A Terrible Mistake (Steve)

Seriously, I hate the psych ward. All I do here is sit and twiddle my thumbs. I can feel my thumbs. This place feels sterile, monochromatic, dead. The nauseating fluorescent lights glare down from the ceiling onto whitewashed walls with curtained rooms. The  A counselor walked the halls waiting for one of us to say something. It's surreal, terrible. A chill ran up my spine. I am alive. Still alive.

Caitlin visited me two days ago. She's doing it out of obligation. These nurses aren't here because they want to be. I can tell from their apathetic sighs. Who thought I was worth saving? Who was it? It must have been Caitlin. Who else would continually ignore my mistakes? I went back to sleep since I had nothing else to do.

A nurse prodded me to ask me how I was doing. I just smiled and nodded as usual. I wanted to be anywhere but here. There was no sweet sound of music. I was cut off from the world. The group therapy sessions were useless because I could not contribute to them. (Thaaaanks, aphasia.) Aside from the reporters invading at random intervals, I had almost no stimulation. Wouldn't it be nice if a creeper could blow this place up?


Whoever decided to save me made a terrible mistake. If you know me because I slayed the Ender Dragon, I just want you to know that I am not that man. I am not the same young, impulsive sword swinger I was last year. I was escorted to yet another ineffective group therapy session that I could not contribute to. I got a different group this time.

I got sneering looks that said things like What are you doing here? from the other mostly middle-aged people. Frankly, I was surprised that people getting treated for heavily stigmatized conditions could be so judgmental. Mallory, a mother of four children, spoke up about how she worked up the guts to get herself here. Her hooded green eyes were inviting and warm. Richard, however, eyed me with suspicion. He said he couldn't trust anyone. Andras, a young college student, kept wringing his hands anxiously. He shrank into the background shamefacedly and spoke shakily. His black hair was messy.

When my turn came, I sputtered trying to find the words. They were on the tip of my tongue. I kept trying. I repressed my tears. I couldn't say anything. The others moved on. Had Kyle ever felt this way at the psych ward? Here I am, a young teacher, just as out of place as a student...again. I hate this place and I want to get out of here, but I'm beginning to like Andras already.