Nervous Breakdown

As I write this, my partner-in-crime, My Girl Friday, Sarah “Plain” Jane is tying together the corners of hospital bed sheets. With that rope, we are going to climb down the wall outside of this psych ward window. After all that we have been through, if her family is still alive, I can report to them that she is in good condition. I cannot say the same for myself. She has been rehabilitating me back to health, with thanks also to the hospital facilities. I am Professor Sam Burnett. I am in a wheelchair, and she has helped me gain the strength and will to run. So that we can escape from those who crave flesh, we leave in 24 hours.

There was a time when only a former hospital nurse, a zombie, we have named The Growling Man, guarded the door outside the ward. Now, the herds of zombies that have passed Immemorial Hospital where we hide, have left strays who get stuck in the hospital revolving door. Even though they have limited range of movement, they have no intellect, they will not break the glass with tools or arms. However, the pressure from the crowd of Growling’s new cohorts is pushing up against the glass window on the door, that once opened only remotely from the nurse’s station. The glass is cracking. Our barricade will soon collapse, and we must escape.

Sarah is in tears and is afraid, so I will be as brief as I can.

For my entire life, I have suffered from paranoid schizophrenia. One year ago, my nightmares grew worse. A new experimental treatment for schizophrenia called Entitral was not helping. I had an overwhelming palpable feeling of irrational fear. I was an engineering professor, working at a community college research lab. The anxiety and irrational fears I normally felt turned into an unshakeable feeling I was someone was watching me.

My campus email account was hacked. My own investigation found the source: a Canadian militia that was linked to phishing and online trolling for personal information. I snuck out of the back door in the middle of a late-night faculty dinner. I did not realize until I was on the Greyhound bus that I still had my brown ceramic plate still in my hand and deviled-egg I wrapped in paper in my pocket. The headlights of the bus beamed, making the rest of the passengers into silhouettes.

In the City of San Pablo, there was a sagebrush sitting atop slush and snow, across from a car dealership, whose lights still shown bright. My wet feet made it to a motel. Being on the run from a Canadian troll farm, I knew I had to save money, so the price of the motel was too high. The nice clerk did allow me to have coffee and look at the phone book. The only phone book entry was John Doe 575-666-6666. Meaning, it was a thick phonebook, but every entry was the same. On the motel lobby TV was Meryl Streep in “The French Lieutenant’s Woman.”

San Pablo was the home of the main campus of the SPU (San Pablo University) System where I taught and my destination for this trip: the local office of the FBI. I called the FBI office, they were closed until Monday, the clerk said tonight was Friday. I tried again on a pay phone. The night was too cold, and the ground was too icy to sleep outside, so I called the police.

A handsome Black police officer calmly listened to my story about the Canadian troll farm, put me in the back of his squad car and took me to the hospital. He ignored me when I told him about a reward for information leading to the capture of the militia, maybe because he did not want to take a bribe. I do not remember his name. I hope he survived.

At the hospital, I was seen by a Dr. Edwards, who I told about the shapes moving in the darkness and the impending gloom of the Canadian Militia, a growing terrorist threat. He re- diagnosed my schizophrenia and was to admit me into the Immemorial Hospital psychiatric ward. After taking prescribed anti-psychotic medication, I fell asleep in the ER.

I gained consciousness. The room was dark. The drug made me drowsy beyond clarity. I was introduced to the other occupants. There was Christopher, a curly haired and lean Jew. You could see the nipples of Catherine (“Call me Kate”) through her white tunic as she sat prostate on a chair. Catherine was rebellious, with straight black hair and egg-shell white skin. The slash marks and bandages from suicide attempts were apparent. There was Daniel (A.K.A. DANEMITE) and Costello, an all-white hip-hop duo. Dan was blonde and with pockmarks on his face – Costello was a shorter and capable sidekick. There was the very energetic Sarah, who I later came to call My Girl Friday after introducing her to the novel Robinson Crusoe. Lastly, there was a buxom, brunette bombshell named Melanie Lord. They were all students at San Pablo University, who attempted suicide. I was here for treatment for a nervous breakdown.

Part 1: Relationship Politics

The next morning was as typical as any in the ward. I was in a hospital gown. Sarah sat next to me at and next to Chris, who was underneath the TV that was next to a high row of windows that routinely lit the room. Beyond Sarah was our window and next to that was a rolling table of diagnostic equipment, medical cabinets, and a medical supply shelf. Across from me at the table and a little but away was Kate, her legs folded or prostate in her seat. Next to her was Dina and then across from Sarah, in every way was Melanie. Dan and Costello sat at the other end of the table. The TV, when it was on, showed Daytime TV like “The Price is Right.”

Melanie was alluring and the typical definition of beautiful. She had long black hair, symmetrical features, and she was curvy. One thing you would notice about Melanie (if she were still alive) is that she WAS a gorgeous brunette, but her infant-like skin and Michelin-man physique contradicted her dominant beauty. When I told everyone my story, she revealed that she was Canadian. She and Kate were both attractive. However, as a bombshell, Melanie was downright arousing. Routinely, we told our stories of Gen-X despond and our mutual and unshakeable feelings of suicide. Sometimes, our talks were supervised by Dr. Edwards or one of the nurses. Every day, it was sausage and egg on a muffin, then a cheeseburger or fish for dinner (I usually had a cheeseburger.) After I ate my hospital food, I was administered an anti-psychotic medication, either intravenous or by pill, that always left me with a slight slur and my movements were slowed.

Our group’s first (and only) major argument concerned sexual politics and manners, specifically regarding my relationship with Melanie. There is always tension between Melanie and members of the group, for varied reasons. I asked Sarah in confidence, what was the source of their tension, and she said that it is not because Melanie is a gorgeous woman and Sarah is like a white Mr. Potato Head. Sarah said that it is because Melanie is diffident and snotty in every way. I did, however, have Sarah’s blessing to have sex with Melanie. The conflict between them being personal, Melanie and I sneaked into the shower room.

If this letter is found and there are missing pages, I must tell you in advance that Melanie is the villain of our story. If our argument was documented as in a case study, our argument came in three successive parts. In part one, the group pressured us to grow closer, to let loose the clique and class separation of Gen-X sexual politics and have an unbridled love affair. In part 2, the group began to oppose and even tried to call timeout, stop the clock, or even rewind her growing intimations about raping me. After revealing the secret of this place, In the third stanza of the conflict, her disposition spiraled into an evil that opened the gates of hell for us all.

Danemite led the call for Melanie and me to hook up, to the point where he was a touch caustic about it. He argued that she is a high-class college student and that in the 21st Century, men and women must discard the walls that separate them, Kate and Christopher believed that as long as she is not “frigid”, we could have a deep and meaningful relationship, our marriage could give hope to them all. Sarah disagreed and spoke aloud about her condescending attitude toward her.

I listened to both sides while Melanie and I made eye contact.

Part 2: Melanie: Psycho Without a Cause

Soon, to everyone’s surprise, Melanie’s perspective weaved into the conversation callous and horrifying hints and threats about how her goal is to have me by any means she can. That was her condition. With people having group therapy chats about unconditional love, she broke the quotidian banter with threats of violence against me. As cold as an icicle, her version of the courtship ritual was “I will be able to fuck him whenever I want to. He should never leave the house or speak to anyone without my permission.” One night, while having sex, she violently pressed her elbow into my neck, choking me, while she chuckled and focused in.

Sarah’s response to Melanie was to cry and to privately ask me to stop seeing her. Kate snuck into my shower when I was alone one night, lowered her pants and said, “I am sorry.” She wept and had difficulty maintaining her balance, heartbroken, as she gave herself to me.

The hospital staff, as they heard Melanie’s outlandish threats and growing obnoxious melodrama, unexpectedly enabled her, then afraid of her, like she was the all-powerful boy from “The Twilight Zone.” Daniel was becoming emotional and enraged, and he started to say things to her like, “what does this mean for your status at the University?” With that question, Dr. Edwards felt it was a cue for him to fetch a stack of folders. The doctors, staff, and patients of Immemorial Psychiatric Ward, in which they revealed that none of the students here are actual psychiatric patients. When I fell asleep the night of my arrival, they recognized me as the promising young engineer from the satellite campus with new laser weapons technology that was making waves in print and magazines. They were all the crème-de-la-crème of SPU, here to get to know me. Dr. Edwards said, “To… I am sorry - spy on the wunderkind.” Dr. Edwards gave me their college papers and transcripts, putting Melanie’s on top.

I peered at Kate, “Your whole ‘Girl, interrupted’ routine was a lie?”

“Yes and no. And, as you can see, you and Melanie are not just about female power.”

Dr. Edwards interrupted with a smile, “You will review these. She wants to have sex with you again. We want her to. She is our star. With a little more transparency, you will.” Her papers were the basis for the anti-depressant/anti-psychotic drug Entitral. I stayed up late “to read them,” as everyone fell asleep, I had a barrier in the lock of the remote-controlled door. Sarah and I sneaked into the hospital to grab weapons. She found a heavy metal frying pan, and I found chemicals to create a superconductor and LED bulbs. With the heart defibrillator in our room, we used the LED bulbs and superconductor to construct a laser. I read her papers and fell asleep, to Sarah’s sobs.

The next day’s meeting was after my morning breakfast. I took my pill, given to me by the nurse. “Remember, no one will be granted release from the ward until this is all cleared up. Okay Professor, what do you think?” Dr. Edwards moderated.

I began, “Melanie- “.

“Yes, slave- “, Melanie sinisterly intoned.

“Your paper has experimental and revolutionary ideas. Lecture me on this.”

“I did not write any of it. My parents wrote it….” Suddenly, as she was speaking blood started gushing from my nose and I fell out of my chair. Now maniacal, she screamed, “None of that shit even MATTERS to me unless you are MINE! Samuel, I love you.”

A choir of hospital staff screamed “Melanie, PLEASE!” – Dizzy, in shock, shaking, and cold, my legs were buckling and the blood dripping onto my hands and hospital gown. With whatever strength I had left, I ran into the other room. Crazed, she chased after me, grabbed a medical instrument tray and slammed it against my head.

“MINE!” she screamed. Sarah quickly brandished the frying pan from beneath her bed. Before I passed out, I heard the loud ringing of the metal pan and Melanie’s skull cracking. All the patients were in a rage at the doctors. She was an important person at this hospital and university. Our union meant to them the wedding of a Duke to a Princess, now, all of that was in jeopardy. Becoming conscious again, Sarah and Kate were in tears on each of my shoulders. I could hear the doctors tell an FBI Agent that the drug I was a new drug, created by Melanie, she called a “Love Potion. One side effect is paralysis.,” they said.

Ironically, I did feel like I was in love with Melanie, but the feeling felt manufactured. “She is good for something,” I thought. I could not move my lower extremities. Before they left, the FBI put their notepads in their jacket pockets. Danemite was dynamite – if the fuse had burned to its end. He exploded with rage, blamed me, called me a liar, and demanded to be the test subject for the love potion. He wanted to prove it perfectly safe.

Part 3: In Different Directions

The nurse brought it to him, along with the usual cup of water. “Bullshit, she is every bit as great as you are Sam. I will show you. Just give her time.” Daniel swallowed the pill and drank the water. He gulped as if drunk and his eyes dilated and fixed. His body turned the color of rigor-mortis, and he was shaking violently where he stood. Costello reached out to help him. Daniel turned, opened his mouth, and his teeth ripped a chunk out of Costello’s neck. Blood spurted everywhere like a faucet. Dr. Edwards was next to be bitten on by Dan, now a zombie. I beckoned Sarah to arm herself with the laser I had built.

Blood flow: five of the people were dead, three were now zombies: snarling, fidgeting, and coming toward us in a stumbling, bloody, and rage-fueled march.

“Sarah… shoot.,” I said.

She used the defibrillator button as I taught her and it activated the LED laser, which sent an electrified red beam of light that stilled the zombies AND made them spontaneously combust in place, disintegrate, and collapse in a puddle of blood and dust. As the smoke cleared, Sarah reared back and nearly dropped the laser rifle as she put it on the cart. She then choked up with tears again and guarded me. Kate, horrified, kissed me on the lips “I love you” then ran across the charred and bloody body parts/bodies on the floor, before running down the hall to the stairs.

“Listen carefully Sarah, Melanie is with the militia that was spying on me. It is a set-up. If she comes back, I need you to shoot her. Kill her. Okay?” My Girl Friday nodded, in tears and understanding. A nurse walked Melanie slowly back into the ward, with her arm. Melanie had a bandage around her skull, blood bleeding through.

“Sam, dear. The results of the clinical trial? You love me, right? I love you, my love. We can be married and be together forever.” Her eyes turned to Sarah, who held the laser rifle.

“And you SARAH!!!,” she screeched, “Get away from him you BITCH!!!” - the whirring of the laser, drowned and joined the last consonance at the end of the word bitch. The laser’s reddish glow shocked her and threw her across the room, but the laser got to the other side of the room first because it cut a giant hole in her. Sarah wobbled and dropped the laser. Melanie licked her bloodied hand and chewed spastically on the nurse who ran over to help her.

I watched the Canadian militia outside the window, gathering outside the hospital, and marching in step into the hospital. Sarah wheeled me in a wheelchair to a closet where we could hide. Hours after the militia carted Melanie away, Sarah emerged, the militia was gone.

Over the next days and weeks Melanie’s drug called Entitral began spreading the zombie virus. At first, the CDC evacuated residents of San Pablo by leaking through the media a cover story about a nuclear waste transport spill. The radio and TV said that the Canadians were assisting with the clean-up effort. In any case, we needed to hide from them in the ward. We prayed for the safety and survival of her family. Why did I not get sick?

As the zombie outbreak preempted the CDC’s initial cover story, military tanks, jeeps, and tents were overrun with zombies. Sarah hurried her efforts to get food and supplies from the hospital. That was when she gathered the bed sheets.

Our first new neighbor was the tall and lumbering zombie nurse who was stuck in the hallway by the nurse’s station. As Sarah helped me take baby steps in a walk between rails, my eyes often darted forward, whenever he wandered, and he bumped into the barricaded door. Sometimes, I stared at the door all night with my hand on our laser.

The media, while there still was one, said that there was a transport truck accident that caused a leak and massive spill of nuclear waste. We saw people with Hazmat suits and trucks marked CDC destroyed in the distance. The sound of the growling zombies filling the hall is getting louder, shattered glass. I can run, let us hope. We have our supplies packed. We will climb down to a roof on a level below and again to the ground, at sunrise.