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Conspiracy of the disinclined

[Conspiracy of the Disinclined, 773 words, Genre: Mental Health]

* Image courtesy of Dirk de Bruyn

He was instituted into the psychiatric profession, that was, he was a patient. Sporadically the clinical staff would come to visit him at his home. They had him on one medication and then another, all to control the distortions that occurred within his mind. His mind was always in flux, thinking about one thing and then another. Always jumping from one topic to another subject, to a higher and then lesser degree.

Keith did not know exactly what to make of it. All of these problems that were occurring within his mind. He did not know if it was the initial drugs that they had him on, or whether the problems that occurred within his mind were because of his initial spout of drug abuse. Whatever it was, Keith did his best to contain himself. Always containing himself, always keeping a tab on his own mind. Never hurting others in a physical sense, but every so often his mind would break free of the containment that he had enclosed it in and he would throw verbal abuse onto those around him. It was not as if he could help these things. It was just that his mind would convulse in roes of anger and malice, and he would eject his feelings on those that were closest to him. Yes, there were anger issues. Was he capable of any other tasks? Hardly.

And so for most of his time he would sit on the couch. With thoughts of an abstract nature filtering through his mind, filtering and fermenting. Creating a wide rainbow of coloured thought of different subjects and variety. He would find himself in fits of laughter that would defeat the purpose of a sane mind. And the purpose of a sane mind is to keep control, to hold on to the groundings of reality. The groundings of reality were certainly lost as his mind contracted and expanded. Like a living, breathing organism. It would breath in, expanding, and then breathe out, deflating. Like a sea sponge, breathing in life and breathing out. It would always do these things. These things, what things? The expansion and protraction of a universe all contained within the filaments of his mind.

And the psychiatric staff would come to his home. They would come to his home to sedate him. Sedate him with different anti-psychotics, opioids and sedatives. He was the nervous type, but when situations occurred, he was there to handle them assertively.

The psychiatric staff would prescribe him different medications. All of which he would take. It came to a point where, after a while, he was beyond redemption. Beyond all points of a figurative and contemplative mind. He was just that… Lost in his own pathways of thought.

And so the psychiatric staff determined, in Keith’s mind, that Keith needed to be sedated, permanently. They prescribed him medication that would knock him out. At first he took it for the benefit of his own health. But over time he was slowly awakening to the reality of the world. And the reality was that those that were unfit for work would be taken out of life’s equation with a lethal dose of prescription drugs. It was the most humane way to carry out these things, Keith thought. And so he got lost in the paranoia of it all.

He lay in bed with the drugs slowly taking effect. Sending him into a comatose state. And once asleep, he would be asleep for a series of sixteen hours. He lay there in bed, consciousness slipping. It felt like life slipping away from his fingertips.

The next day he was awoken by a knock on the door of his apartment. Drugged up, he got out of bed and opened the door. He didn’t know if he was dead or what. It felt as if he were dead. With all the drugs flowing through his system, it certainly felt that way. At the door was his attending psychiatric nurse.

“Are you trying to kill me?” Keith asked the psychiatric nurse.

“What!? No, we’re trying to help you.”

“It feels like you’re trying to kill me.”

“I can assure you Keith. We are doing no such thing. We’re just trying to help you.”

“Then, why the hell do these drugs, you’ve given me knock me about the way they do?”

“That’s what they’re meant to do. They won’t kill you. They’ll just knock you about sometimes.”

“Okay… I still don’t trust you, you bastard.”

“Just keep on taking the meds.” And after the check-in period the psychiatric nurse went to visit other patients and Keith went back to sleep.

 

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