The Bastard Noose: Red Mist
Entering a mental health ward I was as polite as I could be. Thrown into a world which scared the life out of me I still didn’t feel as badly off as the poor guys I shared an 18 room ward with. I definitely wasn’t dangerous, but one incident made me lose it to the point I’d have genuinely killed a man.
The thing with nut nut* units is that we/they are they unstable, combustible. You have seriously unwell people as well as a sliding doors of men on the precipice of prison, waiting to be given the OK to leave and those headed the other way. I liked many of these, but geezers on their way inside who aren’t optimised for society were harder to empathise with when living with them.
My ward ran into three who caused grief, but to give balance one patient, the first, was a huge man called T who was occasionally astonishingly aggressive but clearly very unwell and it was the illness first and threat of violence second. I eventually learned from my schizophrenic friend J how to somewhat disarm that but I hadn’t been in the ward long and T came in scaring everyone.
I was whimpering like a pussy, then he politely asked me to check his LinkedIn because he “knew the Police”. I liked him, after I’d shat my pants. I was told I look like Harry Potter a few times, but I think to everyone I looked like a copper. Not sure which is worse in that situation, I was to find out later it didn’t matter.
T was a good guy, just a scarily built one whose illness had clearly caused something bad to happen; I don’t know what it was but I hope he is well now, he wasn’t in long. Others who came in did not have his eccentric charm. Or any charm whatsoever.
Some patients who were ready to go home, went home. They were replaced by patients less ready to go home, such is the nature of mental health wards. This destabilised the delicate balance. Men who presented as well or were at least headed that way deteriorated visibly (and audibly) as the newbies ruined what we’d come to call life. It was upsetting, what an ecosystem.
Two other patients on their way to His (Her) Majesty’s Pleasure like T were not so nice and it wasn’t their sickness which made them unattractive. In my opinion. One caused the whole ward to lose their shit, one made me try to hurt him worse than I have anyone ever before.
On remand but sectioned, these two lads were pricks and I’ll wager still are. One I dealt with fairly well, it was everyone else who violently hated him. The other, I’m still not ashamed to say I’d have killed if I wasn’t wrestled off the cunt.
I’m a short but prison pretty guy and it turns out an easy target. Who’d have thought. Nobody tried to fuck me but they did try to fuck with me. That took some adjusting and fighting back became my only option at one point. These two men were exactly the kind of wanna be gangsters I grew up with, which was good for me in a way, because I had practice my whole life in Lewisham.
One on his way through to HMP was only young, but with a snide, slippery threat. He was unwell, we were told, but he was also quite obviously a natural dickhead. Bullying tendencies are not mental health traits, you can be a cock before being unwell.
I’m going to call this lad “The Cock”, because it fits and you’ll never be able to prove me wrong. The entire ward hated him within minutes of his cocksure arrival, most of all J, my imposing but certainly humorous and unhinged best friend on the ward.
The Cock tried veiled threats I’d dealt with by smiling and nodding, but my sympathy completely ran dry when he decided to order me to get him a pen, swearing at me in the process. Nice try little bird. I'm with the cats on this one. I smiled and walked away, proud of my restraint, and basking in schadenfreude because I smelled the air better than him.
I think The Cock took my manners as kindness, which is fine and probably a logical outcome of the fact that he’s such a prick every person he’s ever met has been rude to him- eventually any manners seem like unconditional love. I was sure I would, too, eventually, tell him to fuck off. I did, probably when he wanted it least.
As I went to make tea there was a scuffle. I largely ignored it but then I noticed a long term patient had a mark on his head. He seemed nonchalant. That man might be shorter than me and paranoid as hell but he was in amazing shape and claimed a few times to have studied martial arts. Turned out that wasn't bravado; he landed a great riposte to The Cock’s solar plexus.
The Cock hid in the glass walled sitting room, a caged bird, while the other patients lined up outside, looking in like hungry felines licking their lips. Each with his own reason to tear into him, flared nostrils and glad for their moment. When I say he’d pissed them off, he’d really pissed them off.
He was put to sleep by security when they’d made their way in, and put into the naughty room, where sedation did little to quiet him. The boy could scream 22 hours a day, I even sent a recording of his noise (from my room) to my family**. We all have one skill, his is clearly relentlessly pissing people off. I found out after about three days of his caterwauling from that padded room that J’s private joy was walking past and calling him a cunt. At the time, didn’t have a problem with that. Still don’t, sometimes people need their mirror.
Dressed like something out of a failed Boyz n the Hood audition, The Gangsta had the rudeboy bop, headscarf and rolled up jeans on one leg. He was medium build and messed with everyone he thought he could, in whatever way he thought he could. For all his intended threat he did have the trump card of clearly being unpredictable despite his sartorial choices. Fuck, I looked like Harry Potter or worse Police.
Manners are also helpful at meal times. The lovely guy who served the food I chatted to and said please and thank you, this appeared got me the leftover juice cartons and other little treats. I'd have felt guilty but many of the other guys were so rude to him that I didn't. At all. Queueing decently The Gansta decided to eyeball me then shoulder barge in front of me.
After all the harassment, when he barged past me, sticking his shoulder into mine like an aggressive sixth former in the dinner queue, I lost it. He did it to others, I just seemed to be his favourite. Perhaps it’s my winning smile.
What?
I’ll fucking kill you.
Will you?
I’ll fucking kill you.
At that point I ran at him, grabbed him by the throat and put him on the floor before the nurses ran in and took me off him about to pound the prick. He was dragged away telling me he knows where I live, which to be fair he did: room 8. The red mist had well and truly ruined me, I was so angry I’d have punched though walls, so I went at him again.
Once he was clear of me and with a barrier of staff his confidence grew again, taunting me.
Left to it I’d have ended him, without a doubt, and I know that wouldn’t have been unpopular on the ward. I’d probably have had to leave my room, though. I doubt they let you take your stepdad’s gift of cheese you’ve kept chilled on the window with you to a proper cell. Middle class issues eh.
Once restrained, sedated and calmed I was allowed a cigarette with an escort. He was a young nurse who I liked but didn’t know well. He said “I can’t say this, but you did the right thing.”. The Gangsta never gave anyone any kind of grief after that before he went where he should have been anyway, where I think his attitude might meet him more scary people than me.
Am I ashamed of wanting to hurt that man so much he’d never wake up? No, which probably should be, but put yourself in my position at that point, I didn't care if I lived or died. Sometimes aggression is appropriate. If I ever see trouser leg again I hope he’s as polite as he was after I scared decency back into him.
There are few things I’m proud of in that ward, least of all my being there in the first place, but standing up for myself when I had to, even with violence, not ashamed. Sometimes you need to take drastic action. I still see the fuckery causing the red mist and blind anger in my head.
Does it still make me upset? Yes, weirdly. Would I still rip the throat out of a bully like him? I hope I'd have other ways of stopping it beforehand. I hope . Perhaps The Gangsta is no longer a prick, but I doubt it; you can get better but not change who you are. That’s how it has worked for me, anyway.
*I refer to my affectionate use of this term in earlier entries to The Bastard Noose, in case you think I've lost my mind, which technically I have but you know what I mean.
**Even then I couldn't divulge any patient information other than his screams. I didn't bother to remember The Cock's name.
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