Delta40
07-06-2011, 11:56 PM
Kenny couldn't remember the blackout. 'You stupid f uck!' he'd shout. 'Why else do ya think they're called blackouts?' Kenny was a logical, thinking man and the poor bugger getting some sense pummelled into him heartily agreed.
When he woke, Kenny was on a gurney. The bright, white lights of the hospital flashed past and told him that something bad had happened again. He tried to clear the fog from his mind but all he could take in was a distant voice sounding like it was coming from a toilet barking, 'BP 165 over 145'.
Kenny thought, 'Stuff this.' and passed out.
The next time he was conscious of his own existence was at breakfast at Alms House Psychiatric Unit where only cereals high in fibre were supplied. He chose the soggy wholemeal toast with melted butter pats and various jams and one plastic cup of tea. Kenny helped himself to as much toast and spread as he could fit in his mouth. He realised where he was when he read the embroidered letters AHPU on the daggy blue pyjamas. While the faces were unfamiliar, the surroundings were not. He grunted on his porridge as he remembered the last time he was here as a guest.
Crazy doctors loved nothing better than to pump him full of pills and explain why they were giving him a legal trip. He was always classified as voluntary and could go whenever he chose. Kenny found a week was the standard stay for him before the outside world called him back. At that point he'd say thanks but no thanks and go on his merry way, despite the urgings of doctors to remain and keep taking the pills they were meting out like lollies.
'They have mood stabilizing properties Kenny and they will help you to be, shall we say, less volatile?' Kenny didn't give a hoot. They were happy to hand them out and he took them willingly until it was time to leave. Alms House let him use the gym, cooked all his meals and prescribed free psychotropic drugs. 'Gotta love the government,' laughed Kenny as the sun seemed to shine on his breakfast.
The only negative in all this was the talking and lack of personal space. In another lifetime if anyone said 'personal space' to Kenny, he would have called them a fat f ucking poof and stomped them into the ground but these days, for every time he found himself at Alms House, personal space was fast shaping itself into a reality. By mid morning on his first day, Kenny was booked in for an appointment with three different doctors to assess him from the length of his nose hairs to the size of his feet. The psychologist would be the biggest space taker though.
Kenny had not considered how important space was. He lived in a men's refuge on and off and even then he somehow missed its meaning. The cross legged psychologist asked him if not recognizing the significance of personal space could actually be part of Kenny's troubles.
'Maybe Doc. I dunno to be honest. Some folk just really piss me off and before I know it, Bam! I go off me trolley. Honest to God! I just don't know what happens once the lights go out.'
The psychologist made a few notes on the clipboard in his lap. 'Have you always had blackouts or would you say it is something more recent?'
Kenny made the effort. After all, lunch wasn't all that far away. 'I reckon most of me life Doc. My old man was a violent bastard and when he drank, he used to tie me to the backyard gate and beat the crap out of me.' The ensuing silence convinced Kenny he'd given a full explanation but when the psychologist continued to wait, as if expecting more detail, time stood still in the office and Kenny's mind flashed back to 1968.
It was always on a Saturday night when his Dad staggered in cursing everything and everyone. His mother leapt about the kitchen like she was on a high wire. His Dad slumped at the table, cracking his knuckles one by one growling 'C'mon woman. I ain't got all day.' A steaming hot cup of black coffee, a hearty bowl of homemade pea and ham soup and finally a crusty chunk of bread appeared as quickly before him as any good man could ask. His Dad drank in the meal before him with venomous hatred. Young Kenny kept his eyes down at the other end of the table, nervously rolling his Tonka truck back and forth.
'Where was your mother when your father would beat you?' Kenny got really mad then. He flushed right to the roots with unbridled anger.
'Don't you bring my f ucking Mother into this ok? She never lay a hand on me in all her years. My Dad was the arsehole, not her!' His heart pounded. Rather like the fearful pounding when his Dad smashed the soup bowl against the wall screaming, 'Can't a man get a decent meal in his own home?'
Kenny sat rigid in the doctors office, watching those ham chunks slide down the wall over and over again. He remembered how loudly the wheels of his truck squeaked as he tried to concentrate on being invisible. His Dad roared his name and a jet of bile rose in his throat.
'Kenny!' He snapped back to meet the psychologists questioning look. Relieved yet terrified, Kenny did not want to be in the office as desperately as he did not want to be around when his Dad grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and dragged him outside. He needed to piss badly and prayed the session would come to a close.
'Are we nearly done Doc? All this talk is making me kinda hungry!' He laughed nervously, fidgeting in his chair. The psychologist smiled reassuringly and Kenny felt a bit more at ease.
'I understand Kenny. Before we finish would you tell me whether your Mother protected you. Did you feel safer when she was nearby?'
For a while it seemed like hours had passed. Some interval definitely came and went. Another blackout maybe. Next thing Kenny knew, he was standing in line for lunch but this time he was in green pyjamas. The tea lady snapped, 'Cold meat platter or pea and ham soup?' He stared at the ladle hooked over the bubbling pot of thick mush. Kenny panicked. What had the psychologist asked him? Why had another chunk of his life disappeared leaving him standing there holding a plastic dinner tray? He gazed round the dining room. Nearly everyone was eating the soup.
'Well?' demanded the tea lady impatiently. 'I haven't got all day.'
'I'm not hungry,' he rasped and dropped the tray as he fled toward the exit. The glass doors wouldn't open and Kenny shook them violently, peering past the block letters painted on the front. Finally he stood back, heart pounding all the way back to 1968. That's when he read with childlike terror the words in reverse on the door: DEKCOL DRAW.
When he woke, Kenny was on a gurney. The bright, white lights of the hospital flashed past and told him that something bad had happened again. He tried to clear the fog from his mind but all he could take in was a distant voice sounding like it was coming from a toilet barking, 'BP 165 over 145'.
Kenny thought, 'Stuff this.' and passed out.
The next time he was conscious of his own existence was at breakfast at Alms House Psychiatric Unit where only cereals high in fibre were supplied. He chose the soggy wholemeal toast with melted butter pats and various jams and one plastic cup of tea. Kenny helped himself to as much toast and spread as he could fit in his mouth. He realised where he was when he read the embroidered letters AHPU on the daggy blue pyjamas. While the faces were unfamiliar, the surroundings were not. He grunted on his porridge as he remembered the last time he was here as a guest.
Crazy doctors loved nothing better than to pump him full of pills and explain why they were giving him a legal trip. He was always classified as voluntary and could go whenever he chose. Kenny found a week was the standard stay for him before the outside world called him back. At that point he'd say thanks but no thanks and go on his merry way, despite the urgings of doctors to remain and keep taking the pills they were meting out like lollies.
'They have mood stabilizing properties Kenny and they will help you to be, shall we say, less volatile?' Kenny didn't give a hoot. They were happy to hand them out and he took them willingly until it was time to leave. Alms House let him use the gym, cooked all his meals and prescribed free psychotropic drugs. 'Gotta love the government,' laughed Kenny as the sun seemed to shine on his breakfast.
The only negative in all this was the talking and lack of personal space. In another lifetime if anyone said 'personal space' to Kenny, he would have called them a fat f ucking poof and stomped them into the ground but these days, for every time he found himself at Alms House, personal space was fast shaping itself into a reality. By mid morning on his first day, Kenny was booked in for an appointment with three different doctors to assess him from the length of his nose hairs to the size of his feet. The psychologist would be the biggest space taker though.
Kenny had not considered how important space was. He lived in a men's refuge on and off and even then he somehow missed its meaning. The cross legged psychologist asked him if not recognizing the significance of personal space could actually be part of Kenny's troubles.
'Maybe Doc. I dunno to be honest. Some folk just really piss me off and before I know it, Bam! I go off me trolley. Honest to God! I just don't know what happens once the lights go out.'
The psychologist made a few notes on the clipboard in his lap. 'Have you always had blackouts or would you say it is something more recent?'
Kenny made the effort. After all, lunch wasn't all that far away. 'I reckon most of me life Doc. My old man was a violent bastard and when he drank, he used to tie me to the backyard gate and beat the crap out of me.' The ensuing silence convinced Kenny he'd given a full explanation but when the psychologist continued to wait, as if expecting more detail, time stood still in the office and Kenny's mind flashed back to 1968.
It was always on a Saturday night when his Dad staggered in cursing everything and everyone. His mother leapt about the kitchen like she was on a high wire. His Dad slumped at the table, cracking his knuckles one by one growling 'C'mon woman. I ain't got all day.' A steaming hot cup of black coffee, a hearty bowl of homemade pea and ham soup and finally a crusty chunk of bread appeared as quickly before him as any good man could ask. His Dad drank in the meal before him with venomous hatred. Young Kenny kept his eyes down at the other end of the table, nervously rolling his Tonka truck back and forth.
'Where was your mother when your father would beat you?' Kenny got really mad then. He flushed right to the roots with unbridled anger.
'Don't you bring my f ucking Mother into this ok? She never lay a hand on me in all her years. My Dad was the arsehole, not her!' His heart pounded. Rather like the fearful pounding when his Dad smashed the soup bowl against the wall screaming, 'Can't a man get a decent meal in his own home?'
Kenny sat rigid in the doctors office, watching those ham chunks slide down the wall over and over again. He remembered how loudly the wheels of his truck squeaked as he tried to concentrate on being invisible. His Dad roared his name and a jet of bile rose in his throat.
'Kenny!' He snapped back to meet the psychologists questioning look. Relieved yet terrified, Kenny did not want to be in the office as desperately as he did not want to be around when his Dad grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and dragged him outside. He needed to piss badly and prayed the session would come to a close.
'Are we nearly done Doc? All this talk is making me kinda hungry!' He laughed nervously, fidgeting in his chair. The psychologist smiled reassuringly and Kenny felt a bit more at ease.
'I understand Kenny. Before we finish would you tell me whether your Mother protected you. Did you feel safer when she was nearby?'
For a while it seemed like hours had passed. Some interval definitely came and went. Another blackout maybe. Next thing Kenny knew, he was standing in line for lunch but this time he was in green pyjamas. The tea lady snapped, 'Cold meat platter or pea and ham soup?' He stared at the ladle hooked over the bubbling pot of thick mush. Kenny panicked. What had the psychologist asked him? Why had another chunk of his life disappeared leaving him standing there holding a plastic dinner tray? He gazed round the dining room. Nearly everyone was eating the soup.
'Well?' demanded the tea lady impatiently. 'I haven't got all day.'
'I'm not hungry,' he rasped and dropped the tray as he fled toward the exit. The glass doors wouldn't open and Kenny shook them violently, peering past the block letters painted on the front. Finally he stood back, heart pounding all the way back to 1968. That's when he read with childlike terror the words in reverse on the door: DEKCOL DRAW.