Breaking Point

“Okay Benny, I’d like you to tell me what happened earlier today. What did you see happen? What led up to you being here?” The psychiatrist’s opened ended question paved the way for Benny’s response.

Can I really trust this man? Will he help me? Should I tell him what I saw? He thought in his mind. His eyes wandered to the cameras on the ceiling and the mirror on the wall.

“I don’t know exactly. Everything’s a blur and I only remember bits and pieces of it…”

The scribbling of pen on paper could be heard as Benny began to tell his story.

“A couple days ago, I was in the garden, tending to my blueberry bushes, when I saw my mother preparing the meal in the kitchen. I looked closely and I saw her empty a pouch into the food, so I started freaking out, wondering why my mom would poison me. I was sure she was doing it on purpose, perhaps because she hated me. I don’t know. Then I overheard some voices saying that I should be locked away for my own safety, that I’m going crazy, a danger to the public. I was scared.”

Benny paused before the doctor urged him to keep going.

“Then I decided to buy my own food, preferably canned so that they couldn’t be tampered with. But I had a lingering doubt in my head saying that it was already poisoned before it was sealed. I could see it now, the workers adding in poison into the food, trying to make me sick. On the bus ride home, I could hear people talking about me, snickering at me, with outbursts of laughter, all of which hurt me greatly.”

“Who is trying to make you sick Benny?”

“My mom…no my relatives…or it might be the government. I don’t know, I don’t know why anyone would want to hurt me? I didn’t do anything wrong!” sobbed the boy as he cried into his sleeve. His tears stained his shirt and dribbled down his cheeks.

“There, there. You have to be brave now. Things will get better, I promise. Now finish your story of what happened and we’ll see how we can help you best. Look at me, you’re in good hands now Benny.”

After looking up and seeing the calm hazel-brown eyes of the doctor, the patient continued his narrative.

“So yesterday night, I was sure I saw a bully of mine in the house; an old friend that turned on me, so I locked myself inside the bathroom for the night, too scared to open the door. I could hear the man talking, threatening to hurt me, waiting for me to come out in the open. Mom threatened to call the police if I didn’t open the door. When I woke up the next morning, two police officers and a nurse took me here where I am now.”

There, I told them my story. Will they believe me or are they just pretending to listen to me? Benny thought. He studied the doctor as he wrote down his own notes on the file, his writing as hideous as the chicken scratch of doctors could be.

“Benny, thank you for having the courage to share your story with us. It appears you are having symptoms of a condition known as psychosis. Psychosis makes you imagine things that aren’t real, called hallucinations. We have multiple treatment plans available and for now, we will begin with a low dosage of an antipsychotic to see if it will help you with your hallucinations. I know that these things you think seem completely real to you, but you must understand, sometimes our brains play tricks on us, and what we think is real may not be real at all. So, head on back to your room and the nurse will be by to give you your injection.”

As Benny walked back down the hallway, a whirlwind of thoughts crossed his mind.

That boy there seems to be pretending to be sick. And that girl looked at me twice now, I’m sure of it. Benny noticed the multiple scars on the girl’s arms and legs, remembering the conspiracy theories the girl was talking about earlier that day. Something about terrorists implanting tracking devices in her body. As she approached his room, he could hear his roommate singing a classic tune while holding a radio. He’s probably sent to spy on me as well. Can’t trust anyone, can’t trust everyone. Then Benny went about meticulously arranging his toothbrush and cup, hand towel and notebook on his desk before drinking some orange juice he had saved from breakfast.

He then head to the bathroom, but was concerned that there were no locks on the door. Suddenly, a knock on the door made him jump as he quickly washed his hands and dried them.

“Benny, we’re here with your medication. When you’re ready come over to your bed okay?”

The nurse’s voice was soft and sweet, unlike the others who seemed to care less about the patients or those that even made fun of him and others. One nurse had a large bruise on her face, as if someone had hit her the day before.

Benny slowly pushed opened the door, and saw the smiling nurse ready with a disinfectant swab, a needle and a Band-Aid. He watched as the medicine was pushed into his body, like some foreign chemical invading his bloodstream.

He closed his eyes, suddenly feeling drowsy and laid down on his bed, falling asleep for the first time since being taken into the psychiatric unit. He dreamed of working as a janitor, dusting the windows, mopping the floors and vacuuming the carpets. His mom cleaned the toilets and kitchens, while his dad cut the grass outside. They worked as a team, working for several hours before locking up and heading back home. Then Benny saw his dad, attached to a ventilator and with tubes sticking out of him like a pincushion. That was about the time when his fears became more and more real, as he convinced himself the world was out to get him. He didn’t even trust his own mother; in face she was the one he trusted the least of all.

Suddenly he was back home again, this time taking some drastic action to combat his imaginary fears. He made a metal helmet, wrapped in tin foil and magnets, and spread hundreds of tacks on the floor behind his door. He even stacked a pile of cards at night to make sure no one entered his room while he was sleeping.

When Benny awoke the next day, he felt light as a feather and free; from what he did not know but all he did know was that the burden hanging over him was now gone.

Were people actually spying on me? Poisoning me? Was the government plotting against me? My own family disowning me?

Blurred images of yesterday’s events, muddled with imagination, were dismissed as obstacles in the past while he looked forward to the future. But the thought still lingered in his mind like an aftertaste. Was it all real?

The End