"My Prison-Cure in America", Chapter 8
Adapted from Annemarie Schwarzenbach, by Cleo Varra
Content warning: Involuntary psychiatric commitment
Read previous: #7. Screams of the Ward
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“Most of the time, I seem to be even-tempered and obliging, flexible, and very influenceable. In stark contrast to this is the rage (I can’t call it anything else)— the rebellion, the horror I feel, every morning when I am woken up."
-- 1935: Letter from A.S. to girlfriend Anita Forrer.
***
Bellevue Hospital, New York City-- 1941
Sometimes, despite the heat, you pulled the scratchy wool blanket up to your chin, and rolled tightly in it.
The blanket, even though you got sweaty, was a blessing.
You probably had a fever again. You ached, and even froze a little inside. But falling asleep like that, bedded in sweat, wasn't too bad: the night went by, anyway.
Then the dawn came, leaden and lifeless.
An orderly stood upon your threshold, and watched you through a window on your door.
Sisters in their white robes scurried past you, down the corridor. They carried glass basins in their hands, with syringes and bandages, and nodded: smiling, smiling, in the stiff frames of their neckties.
Outside your cell, you could hear howling, pushed out of hoarse throats involuntarily.
You waited in choked panic, hoping that at some point it would stop.
And while you were still lying there, stretched out under your damp, hot blanket, and trying to collect yourself a little, the courses of footsteps would echo: footsteps, voices, lamentations, angry orders.
Of course there was no use plugging your ears, and there was no escape.
It started as soon as you woke up.
***
During the day, our cell doors would be pushed open. Then all at once, we would rush forward and ask: Is it time? Did a bell ring? Will you bring the food? Will we be breathing deeply, opening our mouths and showing our tongues? --Will we be dragged away, and our shirts be ripped off us?-- Or is it today when the doctors come in?
When the doctors came in, then everybody would fall silent.
All eyes would cling to them— "Doctor, a word", each person would murmur, if they walked past.
And if they would stop, if they would prescribe cough medicine or give a cigarette-- how calm we would be, overflowing with gratitude, and humble, humble, humble.
Sometimes, they asked about your criminal record.
Sometimes they announced the names of specialists, and of treatments.
No matter what they said, you felt empty inside your heart. You weren't allowed to answer, except as they expected, with a yes or no. And if you dared to interject directly, openly, then you would be told this was "not the point". -- And then nobody would listen to you....
***
I suppose the pain of it could subside.
Or you might better learn to endure it.
If only they'd leave you alone....
If only they'd leave you alone....
-- Maybe you would be able to hold this empty heart in your hands. And if you didn't breathe, didn’t speak, and were very careful not to disturb it, maybe then it would not break.
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