The Cuckoo’s Nest

Am I here because of the madness within, or was I infected by this place? Only twenty minutes until the medication kicks in, bringing peace from the others living in my head. After that comes the terror of group therapy, with the danger of confrontation just below the surface.

I must shut out the one I fear. I can sense him, waiting. I mustn’t allow his voice to shout loudest when the session starts. My hand is shaking; the water splashes from the paper cup, dripping to form a darkening stain.

Idiot, look what you’ve done.

I must concentrate, must stop him from taking over.

You can’t stop me. You stupid, weak, man.

When he comes through, the rest of us shut down. When he leaves, he takes away the memories of what we’ve done, leaving only guilt and fear.

What time is it? Ten minutes since I swallowed the pills. He was in control during the last session. When he left, I found everyone distraught – verbally abused for weaknesses over which they have little control. I mustn’t let him through.

Is it only three years since I walked through the gates of my own volition? I could have turned back; instead, I entered and damned myself. At thirty-four, I still had my life ahead of me.

Since that day my face has lined, once dark hair turned grey, and my shoulders stoop under the weight of existence. I used to walk with pride.

Pride! What do you know of pride? You’re a pathetic fool who can’t control the world you’re living in. But I can…

I must think of Sheila, who loves me, who has forgiven me for choosing to enter this place, giving up the financial rewards I’d worked so hard to attain. Picture her face, brown eyes gazing with compassion. Not beautiful, but…

Damn right she isn’t beautiful. Why don’t you grab that young nurse when she comes in?

I must regain control; he’s getting too strong.

Listen to her rubber-soled shoes squeaking. She’ll be here soon. Reach out for her. You’re still good-looking. Reach out, touch her, and forget Sheila.

Stop it!

Imagine that black hair flowing down her bare back.

No. Stop, I…

Look, the door’s opening. You could take her, here on the floor.

Nurse O’Hara walks in, hips swaying, in a cloud of sweet scent. Mesmerised by cherry-red lips, desire floods my body, and I visualize her naked. I must concentrate. To seize a nurse would spell disaster.

She wants you. Take her.

I smile, inviting her to speak, but cannot drag my eyes from her tongue, pink and moist, inviting kisses. I imagine her delighting my body, and tremble, forcing myself to listen to her words.

“It’s time for group therapy, Dr Granger. The patients are waiting for you.”