The Ward

He looks me in the eyes, pausing. His stare looks concerned, but also strangely evil. Is this how one gets judged in the afterlife? I lived a thousand lives, some of those mine, others alien. All in the past 24 hours. I don't really know how I got where I am, was it hours or days since that car got me here? Do I still have my organs? He is asking me how I ended up here. He is not satisfied with my guesses. The judging stare intensifies. I feel frail and have to hold my head. I've been continuously vomiting for hours, including in that car that got me to this building, where even am I? He asks me if I agree with staying in a mental hospital. I am surprised and say no, I do not. He says okay, I am to be hospitalised involuntarily. I say I disagree, and ask what to do to get home. He says I can be cooperative, that's what I can do to minimise harm to myself. "do you have a boyfriend, or girlfriend?", "do you go to school?", "oh, psychopharmacology you say?", "you seem to be smart and be well aware of what a toxic dose is, isn't that true?" No one knows where I am, my phone is broken and my mother stayed home. Is there even a world outside of this building? As I get back to the abandoned waiting room, where I just spent hours waiting, I am determined. I observe all the doors, observe when they open and how. Half an hour later, I go. I swiftly move to one of those doors, pretending to just walk around. Suddenly two men arrive and grab me by my arms. They talk in a condescending tone, and bring me back to the waiting room. Outside, I can see no one, only something that looks like a garden. Where am I? Is this a prison? Or a building existing in the middle of nothingness, trapping lost souls forever? As I wait for hours, I see a writing on the wall. It describes some motto of a mental hospital. Why? Only after being trapped here for 4 hours, I slowly realize I already am in a mental hospital. I don't understand how I got here, how I could not have been informed, and simply forcibly moved to this place. Finally, some people open one of those doors that I was not able to open, and come to me. They again grab my arms, this time to move me into a car. I am not told why, or where I will be going. After a few minutes, the door opens, and I am held by two people as I am moved by two meters into some door. I continue protesting, and I continue to be ignored. Finally, I am moved upstairs. I am in a room with two young men. One is a schizophrenic Ukrainian, with whom I later have a conversation in Esperanto, the other likely a teenager, with visible burn wounds on his arms. And such, the new life began.