Beep.

A nurse in the 70s watches yet another die.

Beep.

The meaning of the world is music.

Beep.

“Everything is ok, Rosie.”

Beep.

Everything wasn’t ok. Though I barely remember it, I know that I was on a hospital stretcher, heavily sedated (I had begged for it) and was soon to be admitted to a mental health ward on an involuntary treatment order because I was experiencing a psychotic episode. I would be in hospital for 6 weeks.

I had the best recovery that anyone could hope for. Many people never come back from that place. But, even so, recovery was one of the hardest things.

What they don’t tell you about mental health wards (they tell you surprisingly little) is that people are released when they are no longer a danger to themselves or others, not because they’re well.

It took weeks for the episode to abate. I see why people may never come back. Psychosis is not dissimilar to what (I’ve heard) a good acid trip is like. The difference, I suppose is that you enter into psychosis with no tether back to reality. The way back is almost accidental. The reason it would be so easy to not come back is partly because it’s such a beautiful experience and partly because it means coming to terms with the reality: your life has been turned upside down and you have to basically start from scratch.

Well, I came back. And I did start from scratch.

It’s been just over 5 years since then.

A lot can happen in 5 years.