Seeking Asylum

The Second Day

I can't sleep. The first night was eerily calm, but now the halls are filled with the constant crying and yelling of other patients. I tried putting the pillow over my head. I tried wrapping another gown around my head to cover my ears. Nothing worked. I could still hear the yelling.

Occasionally, the female nurse would tell the screaming woman to quiet down and that everything would be alright. The woman is completely mentally absent. She doesn't understand the nurses pleas. There is no use in consoling her. I begin to cry. For whom, I'm not sure.

•

A few hours later, the nurse made her rounds to get everyone up and into the cafeteria for breakfast. She slowly opened my door. "Miss Caroline, are you up?"

"Yes, I'm awake," I roll over to face her.

She sees the bags under my eyes, "Are you alright?" She steps into the room and shuts the door.

"Yes, I just had a rough night. I miss home and I didn't get much sleep with all the noise last night."

"Oh yes, that was miss Angeline. She does that quite often at night," she informs.

"You mean that will be a regular occurrence?" I ask.

"I'm afraid so," she opens the door to leave, "meet the others in the cafeteria for breakfast." She closes the door.

•

I enter the cafeteria by myself. I feel a little embarrassed being in front of everyone after my episode the first day. I wonder if any of them remembered or heard. I grabbed a tray of food and sat at the same table by myself.

I looked around for anyone who might be by themselves. I am desperate for a friend. Anyone to talk to. I am the only one by myself. I feel so alone in this moment. My family hadn't even sent me a telegram. How was that supposed to make me feel?

I wandered to the common area by myself. There was nothing really for one person to do and I felt like I would be intruding if I asked to join one of the other groups. No one even seemed to notice me. I just wanted to be by myself and disappear into the background. I found a couch that was a foot away from the back wall. I moved it forward just enough for my body to fit behind it.

I know it must've looked odd, but it felt better to be in an area away from the others. All I wanted, in the two short days I've been here, was two minutes by myself. The only time we get alone is at night, but even then they're constantly peeping in the door windows to make sure we're asleep. With my newly found secluded spot, I began to finish what they stopped yesterday.

That's when Henry grabbed my arm and yanked me from behind the sofa. One of the other patients was laughing maniacally and pointing to my hiding spot. She had sold me out! "Time for a visit to Dr. Ridgeway," Henry muttered as he dragged me down the hall by my arm.

He opened a door and pushed me into the room. Dr. Ridgeway was sitting behind a desk. The room was absolutely gigantic. Each wall was lined with a bookshelf. There was a fireplace and a spiral staircase leading up to a balcony to reach the books on the shelves near the ceiling.

"Ah, Miss Pendleton! Isn't it nice to see you again," he smiled, but it didn't feel inviting. "What seems to be the problem today?"

"She hid behind a sofa in the common area to abuse herself, sir," Henry answered for me.

"I see. Henry, you may leave us," Dr. Ridgeway ordered him. Henry turned and left, shutting the door behind him. "Usually we let our patients settle in the first week and start therapy the second week, but I must say you are an eager one, Miss Pendleton."

"WillI be taken to hydrotherapy again?" I asked, hoping that's all it would be.

"No, no. You'll just sit and have a talk with me about what seems to be the matter and we'll decide on your treatment from there. Sound good?" He patted a seat and then sat in the chair across from it.

I sat in the chair he patted, "What exactly will we talk about?"

"Your addiction, of course," he said nonchalantly.

"My addiction?"

"Your self abuse, Miss Pendleton," he scribbled some notes down on my chart.

"Why do you people keep referring to it as 'self abuse'? It's harmless masturbation; the farthest thing from abuse."

"That's where you're incorrect. If one abuses themselves too often, it can lead to insanity," Dr. Ridgeway seems proud of himself.

"Please tell me, Doctor, when has this ever happened?" I was waiting to hear his bogus argument.

"Fortunately, it hasn't happened in my hospital because we've been able to rehabilitate everyone before it got to that point."

"Ah, is that so?" I reply sarcastically.

"Do you know what your addiction is, Miss Pendleton? I, the doctor, am willing to inform and rehabilitate you," he was growing annoyed at my mockery of his education.

"I'm anxiously awaiting your diagnosis," I said, mostly sarcastically. If I was honest with myself, I was hoping he was right and could help me.

"You have a sexual addiction; a hyper-sexual disorder," he watched for my reaction.

"I can see how you would arrive at that conclusion, but I don't think I desire sex more than anyone else in this hospital. I'm just immodest about it," I counter.

"That is one of the symptoms of sexual addiction: open about one's sexuality, risky sexual behavior, many partners. Tell me, how many partners have you had?" He asks condescendingly.

"Two," I stand to walk out of the room.

"Henry! John!" Dr. Ridgeway calls for his henchmen.