Isolation Chamber

Did I tell you about the time they tried to get me into the pressure cooker (isolation chamber) in Runcorn Brooker Centre? It started with me getting sectioned for nothing so naturally I tried to escape because I believed I could hear sounds of torture coming from adjacent rooms. I wholeheartedly felt that I was in a death camp. What would you try and do? You’d try and leave, wouldn’t you? It’s natural. Anybody would.  I got through the first set of security doors but was halted by the second. That’s when the police arrived. One of them was a giant and the sight of someone bigger killed the fight in me. They escorted me back onto the hospital unit once again with my responsible clinician. Only they walked me right far back into the bottom of the hospital. Where are we going, I thought, my room’s that way!

They tried to pump me with an injection which I adamantly refused. Eventually they gave up trying. They wouldn’t even let me read the instructions before jamming it into me, which I wanted to do only to buy some time to think. The police and doctor left me in the secure hands of a male orderly, who tried to drag me into the isolation chamber, which I have nicknamed the ‘pressure cooker.’ I had a great old tussle with that male orderly! It was mano gegan mano (man against man). One or two demons appeared as he dragged me towards it. I thought I was doomed. I thought all of my good spirits (children) were going to come out if he got me in there, leaving me alone forever and ever. It was at this time that I firmly understood that I have children inside of my spiritual property, or heavenly collateral. I realised it at this moment. Bennie, the mother of these children inside of my mind and inside of my heart, appeared from nowhere and said hi. This gave me strength I didn’t know I had and I started to reverse the male orderly’s forceful pull of me. I started pulling him. Then I saw a chair and held onto it, wrapping myself in its legs. I was safe as long as I held onto the chair. I’d started weeping uncontrollably. Tears stained my cheeks. I muttered two words… “The Children…”

The orderly conceded defeat. A female nurse appeared with great sympathy for me and led me to the garden where I could breathe. Once they saw me crying, everyone changed and felt sorry for me. The whole episode had gotten to me and broken me. She gave me a sarnie and was really rather nice to me. We had a pleasant chat. I felt respected by her for being so human. I felt like I was surrounded by invisible children in that garden. It was so special; relief was etched all over me. There were about fifty of them playing with each other as children do. I’m still not sure what was and what wasn’t in my imagination to this day, only the surety that I was flanked with many kids. Macauly Culkin appeared in my psychosis and started talking to me about the kids, describing what they were doing and saying he was the king of them all! Ha. Great fun. Eventually they would get me in that pressure cooker, weak and blinded, but not that time. 

The Difference Between Prison and Mental Hospital

In prison, for starters, they hand you a job. If you are sensible and wise, as I was (humble brag), you can get yourself a job on the wing. This means you don’t have to spend the whole day too far away from your cell. I myself was given a role doing the laundry. It was one day on, one day off. All it meant was using the washing machine every 45 minutes or so. The laundry room was on the 1^st floor, so I was happy to be up and down every other day, keeping fit. I would prioritise my boys and other people I liked, and maybe even fold their clothes all nicely as a warm gesture. The position commanded a certain amount of respect itself, as clothes are a prisoner’s most valued possessions. Aside from work, there were plenty of things to be occupied with on the wing. The job also got me off the wing and over to the industrial laundry unit on the other side of the jail. This involved a peaceful stroll around the whole prison grounds. Ping pong, pool and snooker were standard procedure on each and every single wing. There was an education suite available, with plenty of computers for writing letters on or whatnot, plus there was a library too, with warm-hearted welcoming staff who enjoyed a game of scrabble. A full-size artificial field, with nets, was there for highly competitive inter-wing matches. If you didn’t fancy a game, and you had a pitch-side window in your cell, you could watch the action. There was a chapel, where prisoners from all over met for courses and prayer. Basically, jail was a huge complex with several acres to explore. And let’s not forget a fully-equipped gymnasium and sports hall, where weightlifting, badminton and even yoga classes were on offer. All of these activities can be engaged with on a daily basis. Sometimes I would get to the gym twice a day. There was also the social aspect as well. With hundreds of people on a single wing, you were always meeting new people. Some of them were friendly faces. There was no shortage of laughs or gossip or incidents. And, finally, you had a release date. Something to look forward to.

In hospital, you are cocooned with a dozen other drug-pumped zombies on a claustrophobic ward, and that’s it. Where would you rather be?