of the Mental Health Act, 1983 - Section 2, to be precise. This provides for “detention for up to 28 days for assessment of condition… this may be accompanied by treatment.”
Ah, but what kind of treatment? I have refused to take any of the medication they have offered, although I am prepared to talk, to anyone who will listen – including the other patients. They don’t seem such a bad bunch. They’re all mad of course: why else would they be here?
I am under twenty four hours surveillance. They call it “observation”. Anyway, the hospital rules refer to “the necessity of watchfulness at all times…in the interests of the patient’s own health or safety.” All this, demanding “a high standard of tactful guidance by nurses”. How do I know all this? I told you: I’m in the trade.
But they are not very tactful, most of them. They write everything down. Everything I do, even when I go to the lavatory. And of course they write down the fact that I am always writing. Talk about “Alice in Wonderland”. At night I have to leave my bedroom door open, and it’s hard to get to sleep with someone peering in. I’ve tried telling them I have no intention of attempting to take my own life. But they don’t believe me. Incredibly, they’ve put me in a room on the 4th floor. The 4th floor – and me a “jumper”!
Of course, I’m not really a jumper – more of a “slipper”. I’ve tried telling them that as well. Waste of time. You can see their point of view. What was I doing up on the bridge in the first place? Okay, so in the end I had decided not to do it. I was coming down. Unfortunately, I stepped on that patch of oil. An accident. Ah, but Jung says there are no such things as accidents; my psychiatrist is a Jungian.