Running Is a Kind of Dreaming by J. M. Thompson

Author:J. M. Thompson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperOne
Published: 2021-08-10T00:00:00+00:00

Hope Is a Hymn

I held a pebble in my palm and wrote down how it felt cold and hard and round. I observed the little Labrador that came to visit from the animal charity. I played the conga drum. I painted a mandala whose outer rim was radiant in pink and orange and whose core was a sphere of darkness. In the evenings, Miriam would come during visiting hours with bags of Chinese takeout. I watched her unwrap the cartons of noodles and sweet-and-sour vegetables, recognizing them as the relics of a ruined ancient civilization that some distant ancestor of mine might have lived in long ago. In group therapy in the morning, I listened to the sad stories from both newcomers and some familiar faces: Holst, the Shopkeeper, the Prisoner, La Llorona.

One day the conversation veered toward the circumstances that had brought us to the hospital. “I took a bunch of pills and liquor,” said Holst. “I was okay with being dead. I didn’t want it to hurt. I figured, I’ll get high enough that I won’t feel anything. Then I got in the bathtub and I opened up a vein.” He gestured at the bandage on his arm.

I won’t feel anything: I hid this nugget in a secret chamber of my mind.

Seven days had passed since my arrival in the hospital. I had the measure of the place. This place is doing nothing for me, I thought. It troubled me to imagine what I assumed would be lifelong negative consequences for assenting to psychiatric hospitalization.

The social worker on the ward did her best to convince me otherwise. Her name was Sandra. She went by her first name and addressed me likewise. She came to the ward dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt. She invoked the concept of recovery and used the phrase “Right on” in every other sentence. I felt much more comfortable talking to her than either Dr. Browning or Dr. Hewitt.

“Soon you’ll be out of here and getting back to work,” said Sandra.

“But I don’t wanna go to work,” I said. “I hate it.”

“Work in general or what you’re doing now?”

“My job right now. I’m a grant writer. I thought it had something to do with writing. It doesn’t.”

“What else would you like to do?”

“I don’t know. There are a million things.”

“Right on. Like what?”

“I go round in circles. I can’t decide.”

“Well, tell me a couple. What do you think you’d like to do?”

“I don’t know. I can’t do anything. I can listen to other people talk. I used to think maybe I could do something like what you do, counseling whatever, but now I’m not allowed.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Because of being a mental patient.”

“That doesn’t matter. There are laws against discrimination. When you get better, you can do anything you want.”

You can do anything. Was it true? In Sandra’s presence, I could almost believe in the future again. But the belief disappeared the second Sandra did. My faith in the future was like my teenage faith in God.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.