climb too high - part 1 (standard:drama, 5637 words) [1/4] show all parts
Author: snyrt	Added: Dec 27 2001	Views/Reads: 3289/2296	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
the first part of a bit of auto-fiction about a sociopath who takes a wrong turn into drugs after seeking treatment.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

to the left and see a large bed with a blanket made of monkscloth.  I 
love monkscloth since it is what my childhood blankie was made of.  In 
the bed, is Andy and someone else whose face I cannot see.  I crawl 
into bed with my face towards the door.  I close my eyes and fall into 
a deep sleep. 

*               *               * 

I awake in my cell.  The old mattress groans under my shifting weight.  
Pop.  I hear another spring jump free of its fitting and jab me in the 
back.  Perhaps at some point I will decide to complain about it, but 
for now, I'll just have to deal.  The room, as always, is blindingly 
bright.  The barred window lets in an amazing amount of light 
considering its miniscule size.  The whitewashed walls reflect this 
light to magnify it at least tenfold.  I get out of bed and make my way 
to my "closet."  The closet consists of a low bar suspended from the 
wall, securely mounted of course.  I lift my pair of pants off the 
wall.  As I put them on, I remember how uncomfortable the canvas is on 
my legs.  I grab my small, white jacket and proceed to the door.  The 
door is a hollow, metal thing placed within a steel frame with a small 
window to the outside in it.  There is no doorknob on the inside.  Only 
a button which, when pushed, illuminates a light outside my door and 
sounds a beep in the control room.  I press the button. 

I hear a faint beep and wait for the nurse to make her way to my room. 
I feel the rumble of the monstrous door of the control room sliding out 
to allow the nurse to pass.  The one good thing about being here is 
that they let us sleep as much as we want.  I hear the click of the 
black, perfectly shined shoes coming down the hallway.  The sound gets 
louder.  Then I see her.  The nurse has come to let me out.  It is 
Sheila.  She is the nicest nurse here.  She is probably about 
thirty-three years old; old enough to know life, but not too old so 
that she forgets her youth.  The lock clicks and the door proceeds to 
open silently. 

"Hello Henry," she says kindly. 

"Hello Sheila," I reply in the exact same tone. 

"Did you sleep well?" 

"Yes, very well, thank you.  Though, I did have quite a strange dream." 

"Oh really?  I'm sure the doctor will love hearing about it.  You do
know that you have your checkup today, don't you?" 

"Yes, I know.  What time is it again?" 

"The checkup is at ten thirty.  Don't worry about missing it.  I'll get
you from the lounge." 

"Then I guess I'll stay in the lounge until then, though I was quite
looking forward to a morning stroll through the gardens." 

"There will be plenty of time for that after the appointment.  Come
along now."  I follow her down the endless hall of white tile.  On the 
way, I admire her flawless hair.  It is trimmed perfectly to her 
shoulders, with a slight curl to it.  It is brown, but with a bit of 
premature gray coming in.  Her dress is spotless.  It was perfectly 
white and pressed, just the way it is supposed to be worn.  The lounge 
now comes into view.  The massive windows are my only connection to the 
outside world for now.  I'm led into the room.  I look around to see 
the other patients sitting in chairs around the room doing pointless 
tasks, and being totally involved with themselves.  They never talk to 
me, and I never talk to them.  I find myself a nice, comfy, blue chair 
facing the window to the gardens.  I sit down.  I look to the small 
table next to me and pick up a book.  I look at the cover.  It's The 
Catcher in the Rye.  I love this book.  I must have read it a thousand 
times, but I may as well read it again.  I open the book and settle in 
for a couple of hours. 

*	*	* 

At ten twenty-five, Sheila comes back.  "Henry, it's time for your
appointment." 

"Okay."  I get up from my chair and make my way over to her. 

"You know, you've been here a while, you may be allowed to leave soon." 

"No I won't.  Technically it's possible, but it won't happen." 

"Oh well, think whatever you want."  I follow her to another hallway. 
This one is also brightly lit, but not nearly as white.  This is the 
administration and treatment hallway.  The floors here are carpeted in 
a dark green brownish color much like that of a river just offshore.  
We stroll down the hallway until we reach a large, brown door with the 
name Dr. Paul Ericson MD printed on the front.  I open the door.  It  
weighs surprisingly little for its size.  I see the doctor sitting at 
his desk in a large, green, leather chair.  His office is all colored 
in earth tones. 

"Please, Henry, have a seat."  I sit down in a comfortable brown
recliner in front of his desk.  "So, how have things been?" he asks in 
a falsely soft manner. 

"They haven't been very good," I say.  "I can't stand the light.  It
makes me uneasy.  I wish you'd turn off the enormous lights in my room 
at night.  I'm finding it increasingly difficult to sleep." 

"Well Henry, we need to keep those lights on so we can see you." 

"You can see me just fine.  And why do you need to see me?" 

"We want to make sure that you're alright." 

"I would be alright if I could sleep." 

"I'll see what I can do, but I can't promise anything.  How has your
mood been?" 

"I've been feeling lonely.  I find this entire process incredibly
amusing.  You say that my lack of moral and social responsibility is a 
danger to society, and you need to fix it.  Yet, for some reason, 
you've isolated me in an environment where I can never improve my 
social abilities.  I never converse with any of these patients because 
most of them are incapable of speech." 

"We need to isolate you so that you learn that isolation is no fun." 

"You've succeeded at that.  I don't like this loneliness, but you're not
going to let me out, are you?" 

"No, we're not going to let you out, because you're not ready to meet
the outside world." 

"I've always been ready to meet the outside world.  I've never done
anything to deserve this isolation and perpetual light." 

"I'll work on the light, and as for the isolation, I have one thing that
may help." 

"Yes?" 

"You are a patient here, but I will grant you that most people here are
not on your same mental plane.  I have a job opening that I will allow 
you to fill.  It involves working with people.  It may speed your 
recovery.  Come back at four o'clock today and I'll tell you all about 
it.  Don't get me wrong.  You're still a patient and you're still 
subject to all the same rules." 

"Okay, no problem." 

"Now, back to the normal checkup.   Have you had any interesting dreams
lately?" 

"Actually, last night's dream was quite strange."  I tell him all about
the dream.  He says nothing, as if deep in thought.  A few minutes go 
by.  I hear a squeak behind me.  Sheila has just opened the door. 

"Henry, it's time to leave.  Did you have a productive session?" 

"Yes, quite productive, thank you."  I walk outside. 

"Sheila," the doctor says, "can you stay here for a minute, please?" 

"Sure, doctor."  She closes the door and I stand outside.  I hear a bit
of murmuring and I try to make out what they are saying.  Suddenly I 
hear Sheila exclaim under her breath: "You're going to let him do 
what?"  I can tell that they are talking about my new job.  I wish I 
knew what it was that I would be doing. 

Sheila emerges from the room. 

"You're going to report back to the doctor at four this afternoon.  You
have time for a nice stroll through the gardens."  I follow her to the 
lounge. It's only eleven o'clock.  I walk towards the door that 
separates the lounge from a small wooden deck.  No one is on the deck 
today.  The door is stuck in the frame.  It is a wooden door and it 
must have swelled in the humidity.  I shove my knee into the door to 
get it to move.  When it opens, I feel a rush of cool air.  I walk out 
onto the wooden deck. It creaks as I walk over to the opposite corner 
to the stairway.  There are nails popping up from the beams.  The deck 
hasn't been well maintained.  I meander down the sloping steps into a 
small patch of grass surrounded by tall hedgerows.  There is one break 
in the hedgerows through which I pass.  I emerge between two long 
hedgerows.  This maze is supposed to get us to think more clearly, but 
all it does is piss the hell out of me.  Nevertheless, I love to come 
here and reflect upon my time in the hospital.  It has been pretty bad 
here in the past few months, but the worst part is not knowing when 
I'll get to leave.  I have nothing to do here... I have no friends.  I 
have nobody to talk to, which, I guess, is the whole reason I'm here.  
Damn, I think they make sense.  I hate when that happens. 

*               *               * 

"Henry, it's four o' clock... Time for your appointment with Dr.
Ericson," says Sheila in a kind voice. 

"Wow, time really flies when you're lost in a maze." 

"Yes, I suppose it does.  Come on now, we must get you to the doctor's
office."  I follow Sheila out through the hedgerows of the maze, up the 
steps, across the deck and the lounge, and down the administrative 
hallway.  We reach the doctor's office and I enter.  I make my way to 
the recliner.  As I settle back the doctor begins to speak to me. 

"I told you I had a special assignment for you.  Now it's time for you
to find out what it is.  Again, I must stress that this does not mean 
that you are allowed any new privileges.  The only privilege you get 
from this is that you get to interact with people who are closer to 
your mental plane." 

"Okay, okay... I get it.  Now, what's my job?" I ask anxiously. 

"You ready?  Okay.  It seems that while you've been here, you've learned
quite a bit about the human psyche.  I've seen you reading my old 
textbooks when you're out in the lobby.  I've noticed from our sessions 
that though you can't communicate with other people, you are quite good 
at analyzing them." 

"Yeah, so I read your books.  What's my job?" 

"You are going to be a therapist." 

"A what?  You're actually going to let a mental patient try to
straighten people out?  I'm not quite seeing the logic." 

"You're not going to be dealing with truly mentally disturbed people. 
You'll just be dealing with people who are having problems and need to 
talk to someone." 

"Ah, okay.  I can do that.  I love to do that.  When do I start?" 

"In about fifteen minutes." 

"Wow." 

"Yeah, but I think you're ready.  I've got a small room set up down the
hall.  It's pretty small and bare, but I think it will be okay.  I 
haven't had enough money to really furnish it, so all you've got is a 
couple of brown chairs facing each other." 

"I can deal with that.  Who's my first - do I call them patients?" 

"Call them whatever you want." 

"So who's my first... person?" 

"Her name is Danielle Bayless.  I've never worked with her before.  I
just know that she's had some family problems in her life.  Have fun.  
Let me show you to your new office."  He leads me farther down the 
administrative hallway to a small door.  It looks like the door to my 
room, but it's an old, faded shade of dark blue.  The door is heavy.  
The inside isn't well lit.  There is one light in the high ceiling.  
There are two windows that face the gardens.  These give me quite a bit 
of light.  There is a door opposite the one through which I entered.  
There are two leather chairs sitting on the carpeted floor.  I select 
one of the recliners and settle in.  All I can think about it what the 
hell I'm going to do.  I've only helped out friends.  Maybe I should 
just become friends with everybody I treat.  That would work.  I wonder 
about this for fifteen minutes.  I hear a click at the door opposite 
the one I entered.  The door opens slowly and I see a girl.  She is 
about seventeen, five feet seven inches tall, 130 pounds. 

"Hello, my name is Henry.  You must be Danielle." 

"Yep, that's me.  That entrance is mad confusing," she says in a
somewhat humorous voice while motioning over her shoulder to the door 
through which she entered. 

"Really?  I've never been there." 

"You've never been to the entrance of the hospital?" 

"No, I'm afraid I haven't." 

"How'd you get in here then?" 

"Through that door," I say motioning to the door through which I
entered. 

"What's back there?" 

"The administrative hallway of the hospital and the dormitory." 

"You must go through the entrance to leave though." 

"No, I don't leave.  I haven't left in months." 

"Are you a mental case?" 

"Yes, as a matter of fact I am." 

"HOLY SHIT!  THEY STUCK ME IN HERE WITH A FUCKING FRUIT BASKET!" she
screams as she beats on the door that had locked behind her.  Doctor 
Ericson rushes in. 

"Danielle, what's wrong?" he asks in a soothing voice. 

"You shoved me in here with a fucking nutcase!" she said trying to calm
down, but still wired from her outburst. 

"Yes, Henry is a mental patient, but he's not dangerous in any way,
shape, or form.  He's a very nice man.  I assigned him the job of being 
a therapist.  It will help his treatment and he is quite good at 
analyzing people's thoughts.  Will you be okay with him?" 

She begins to calm down, and while still panting and looking at me
uneasily, she replies: "Yes.  I suppose I'll be okay." 

"Okay, well then I'll leave and let you guys get to know each other." 
Danielle settles into the other chair.  She's still uncomfortable, but 
she is calming down. 

"I'm sorry I frightened you.  Let me give you some background on myself.
 My name is Henry Rodriguez.  I'm 16 years old.  I've been in this 
hospital for 7 months now.  I'm in the hospital because they say I'm a 
sociopath.  Do you know what that is?" 

"No." 

"Well, it means that I have little sense of moral or social
responsibility.  It means I like to be withdrawn from the world and 
don't like to communicate with other people.  Since I must communicate 
with you, this is a great controlled environment in which I can 
practice normal social behavior.  Now tell me about yourself." 

"I'm Danielle Michelle Bayless.  I guess I should give you my basic life
story now, shouldn't I?" 

"Yes, that would be nice." 

"Okay.  My mom got pregnant with me when she was 15.  My dad was a drug
addict and so was she.  They got married and stayed together until last 
year when my father died.  My dad used to beat my mom, but she never 
did anything about it.  My mom is still on drugs, but not too many.  
When I was six, my uncle raped my cousin and me.  We never told anyone. 
Well, I guess I never brought it up until now." 

"Painful memory, huh?" 

"Yes, very." 

"I can understand.  I've never been raped, but I've been in helpless
situations before." 

"NO!  You can't understand.  Rape is even worse than a helpless
situation.  You're helpless and you're being violated.  The only thing 
I can think of that may be worse would be Chinese Water Torture." 

"Hmm.  Chinese water torture eh?  Never tried it.  I guess it's bad" 

"Damn straight it's bad!" 

"I know, I know... I'm just messin' around.  I'm trying to lighten the
mood in here a bit." 

"Okay.  Now, what's your story?  Why are you in here?" 

"Well, I guess you could say that I'm depressed.  I was shoved in this
hellhole because I was told I wasn't able to deal with society.    I'd 
spend my entire day sitting in my basement, with the shades closed, in 
the dark, surfing the net.  If I got bored I'd watch TV or go into my 
back room and spin for hours on end.  People would sometimes come over 
to my house.  I don't know why, but I wouldn't want them there.  I just 
couldn't wait for them to leave.  If I went to someone else's house I 
would be okay there, but I'd still want to go home.  I was just not 
able to deal with others.  My doctors decided to put me on some 
anti-depressants and see if that helped.  It helped me be a happier 
sociopath.  They then decided that I was "the quiet one" that always 
ended up snapping and running through his neighborhood with a 
submachine gun.  They were afraid that I would eventually release my 
bottled up anger and kill people.  They shoved me in a mental 
institution where I get even less human interaction.  Most of the 
people here are schizos and don't need any other companionship.  Nobody 
ever talks to me.  I sit here and read all day.  This morning I pointed 
out to Dr. Ericson that they were just making my condition worse by 
isolating me in this way.  He said he had a job for me.  This is the 
job.  I talk to you.  It helps my social skills and I can help you." 

"How are you going to help me?  You're just a random mental patient." 

"I'm bored here, so I always read.  In the first week I went through all
the normal books.  I then started reading Dr. Ericson's old psychology 
books and I've learned quite a bit.  He thinks I'm capable of helping 
you and analyzing your mind." 

"I think it's all a crock of shit.  I'm leaving."  With that last remark
she storms out the door.  This violent mood swing must be one of the 
things with which she needs help.  Dr. Ericson, having heard the 
commotion enters from the other side of the room. 

"What happened?" 

"It seems that Ms. Bayless there doesn't appreciate being counseled by a
mental patient.  Perhaps you should go talk to her." 

"I think I will."  Dr. Ericson runs out the door towards the main
entrance.  I hope he gets her to come back.  After sitting in that 
stupid room for about ten minutes I decide to leave.  I could leave the 
hospital right now.  I see the door to the main entrance.  It's not 
worth it.  I return to the administrative hallway, make my way back to 
the lobby, sit down, and read. 

*	*	* 

A nurse wakes me up.  I'd fallen asleep while reading.  This nurse isn't
Sheila.  Damn.  It's that bitch Victoria.  She's old and fat.  Her gray 
hair is knotted and hangs to her shoulders. 

"Henry, have you eaten today?" 

"No, I'm afraid I haven't.  I must have forgotten all about eating." 

"YOU MUST EAT!  Come, I will get you some gruel.  Since you haven't
eaten all day I will have to give you a double portion." 

"No, really, that's okay.  I'm not hungry.  I didn't burn any calories
today."  The gruel really sucks here.  Sheila hooks me up with 
McDonald's sometimes.  But not this bitch.  I follow her to the corner 
of the lobby between the hallway to my room and the administrative 
hallway.  It is directly opposite the door to the deck.  In the corner 
is the kitchen.  I'm led to the counter where I am handed two bowls of 
gruel by a rather large, cruel looking lady.  HAHA!  I just got that.  
Cruel Gruel.  That's what I should call her.  I grab my steaming bowls 
of gruel and settle back in my seat.  Victoria sits right next to me to 
make sure that I eat all my gruel.  I can see the sun setting over the 
city beyond the gardens.  I wish I could get to that city.  It must be 
glorious to be "normal" and get to eat stuff other than what's given to 
you by Cruel Gruel.  The gruel needs a little salt.  It's too bad that 
we're not allowed to have salt shakers.  They're considered dangerous.  
I have to go back over to Cruel Gruel and have her salt my gruel for 
me.  I walk over to Cruel Gruel. 

"May I have a little salt please?" 

"Are you saying that my gruel isn't good enough for you?  Are you saying
that my gruel needs salt?" she says with rage.  "Fine, here's your 
salt."  She throws a bunch of salt packets at me.  I take one out and 
use half of it on the gruel.  I leave the rest of the salt there on the 
counter.  I walk slowly back to my seat wondering if Cruel Gruel is 
going to throw something at my head.  I sit down.  Victoria is still 
sitting in the seat next to mine.  I sheepishly eat my gruel.  I feel 
uncomfortable being watched while I eat.  After reluctantly swallowing 
two bowls of some of the most disgusting gruel I've ever had, Victoria 
snatches the bowls and spoon away from me. 

"Now you must go to sleep," she commands. 

"But I'm not even tired yet.  Can I take a book with me?" 

"No!  Books rot the brain.  They put images of places you'll never reach
into your head.  They only deepen your depression." 

"Books are the fuel of intelligent thought," I argue. 

"Intelligent thoughts have been had without books." 

"But the only intelligent thoughts that are taken seriously are backed
by books." 

"I refuse to argue.  Go to your dormitory.  You may not take any books
with you."  She grabs me by the arm, turns me away from the view of the 
beautifully lit cityscape, and hauls me to my room.  Once we leave the 
carpeting of the lounge I stop resisting.  The click of her shoes on 
the white tile floor is intimidating.  We reach my room and I enter 
hoping for darkness, but as always, the lights are on.  I settle into 
my bed.  I sit sideways with my back propped up on the wall.  It's time 
to think. 

How the hell did I get here?  What happened?  Why am I stuck in this
crap-ass place?  I wonder how Danielle fared after our little 
"encounter."  I didn't go to the bathroom today.  Is that okay?  Maybe 
Victoria will let me out to go to the bathroom.  Yeah, right.  Why did 
I even consider the possibility  that Victoria would be nice?  I'm 
asking a lot of questions tonight.  I wonder why.  I hate this place.  
I need to get out.  What would happen if I escaped?.  Who would come 
after me?  What would they do to me?  I don't get music here.  What's 
up with that?  I hadn't noticed the lack of music until just now.  Next 
time I see the doctor I'll have to ask about that.  I also miss my 
computer.  Music, my sister, and my cat were all that kept me sane.  My 
cat died, my music was  taken away, I haven't seen or spoken to my 
sister in over eight months, and they wonder why I had to be shoved in 
here.  Okay, enough thinking for tonight.  It's time for some sleep. 

I settle into my lalalalalalalalalalalalalalalala laaaaaa, lalalala. 
Oh, I'm sorry.  I seem to have slipped off there.  I settle into my bed 
and hear more and more springs pop beneath my weight.  I shut my eyes 
trying to block out the blinding persistence of light that tries to 
penetrate my lids.  I see the red glow of blood through my eyelid.  I'm 
used to this color now.  I've gone to sleep looking at it for months 
now.  I wonder what tomorrow will bring; most likely nothing of 
interest. 

*	*	* 

Once again, I awake in my cell.  I've slept in quite a bit.  The sun is
so high that it is not visible through my window.  It must be nearly 
noon.  I walk towards my closet to put on my clothes.  They aren't on 
the rack.  I look down.  I'm still wearing them.  I must have slept in 
them.  I shuffle, still groggy, over to the door and press the button 
to get the nurse down here to let me out for the day.  I feel sick.  
I'm lightheaded.  I steady myself against the door-frame to keep from 
falling down.  I hear the click click click of the nurse's shoes making 
their way towards my room.  The clicking stops.  I look up.  Victoria 
is standing at the door.  Shit.  I don't want to have to deal with her 
again.  I won't tell her that I feel like crap.  She'll just try to 
solve the problem with another double dose from Cruel Gruel. 

"Come on," ordered Victoria. 

"Good morning to you too, Victoria.  Charming as always, I see." 

"Shut up.  If you don't watch out you'll end up in solitary." 

"As if I'm not solitary enough." 

"Just come on.  I'm tired of seeing your ugly face."  I shuffle behind
her with my head towards the floor.  We walk down to the lobby. 

"Do I have any appointments today, Victoria?" 

"No." 

"Okay, good.  I'll be in the gardens if you need me."  I amble over to
the deck, wiping sleep out of my eyes as I go.  I enter the maze and 
venture to some of the paths that are nearly two hundred yards away 
from the building.  As I wander, the lightheadedness returns.  
Everything becomes double.  The shrubbery becomes blurred and begins to 
move.  I find myself stumbling, clutching onto the bushes as I go.  I 
grab wildly for something to support me, but the branches always break. 
 I lose my balance and thrash wildly to regain it.  I grab for anything 
I can find.  Nothing finds my hands.  I land softly on the ground.  
Unhurt, I begin to get up.  I can't get up.  My head feels detached.  I 
feel like the guy in the cold medicine commercial where the medicine 
makes him sleepy and his head turns into a balloon and floats off his 
body.  My head begins to spin.  The dizzying effect overpowers me. 

*	*	* 

I am skiing.  I am on a gentle slope, yet going surprisingly fast.  I
see the towering peak above me.  My friends turn around to ski the 
other way.  I decide not to turn.  I decide that I will take the risky 
slope.  It is hardly inclined and powdery, but I pick up speed rather 
fast.  I know that this is not the best decision I've made in my life.  
I know nothing good can come of this.  I feel a slight rumble under my 
feet.  I must have hit some chunks of ice.  I see a man skiing far 
ahead of me having no trouble on this slope.  The rumble strikes me 
again, only stronger.  I glance back only to see a wall of white 
barreling towards me.  Avalanche.  I'm hit by the wall of snow with a 
surprising force.  I'm tumbled on and on.  I see streaks of white and 
gray flying past my eyes as I fly head over heels through the wrath of 
the avalanche.  After a second that feels like an eternity my body 
comes to rest.  I am buried in the snow.  I see the light from above 
pierce the snow.  I can't be more than a foot under the surface.  I 
don't have the urge to get out. 

My mom's going to kill me.  Everybody will be really mad that I did
this. 

My mind goes blank and my worries all go away.  I'm totally self
absorbed.  I'm experiencing a type of peace that can only be felt once 
in life... At the end. 

What a peaceful way to go. 

I feel no pain.  I feel nothing.  Suffocation isn't as bad as I thought.
 I feel my chest being compressed, but no shortness of breath is 
sensed.  I see doves.  The doves are in my snowy tomb with me.  They 
are watching over me.  Everything fades to black.  Nothing exists.  I 
am at total peace.  No worries, no life.  There is no savior, there is 
no tunnel let alone a light to put at the end.  I am an independent 
entity.  I am nothing, yet I am existence.  Suddenly everything makes 
sense to me.  I am no longer restricted to the confines of a human 
brain.  I comprehend the universe.  I understand everything.  I know 
nothing.  There is nothing else left to do.  I drift.  I drift.  I 
drift in the sea of my subconscious. 


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