A dweller on the threshold

Miranda worked as a receptionist at a nearby private psychiatric hospital, she worked night-shift, one week on, one week off. The first private admission there was to me a matter of emergency, I had just accepted an inevitable break-up and was desperate for help. So she admitted me there. We were friends from the start, to tell the truth “love at first sight!”

So it came that I called on the phone there at reception regularly, not realising at the time she was probably putting her work at risk. She worked alone at night. We spoke a lot about religion and all the kinds of things, family stories studies. She was the most beautiful kindest creature and cleverest I ever knew. I drove far there also sometimes evenings to visit at her work.

In the meanwhile things at the university started getting bad with a new head of school and a few other colleagues. I had it arranged so that I did most of my work at home and the classes and tutorials afternoons, many others also preferred it so.

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It came that I was unable to speak to her any-more, without really knowing why. I still texted her she said it was in order she liked the messages, little poems and things told her of what I did and my thoughts, as silent company you might say. A few times daily it was like a private imaginary friend. I was very lonely.

Shortly after all my privileges, salary medical and pension and all benefits had been “suspended” I had to be admitted to the state hospital again.

No-one said anything I mean the doctors and other medical staff members, clearly my “imaginary” friend was not considered as pathological in any way, to the contrary. I was there a few months and after that still texted her for another ten years and then just gave it up nothing happened. 

I received no direct communication although there was more than enough reason to believe Miranda did receive all those hundreds of sms's I do not doubt it. Having had been discharged that last time and after the rehab, I have had hardly any contact with other people, friends, family, for work prospects, nobody. It was not by choice.

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Since coming back to our home basically I have had no social life at all apart of AbcTales, my mother too had passed away seven years ago so that it now was only my brother. I have been extremely isolated, but I believe things will soon normalise now at last, after almost twenty years.

Still sending the text messages by now I was back home again from the midway house, some people apparently conveniently still believed this all now was proof of my incurable insanity, like some family and that and that psycho-dude I think – well at least he was good at one thing, that is winning your confidence, even though he could hardly speak English.

Then I resorted to “open communication” on AbcTales where any-one at all can read my stories! And love letters! So, I am still hoping, and believing soon the girl will be in my arms! And soon, she will!

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In April 1987 I was admitted involuntary, by force as really an emergency acute religious psychosis, in an historic institution with architecture more like 18'th Century still. Not long before, I was acquainted with the music of Van Morrison, there was an immediate incredible spiritual bonding.

As they had me marching unflinching into a tiny little cell without windows and bolted door for solitary I was humming and singing in my mind Van Morrison, Northern Muse. I believed I was now being abandoned in Hell, which probably was, well at least was not permanent, just a few days but it felt like eternity.

I got away perhaps as miraculous, just kind of walked out there they could never understand how. The last night, I think they were really scared I would try to escape but instead I lay sleeping on a pallet on the floor, and singing in “the Palace of the Lord”.

Miranda would then be still a child. It is she.

                ~   ~  vVv  ~   ~