23 October 2003
Subject: Harrison Salnar
I visited the subject today. He was in a raving fit fuelled by psychosis, scratching into his own skin and shouting at his friends 'on the other side'. He appeared to hate them today, unlike yesterday. I had to call security to neutralise his activities; he didn't fight as much as he usually does. It was as though he was weak from fighting earlier in the morning.
His physical doctor, Doctor Sanders diagnosed him with yet another disorder, insomnia. He claimed the subject hadn't slept in at least a week, or rather, he hadn't slept without our knockout drugs. His body, apparently, was failing. He, in other words, had not fought with the invisible voices but rather his body was screaming at his mind for mercy.
There were long gashes in his skin around his neck and collar bones and flashes of the white under his skin were wore visible than usual. He appears not to have gained enough weight to be considered healthy in this aspect as he still refusing most foods.
Subject, Harrison Salnar, is not fit for release any time soon and should not be permitted leave under any circumstances unless his own safety or the safety of others is compromised. Temporary leave is out of the question. Moved to ward 360?
I took one last look at Harrison: the boy was sitting on the cold steel bed, the mattress in shreds and the duvet in ruins. The last suggestion written on the paper made her shiver with a human level of absolute disgust. Ward 360 had not been used in many years. When placed in the room, patients were considered at the point of no return regarding their mental state of mind. The boys skeletal frame hunched over, the shreds of fabric covering his skin exposed layers of blood grime and the prominent bone structure under his skin.
He turned around, writhing in pain and irritation and then directed his gaze towards me, his hollow eyes searching for mercy I could not deliver to him. I was not causing him pain, the pain was in his mind. Yet to him, it seemed so very real. He let his feet fall off the edge of the bed like the floor was an infinity he wold rather witness than keep the grandiose illusion he would get better.
When he was younger, when he had just arrived. There was hope, they became smaller and smaller as the years drifted by. They became smaller and smaller when we became more brutal. Why should I dwell on the past? I questioned my motives. Did I pity the insane little boy, Harrison? However much I did, it did not matter. Harrison Salnar was a lost cause taking up space in a ward for those who weren't.
'Harrison?' I could have called into a void or crevice and it may have been more inviting. 'You're going to move, elsewhere.'
The call of my voice did not phase him, why would it? Did it matter where he was the filthy insanity would always be there.