by Burn It Fri Apr 22, 2011 12:26 am
OCC- Missing bits of the bio.
Personality: I’ve a weak temper, but nine times out ten I can control it well unless something should spark on a touchy subject. This however, rarely if at all happens as I keep as much personal as I possibly can. I am social though; always open to different things, even if they disagree with my own opinion on something. I see it as a two way street; if I want someone to listen to my ideas and opinions on matters, I have to be open to theirs as well to earn the respect. I rise to any and all challenges, not giving up easily or until I know for certain I can’t accomplish something by any means. My previous superiors used to question a lot of things I did in order to achieve my goals, but were always pleased with the results even if the acts done were frowned upon in most of the professional world. Due to childhood experiences, I also dislike children to the core and avoid working, talking, even thinking about them in general. I try to keep a calm mood during my work hours, and will excuse myself almost instantly if I feel unease or disturbed by anything.
Background: I have an older brother, Randy, who I believe because of me, was tortured and abused as a child for being mentally, and violently ill. I blame myself because I could have stopped it, but chose not to. His asylum is 3000 miles away from the one I’m stationed at, and both my mother and younger sister, Kathleen, live a town over him his asylum. I moved away to start new, and help people like Randy, so that they never have to endure what he did over 13 years ago.
BIC-
Everything was much quieter then I had expected, maddening quiet. I’d half expected there to be patients always about in the lounge rooms where you could faintly here conversations about God knows what. Even if this was the criminally insane unit, communication and socialization was a requirement for proper development and treatment – Keeping even the serial killers behind thick white doors seemed inhumane. The more comfortable in a working society, the better chances a person had of regaining their sanity and morals; at least, those are my beliefs. It was even stranger; not even the nurses mingled to themselves at their desks, flipping back and forth between paperwork, waiting for the next thing to do. The only sound I heard the entire time while waiting for Karl was the rattling of pills inside a bottle, being poured out and likely into a small white cup for distribution.
That being said, when Karl finally did get back to the unit and floor, he was huffing a storm of heavy breaths probably caused half by his rushing back and forth, and his frustration of having to do it in the first place. His face was red, his hands moving at lightening speeds trying to fidget out which key would open the door I’d been standing outside for a good 15 minutes. Finally he stopped, breathed in deeply to compose himself and looked dead at me into my eyes, “Ready?” He asked with a tone of doubt.
“I was ready 20 minutes ago, a patient is a patient.” I answered, handing him back the folder he’d previously handed me. He took it with a stunned expression, probably thinking I should have read something that wouldn’t allow me to be so calm, but nothing special jumped at me.
“All patients are different in diagnosis and cause, you can’t be so broad with it.”
“I didn’t mean it like that, I meant you treat and introduce yourself the same to every patient you approach regardless of what they have done or have for a sickness. Mr,” I paused, opening the file back up while still in his hands and rereading the name, “Widle is no different to me.” He shook his head, as to say my confidence was ridiculous, disgusting even.
“You sound like the others he’s driven off, you know? Just as he is to you, you’ll be no different to him. Try and last longer than a couple weeks, last a month and I’ll be amazed. Also, give no information other than your name, that’s not a suggestion, it’s an order, understood?” The more he spoke about this patient, and the precautions, the more I wanted to get into that room believe it or not. He severally doubted I could handle this patient because others couldn’t, and to that I assumed a challenge, which I was determined to win.
“Understood, can I go in now?” He nodded his head and picked out the key from the ring, opening the door to a dustily bleached white room.
“Ten minutes, then I bring the daily medication.” Karl whispered to me as I walked in. I specifically asked that I be able to talk to him, the patient, not the medically controlled patient. I nodded to him and he shut the door behind me, leaving just I and the patient alone in the room.
“Hello, Mr. Wilde.”