PSYCHIATRY, RADCLIFFE LUNATIC ASYLUM, OXFORD
I am lying on my back again. This time, I am on a comfortable leather couch. The room's temperature is just about right. The smell of flowers fills the room, which is dimmed except for a faint yellow lamp next to me. I feel tired, but I feel cozy. I think I just woke up from sleeping.
Where am I? Why am I not waking in Einstein's room at Oxford University?
"You realize nothing of what you said makes any sense," a man tells me. I can't see his face, dimmed by a curtain of darkness. I can smell the tobacco from the pipe he is smoking. It has a certain flavor I can't put my hands on. "The Pillar, the Cheshire, the White Queen; you realize they are only characters in a book," he says as the chair he sits on creaks against the parquet floor.
I am too tired to look deeper or stand up. It feels better lying on this couch. Does this place feel familiar? Have I been here before? Why don't I feel the need to resist the man's voice? His voice is soothing, and I like it.
Where am I? Who am I?
"I see you'd prefer silence," the man says. A tinge of pity is lurking in this voice. "Would you like to end this session now?"
My hands are too lazy to move. Was I sedated? Am I being hypnotized? Why is this man saying the Pillar's existence doesn't make sense? Have I not returned to the right time?
"We've reached a great point in your story," the man says. "Usually, patients need to let their imagination go wild." He drags from his pipe. What's that flavor he is smoking? "We encourage patients to let their imagination go wild because, however creative, it always goes too wild and hits against the walls of absurdity." He pauses, and I don't feel the need to speak. How can you speak when you're not sure whom you're speaking to? When you don't know who you are. "Absurdity is good for patients. It makes them start to realize they are hallucinating. Because, frankly, some stories can't be believed, even by the most delusional patients. Like the story you just told me about entering Wonderland through Einstein's room at Oxford University, then trying to save this Gorgon from the Queen of Hearts. A man who has his eyes pop out when he sneezes? You don't really believe this. Do you?"
I feel like I have no mouth, and I want to scream. My arms are still numb. I have no idea where I am or who this man is.
"I'd say we stop the session today," the man says and scribbles something on a paper. The scratching of his pencil is annoying to my ears. "I'll prescribe you a new drug called Lullaby. It will help you let your imagination go even wilder. I need you to stretch your mind as far as you can so you can see and realize how none of this is true. How none of it is but a production of your overactive imagination influenced by a book you read as a child." He pulls the paper out. "I will also tell Waltraud to stop any shock therapy for a while. See you next week?" He sounds like a gentle doctor smiling at me, but I still can't see his face in the dark. "Great." He stands up. I hear footsteps walk out of a nearby door.
I crane my neck to take a look at my numb arms. They aren't numb. Nor is there anything seriously wrong with my arms, except that I am wearing a straitjacket that this time I can't free myself from.