Dementia

A mental patent is physically abused by his caregiver, but it turns out that he is not as innocent as he is portrayed.

I cannot speak to anyone, because everyone lies. Everyone lies and tells me there is no one there, but I know they are there, watching me, waiting for me.

            The nurse that comes into my room, with her large breast and long brown hair doesn’t believe me. With her sweet voice and snow white smile she tries to get me to shut up,

            “Tommy, it’s late, we all need some rest. Have you taken your medication?”

            I stared at her, into her very soul. She knew nothing about me; I could handle myself fine without any medication. But she was getting on my nerves way too much lately, so I started to yell at her,

            “Screw the medication; you’re just trying to keep me quiet like everyone else!” It felt good; releasing all of my anger on this woman, the jolt of adrenaline made my heart began to race and my face sweat.

            The nurse, who was visibly angry, grabbed me by my hair. Tears started to come down my face. I hated the taste of salt.

            “Listen you crazy brat, you will take this medication. I’ll stuff it down your throat if you don’t take this damn stuff.”

            I started to cry loudly, not knowing what she would do to me next.

            She let go of my hair and shook me.

            “Are you going to take your meds Tommy?”

            I gave no response; I just sat there with tears streaming down my face.

            The nurse slapped me; it knocked me back on my bed.

            “Now will you talk?!”

            As I lay on my bed holding my face which now wore her handprint, I said something I shouldn’t,

            “Please, stop it.”

            She began to laugh,

            “Me stop what I’m doing? With all the hell you say for hours all day, with all the headaches you cause us? Oh I won’t stop. I won’t feel bad about doing this; in fact, I’m looking forward to doing this.”

            She then proceeded to beat me. At first I fought against her, but I knew it was her word against mine. Knowing her, she would suggest that I get sent to a more secure unit in the ward.

            While I’m being punched in the face, chest and the groin every now and then, I think of my mother.

            My mom had a frightening resemblance to the nurse. Her sweet voice was easily recognizable; this woman’s was so similar. I didn’t like it; associating this woman with my mother made me throw up a little in my mouth, it made my emotions even worse.

            I cried harder, I muttered something, but I didn’t think the nurse heard me.

            “Mommy, stop it.”

            She continued to beat me.

            I cringed in pain when she dug her long nails into my arm. The white hot pain that surged throughout my body felt like it would be a scar on my already damaged body.

            The nurse let go of me and reached over towards the table, she held a bottle of pills in front of me.

            “You want me to quit? I’ll quit if you take your medication Tom Tom.”

            That was a name I haven’t been called since I was a child. When I was upset, my mom would sing a song that calm down every time.

“You’re my love, my heart, and my soul. I love you forever and ever. Every laugh you make is a smile for me. I love you baby, won’t you be mine?”

She repeated this about three times before I fell asleep.

It’s not that I want to cause trouble, it just…that no one will believe anything I say.

“Alright, I’ll take the damn meds.”

She twisted the lid off, poured two pills and handed them to me.

            I stared at them for a few seconds, then took them and acted like I swallowed them.

            I hid them between by bottom teeth and bottom lip.

            “Open your mouth and lift up your tongue.”

            I did what she asked. The dumb girl thought I swallowed them.

Her anger seemed to subside; as she was talking to me she began to get her keys to lock my door,

“Ok Tommy, if you don’t swallow those pills every time I ask you we are going to have ‘meetings’ like this every time.”

The nurse tucked me in bed.

“Sleep well Tommy. I’m about to leave and lock your door, so I don’t want you causing any more trouble.”

She shut the door. You could hear her fidget with her keys to lock the door.

            After a few seconds you heard the lock click, and then footsteps go down the hallway until they slowly faded to where you couldn’t hear them.

Once I knew she was gone I spit out the pills.

I tossed and turned in my bed whichever way I could. It was hard to move because I was sore from the beating she gave me.

Just lying there in silence, I stared at the wall; I glanced at the mirror on my nightstand for a brief moment, but returned to stare at the wall. More than likely, it was going to be the most interesting thing that would happen for the rest of the night.

A feeling overcame me, it told me to pick up the mirror. So I grabbed it.

The mirror was a little dusty with a few scratches on it. It was slightly chipped in the lower right corner.

I looked at myself for a little bit. I examined my bruises. I had a cut above my left eye. I began to cry again.

As I wept, I spoke to myself,

“God, I hate that b***h.”

While tears fell on the mirror and I continued to cry, I started to hear whispers,

“We know she was mean to you Tommy. Do you want us to hurt her, to make her scream for her life?”

“Yes I do. Hurt her, hurt her bad.”

“No one believes you; no one believes that we are real. They will believe now.”

 

Reviews

[TLK]

This piece is rather dialogue driven. I think this is a mistake -- you are going here for ACTION that reflects the PSYCHOLOGY of the characters (and vice versa). This is a situation with lots of imagery and internal dialogue -- the spoken dialogue is just all stage mechanics to progress the plot. At least, that's how I see it.

In terms of making us feel some sense of trepidation and danger, currently the nurse comes across as a controlling b***h to the point I'm not sure I sympathise with her. I think you could write her as manipulative out of tiredness and duty rather than sadism, and therefore still show his reaction as being honest in terms of his personality, but invite the reader to take a different view of it.

[JP Schay]

That could work.