White walls.

White doors.

White lights.

White floor.

It was all white. Some grey. Some offtone whites that only a middle-aged wife would wonder which is best, Ivory or Eggshell. It made no difference to me. It washed out into a sterile environment lacking in colour. The only standout furniture was the oak staining on the tables and the green filing cabinet trapped under a metal desk, filled with pale tan folders.

People.

People who are trapped in their minds.

A nurse handed me a pair of scrubs, with a bored expression laying on her face. Her nails stayed long and pristine with her desk job, only interacting with patients twice the whole time they stay. Once in. Once out. She probably doesn't even remember their names. 

The scrubs were white.

White underwear.

White socks.

No shoes for 5 days. 

"You belong here Aleks"

"Alongside the other twisted people"

"They call this being ill, but it's actually just being fucked up. Ha" 

I looked at the white wristband loosely hanging from my wrist. It wasn't much. I was admitted into a psychiatric hospital, but it wasn't much of a hospital. It was a prison in disguise. Trapped with limitation for days, weeks, or months if you're unlucky. Trapped with their lies and false affection. 

Patient name.

Doctor name.

Date of birth.

Date admitted.

Floor number.

Under the floor number had the case of admission. The haunting display. My demons forced to come forward.

Schizophrenic Psychosis Episode. 

The small dorm-styled room was less than you expected. A small bed pushed against a white concrete wall topped with a white blanket and white pillow. A metal sink was screwed on the wall next to the bed, with a small mirror above. The faucet had a locking mechanism. In the corner sat an oak desk, only big enough for your arms to sit almost comfortably. A metal chair under the desk sharing space with a small rubbish bin. On the wall by the door was an oak wardrobe to store the limited amount of personal belongings you could fit into one luggage. You could sit comfortably on the white carpet. 

"Get used to white." 

"Can you stay here for life?" 

"Society isn't for you." 

I sat on the mattress. Processing the amount of white my eyes have taken in so far.

I wonder if I fit here.

Or as bad as the rest.

Looking at the dark red cuts littering my arms was a sign enough. The skin wasn't pure. Wasn't soft or smooth. Now forever tainted with demons.

“Will I get better Friday?”

No reply.

No snarky comment.

No joke.

Nothing.

Silence in my new white room.