Voices

“I have a fear that I’d like to share with the group.” As Walter spoke, every pair of eyes in the small meeting room turned to face him. They expressed a range of reactions, each of them tinged with the usual mild anxiety. No one spoke, which was far from unusual. Walter and the group had been meeting for almost three weeks, since shortly after he first came to the hospital.

There were six of them in the group, including Walter, all seated on dented metal folding chairs in a close circle. Their doctor, Janet Perkins, was part of the circle as well. She was the sixth member, seated directly across from Walter. She was the first to respond.

“Alright, Walter. Please do.” He cleared his throat noisily. It felt tight suddenly, like a vice grip had been attached to his Adam’s apple. He horsed out his words, undeterred.

“My fear, and it may seem like a stupid one, but…whatever. My fear is that no one listens to me. That no matter what I think or feel or have to say, no one really hears it. I came here because I thought I was crazy, that I needed help. What scares me is just that. That no one is going to help me, that on one cares. That’s what I think being crazy means, having no real voice in the world when all you want is to be heard. That’s my fear.”

No one stirred. They all sat with rapt attention devoted to Walter. Several seconds of painful silence slid by before anyone spoke. It was a small woman, who looked young, perhaps in her early twenties. It was difficult to determine her age, or anyone’s age, in that place. They all, apart from the doctor, wore the same neutral-colored, loose-fitting, pajama-like ensemble. Complete with matching slip-on shoes. They also all wore name tags. Hers read “Barbie”. Walter laughed a little at that the first time they met, inside his head.

“We all listen. We all hear. What’s so crazy about that?” Walter smiled sadly and said,

“But who are you people? You don’t really exist in the world, do you? How can you help me?”

“That’s a rude thing to say.” Walter turned to his left to see a round man, with white splotches on his dark face, speaking. “Who are you? You’re in here too, buddy.” His name tag read “Aaron”.

“I’m not trying to offend anyone. I just mean that I don’t feel like I belong here.” The woman next to Aaron spoke. She was a thin reed compared to the man beside her, but she had a wide, pleasant face. It reminded Walter of his grandmother. The woman’s name tag read “Jane”.

“And the rest of us do?” At this, Doctor Perkins interjected,

“Let’s not get upset here. Walter was merely expressing his opinion. You might not agree with it, but it is his opinion.” A couple of grumbles passed among the offended pair, but nothing was really spoken aloud. “Does anyone else have anything they’d like to share today?”

“I don’t exist.” No one was sure where the small voice who had spoken those words had come from. It didn’t fit with the rest of the room. All these people were outspoken, and opinionated. This voice was tiny, and melodic, almost lost among the background noise of the hospital outside the room. The woman seated next to Barbie, shuffled her feet, and stared at the ceiling. She seemed completely oblivious to anything apart from the cracked tiles, and fluorescent lights. Walter turned to see her, as she had said nothing the entire time, in all three weeks of sessions. Until that moment.

“Did you say something?” She dropped her eyes to meet with his. In her hands she held a small strip of fabric, bright red in color. She was slowly twisting it into a corded band, no
more than three inches long. When she spoke again, it was in a low voice, as if her throat had fallen into her chest.

“I don’t exist, not really. I see things happen, and I hear things said, but I’m not a part of any of it. I just want to be forgotten. I never get to sleep anymore.” She never turned away from Walter, she kept her eyes locked with his, and continued to speak, “Please forget me. Let me go away. I don’t want to be here. I want to be nothing like I used to be. Can you do that for me?” Walter looked into her eyes, two green pools which seemed both sad and empty at the same time. He then swept his gaze over the rest of the group. He took his time, studying them all, and they, in turn stared back at him. At last, he told the quiet lady,

“If that’s what you need from me. I can do that. I’ll forget you, if you truly want me to.” She nodded, and went back to gazing at the ceiling. Walter checked the front of her shirt, looking for her name tag, but there was none. He could recall her ever having worn one. He didn’t know her name. Doctor Perkins folded her hands, and looked straight at Walter.

"I think we’ve made some excellent progress today.”

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The janitor at the hospital hated cleaning up in the psychiatric ward. He would tell his wife it was because the patients there made some awful messes. It was more out of fear than disgust that he despised that part of his job. He feared that he might catch whatever it was that made the patients there crazy. He knew it was an irrational fear, but he could not shake the sensation.

He was mopping the floor down by the meeting rooms, late in the afternoon, when he heard voices coming from behind a shut door. He walked across the corridor and paused outside the door, straining to listen. They were muffled, but he could make out a few distinct voices, both male and female. He checked over his clipboard, looking for a scheduled meeting that he might have previously overlooked. The page was empty. There wasn’t supposed to be anyone in there. Probably just some kids, he thought, as he opened the door.

The room was vacant, save for a close circle of dented metal folding chairs and a single man seated in one of them. The man (who wore a name tag reading “Walter”) was leaning forward, as if speaking in confidence with someone. As the janitor watched, he straightened up, staring at the man who had intruded into his room. The janitor simply returned his silent look. He spoke before the seated man,

“Sorry to bother you, but I heard voices coming from in here.” Walter smiled,

“Really? I’d hoped someone was listening.”