By Peter Dellolio
that’s what they say that you can hear them screaming every night all through the night as if they
take turns first it’s the ones down the hall then it’s the ones a few floors up all the horrific screams that reach out to a world that does not listen they are the ones who have no one they are not visited they were committed it was a time when someone could be left in a place like that until they died there were no laws or medical protocol to stop it there is a great pity in it there is a sombre feeling unlike anything in the daily lives of the sane nothing is like that subterranean isolation nothing is like that separation from ordinary life screaming every night all through the night as if they take turns first it’s the ones a few floors down then it’s the ones a few floors up a chanting of commu-nal sorrow like the baying of lost dogs on a hill in the moonlight not knowing where they are not knowing where to go do these people in these white gowns behind these white steel doors remem-ber who they used to be who they lived with who they worked with in another time it was another life as if that life were a dream that each of them awoke from finding themselves here treated as though they are vegetal specimens in a botanical laboratory nothing behind their staring eyes except a secret hollow cry of remembrance of what they used to do in lives far removed from the smell of ammonia the stench of dried vomit the squeak of wheelchairs the unimaginable loneliness that crawls out of every corner and every shadow swallowing their feeble moments of faint recollection there is an old man who stomps around his room he bangs violently on the metal guards over the windows of his room there is nothing there except a mattress he spreads his excrement over the walls across the floor he was a school teacher long ago mathematics! he shouts as the attendants bathe him a shave in the bathtub he tries to drink the dirty bathtub water it is like a majestic beast captured deprived of its dignity and freedom having one last moment when it remembers what it could do a cry of recognition of having been that is the way the old man utters like a flash thought of recognition a fiber of memory coming back to someone lost in the abyss of Alzheimers it is the tiniest fractional glimpse into what was what happened what is no more mathematics! there is even a moment of humor is it on the house? he asks as the attendant offers him a drink from the hose a drink of fresh water maybe this is a grand illusion a magician’s trickery a conjuror’s incantation from some faraway time and there are those few precious moments when they think it was all a mistake my mother is coming for me my husband is waiting in the car to take me home these are the tragic pulsations of their hopeless thoughts only to be returned once again to this world of sor-row and confusion sometimes the sonority of the screams and shouts is replaced by sobbing an unimaginably sorrowful chorus of weeping one would think that they had seen the end of the world or were being tormented by demons prodding them humiliating them confusing them de-stroying the tiny grip on reality that they occasionally show it is an inhuman cry an utterly inhuman cry
*
She loved to play. To make believe she was a princess. That was her greatest fun. It was so natu-ral to pretend. After all, that is the sovereign realm of all children. Their imaginations are the epit-ome of innocent invention. No one could see at this early stage that soon irrational fantasy and dangerous mental preoccupations would take over her sweet life. In a few short years she would begin to hallucinate. Hear voices. See things. Become antagonistic and violent. It was heart-breaking for her parents to witness such a grotesque transformation. She loved to take the sheet from her parent’s bed. She dragged it into her little room. Wrapped it around herself. Then she was the princess. Then she had the cape meant only for the princess. She walked slowly up and down in her room. It was the solemn ceremony of the princess entering her castle. Look at all the rose petals laid before her feet! She is the princess. Her cape is magnificent. It is a sacred corona-tion. Attendants are bringing her the scepter. The King and Queen beam at her with admiration and pride. They are so proud of her. Knowing how much she loves the prince. Wanting them to be married and to be happy. The Queen whispers in the King’s ear. She’s hoping they will have twins. The King has decreed that their wedding day will become an official holiday for the vil-lage. No taxes will be collected and the people do not have to perform their duties or their labors. He is very pleased about his daughter’s wedding. He has granted her wish to let all the townspeo-ple attend the wedding ceremony and for each of them to receive a gold coin and a dozen roses. The King is a very gracious man. He loves his daughter.
*
Sorrow dragged night glaring exam room nothing. Caught inside thoughts no more. Flash of ter-ror strapped down. Bed sheet orderlies rough ripped away stains and stench. Leather cuffs now fastened quickly mouthpiece thick stiff rubber. Ammonia smell alcohol lingering antiseptic attack a violence of being forced. Big nurses each side holding her head in place. Look at all the rose pet-als laid before her feet! Not a princess demons dance schizophrenic Hell all thinking fiery monster puzzles. Cacophony wells black water cries unheard. Hidden burial childhood dancing fun crip-pled. Inside her mixtures moments rough shifts. Inside her all deformed her parents sobbing. Throbbing always scorched remnants. Not to return. Mind locked away vast jagged feelings. Swirling thoughts all uproar. All fractured becoming less. Always becoming less no reason ac-cumulation. Nothing forward. Fractured. Nothing beyond all clouds thick thoughts darkness. Taken robbed defiled childhood energy space enveloped madness wins. Madness. She wanders not inside joy.
*
nothing is like that subterranean isolation nothing is like that separation from ordinary life scream-ing every night all through the night as if they take turns first it’s the ones a few floors up then it’s the ones down the hall it as if the attendants and the doctors and the nurses treat them like manne-quins there is no longer the simple dignity of human beings interacting with each other take this one there put that one in the chair give the other one a bath nothing is more dehumanizing than be-ing regarded and treated like an object to the staff these lost souls are nothing more than animated dummies if restraints are required the patients are summarily strapped into their beds or on the ex-am tables the thick dark leather stained with bodily fluids the lightning white flash of fluorescent light a cyclops of bulbs hovering over the heads of the thrashing and shouting and sobbing figures writhing in an unspeakably contorted manner as if thousands of scorpions were racing through their blood vessels mocking the lost freedom of the patients’ bodies the waves of involuntary spasms shock treatment that chases away the razor blades waging war inside their minds but also erases the weeping self trembling inside trying to regain shreds of memory that are no longer visi-ble no longer alive people who have been dragged away by shrieking hooded rapists of electricity a young man tries to speak to the head psychiatrist this is harming me! it’s harming me! he repeats to the doctor but there is only a detached condescending stare the doctor knows the man is a schiz-ophrenic he knows that the man does not perceive himself in a rational manner it is sometimes said that people who suffer from schizophrenia have formed an invisible bond with other levels of be-ing that they are the ones who truly see and know what is happening that what we believe to be normal and sane is the illusion the man asks the doctor repeatedly why am I asked if I believe in God? why am I asked how many times a day I use the toilet? this is harming me! but his release interview does not go well he becomes agitated and soon the attendants stop him and with a firm grip escort him out of the room the doctor smiles he laughs knowingly as he lights a cigarette he speaks to his colleagues sitting at the table he says this man exhibits the classic symptoms of a schizophrenic he feels persecuted he thinks we are trying to harm him he does not understand why he is here he does not understand
*
The delusions reached the point where she became hostile, even violent. It was heartbreaking for her parents to see their little girl slowly transform into a vicious animal. Sometimes the psycho-tropic medications would reach her, would help to restore some of her rational mind. But that was short lived. The doctors explained that this kind of deep psychosis, often manifesting itself in cas-es of schizophrenia, is like an emotional shape-shifter. There would be times when their daughter regained enough of her powers of reason and perception to allow her to negotiate with everyday reality in a normal way. There is no way to predict what results could be achieved until each of the medication combinations were tested. Frankly, the doctors confessed, this was a crap shoot, a hit or miss process. Nothing was guaranteed. The princess wanted her father to be fair minded and to let the prince decide where the wedding was to be held. This did not sit well with the King. After all, the princess was his daughter, and he held dominion over the lands. Why should the prince’s family be allowed to make decisions about the wedding? Why should her doctors make independ-ent decisions about the shock treatments? Her mother could not accept the severity of her daugh-ter’s mental deterioration.
*
“I don’t want to eat my dinner now, mommy! I’m writing my wedding invitations!”
“You can do that later sweetie. Your food is getting cold.”
“Stop the shock treatments! Leave her alone! This is destroying her!”
“There are times when the shock treatment coupled with medication can have positive results.”
“I don’t care! You can’t force me to eat when I don’t want to!”
“Don’t speak to me like that young lady! You come in here and have dinner!”
“I am the princess! I will have you taken to the dungeon! Guards! Guards!”
“But why does she become so agitated and violent?”
“We don’t really know. Sometimes patients suffering from acute schizophrenia exhibit a tendency towards violence and aggression, especially when they are younger.”
“The more I listen to all of you, the less convinced I am that anyone knows what is really going on with my child!”
“Honey, don’t accuse them like that, they’re only trying to—“
*
it is an inhuman cry it is as though wild animals have been caught and are being dragged away from their homes they know they will never return instinctually they know so they weep and cry and tear and bite against the metal nets but it is useless the nets are made of knotted steel loops and links so the crying is useless the animals know they are being taken away and nothing can stop it just like these bodies of humans emptied of their souls and the content of their lives spilled across the filthy tile floor of their rooms it is one final cry in which rebellion and defeat coexist like the animals there is the recognition that nothing will save them so there is this hauntingly desperate at-tempt to make it stop to escape but there is no stopping there is no escaping that’s what they say that you can hear them screaming every night all night yes it is all
through the night as if they take turns first it’s the ones in the violent ward then it’s the ones in the manic ward there is an old man who used to be a teacher every night he thinks he is a little boy he asks his mother to forgive him for making such a mess in his room will she please give him anoth-er chance he promises to be good he promises the faceless pillow on his bed that has become his mother’s face he pulled out tufts of his hair and made them stick to the pillow with saliva it is his mother she has just come back from the beauty parlor she has a new hairdo she is upset with him because he made such a mess in his room he begs the pillow to forgive him he weeps when he gets no reply he knows that means his mother does not forgive him he will have to be punished he knows what that means he is afraid he tries to hide by covering his face with his hands he thinks this way his mother cannot find him but she will find him she will put him in the closet that is his punishment he must learn his lesson the closet is so dark and so cold a thin shaft of light seeps in through the door crack he can see very little the light makes shadows inside the closet he can just barely make out a few of the buttons on his mother’s dress but he cannot stop his thoughts he thinks the little buttons are the beach balls that his father brought to the shore that they played with on the beach then the buttons become howling clown faces they laugh at him they are cruel in their mockery of his plight they know he was not forgiven they know he is a bad boy he must be pun-ished and yet sometimes the buttons become the little glistening Christmas balls on the tree they are reflective and bright he sees himself in their shiny silver reflection he sees himself sitting on his mother’s lap he sees himself without pain he sees himself this is the future of the girl with the cape the young girl who wants to be a princess the years will pass there will be no improvement the pe-riods of rationality will become shorter and shorter nothing will prevent the growth of insanity dec-ades will pass her parents will grow old and die hoping that her mind will somehow reconstruct itself she too will grow old long past the death of her parents she too will become an old woman hopelessly insane constantly making capes out of her soiled bed sheets always preparing for her wedding to the prince never understanding what has really happened never seeing where she really is her eyes are like thick lead orbs that cannot be penetrated by x-rays the world in front of her does not exist she does not see what is really there she sees only the endlessly repeating fabrications she’s been conjuring since she was a child
*
“So, did you do anything interesting at the coronation today? Did you have any special visitors from far away lands?”
“Oh yes, Mommy! The Duke of Madrid was here for the coronation! He was so very nice! And then I had tea with the Duchess of York! She is so very beautiful!”
“Well, it sounds like you had a very busy afternoon!”
“Oh yes, Mommy! It’s so wonderful to be the princess!”
“Do you have anything important for tomorrow?”
“Oh yes, Mommy! Tomorrow is the grand ball! I have to pick out my gown now!”
“Being the princess, you must have dozens of gowns and dresses to look through!”
“Oh yes, Mommy! My attendants will bring them in for me!”
*
nothing is like that subterranean isolation nothing is like that separation from ordinary life scream-ing every night all through the night as if they take turns first it’s the ones before shock treatment then it’s the ones after shock treatment towards morning it’s the gentle sobbing as if they know as if within the silent shafts of morning sun there is some kind of intuitive recognition of what hap-pened to them as if there was a coded communication between members of a secret society they seem to know they seem to weep for what they used to be what they are no longer there is a sad-ness beyond the measurable content of language it is said that nurses who look after terminal pa-tients in their final hours often see a last tear roll down the cheek of the dying a farewell to what was a goodbye to the body that is no longer healthy a profound moment of being separated from that which is no longer useful to them it could be that those who scream at night and sob in the morning have made a similar discovery they realize sanity is no longer part of the mechanics of their minds as if they awoke from a terrible accident to discover that they have become quadriple-gics they no longer belong in the world of limbs and mobility
*
It is a sacred coronation. Attendants are bringing her the scepter. The Duke of Madrid is smiling at her. He is quite smitten. There is talk in the kingdom that he will be invited to the ball. Will he and the princess marry?
*
“Oh yes, Mommy! I want to marry him! He is so handsome!”
“Yes he is! Well, I have to start dinner now. Maybe you can invite the Duke?”
“That’s a wonderful idea, Mommy! But I have to send for my messenger. He’ll have to get his horse ready so he can make the journey to the Duke with my invitation.”
“Maybe you should write it now so you can give it to the messenger before we have dinner.”
“Good! I’ll do it now, Mommy.”
“Please come back to us, my lost precious daughter…Please be who you were.”
“You’re not my mother! You are a traitor! A spy from France! You came here to poison me, I know all about it! Guards, guards!”
“Give her another dose of Thorazine.”
“Doctor, what good does this do? Why can’t we help her become herself again?”
“I’m afraid that these schizophrenic episodes will become longer and more intense. The medica-tions we’ve been trying haven’t had much impact. It’s the luck of the draw, I’m afraid. With cases of schizophrenia, you try different combinations of meds and hope you hit the right group that will resurrect some of the patient’s normal self. But in your daughter’s case, I’m afraid that her psy-chosis is too far gone.”
“Mommy! Mommy! My messenger just returned with wonderful news!”
“I’m in the kitchen, sweetheart. What did the messenger say?”
“He said the Duke would be delighted to attend!”
“That’s wonderful!”
“I must tell the tailors to fashion me a new cape, something marvelous!”
“Yes, that would be very special!”
“It should be maroon velvet with gold embroidery, right mother?”
“That’s a perfect idea! And with a hood of course, right?”
“Get her other arm, strap her in!”
“I’m trying to get the mouthpiece ready!”
“I thought they stopped shock treatments for this one?”
“They’re trying a new med, they think it will help.”
“Guards! Guards! These ruffians are assaulting me! Guards!”
“She never stops with the princess thing, does she?”
“Oh, that’s a lovely idea, mommy! A hood!”
“Yes, and with a bonnet back, you know, you’ve seen those.”
“Yes, mommy! That sounds wonderful!”
*
Not a princess demons dance schizophrenic Hell all thinking fiery monster puzzles. Beyond rea-son struggle dance edges against spirit. Endless torment glass shattering skull holds confused weapons attack. Lofty dreams little girl another time another dimension that way that being ended. Cold gel electrodes temples attacked current. Convulsions bubbling saliva not the coronation not that way. Yearning misery unable unwilling vexation no longer childhood all magic gone. Sorrow shadows winding not the happy contours of childhood. Lost never to be repeating laughter all de-formed. Rebellion of objects. Rebellion of time. Nothing will quiet the agony of not being what one was. Inner tumult beyond words beyond reason how can it be she is not the princess. Like the explosion of bells lifted into new chaos each day not a shred of what was. Life lifted onto slaughter tables long marble tables ready like ancient Druid sacrifice altars. Wind of sanity not full only tortured zephyrs weep. Taken away smell of alcohol smell of her screams twisting knots of bed sheets not her cape attendants take her. Such a sorrow all deformity of mind morbid transfor-mations of spirit always this remorse.
*
That’s what they say. No longer childhood.
All magic gone.
