Monday, 18th January 2016

He stood at the window watching the rain and could feel it beating against the building opposite. He stood inside by the window and felt the outside within him, the drops of dihydrogen monoxide particles clashing with stone and glass and carved statues. How beautiful it all was.

Earlier in the ambulance he kept repeating: "I am a comedian. I am a comedian".

Now a man entered his room with equipment to take his blood pressure.
"It's still a little high, but not too much" the nurse said in broken German-accented English
Later on his girlfriend visited, she had brought his shoes, a change of clothes, and most importantly his glasses.

The man in the bed next to his didn't speak much, apparently he rarely left the room. He breathed deep and heavy and often groaned with what felt like anguish.

It seemed to him like he was controlling the weather, that he was the wind and rain, and how nice it was to be inside in the warm.

Once the doors had closed he felt an instant panic, as if he would finally be found out and never be able to leave. This convinced him that he would have to put on his best act at feigning normality, that actually he wasn't God trapped inside a human form talking to himself through other people but was simply another person having mental problems that could be overcome through admitting a temporary psychotic break.

Getting up for breakfast felt uncomfortable and embarrassing but for the sake of looking sane he decided it was best, to act as though eating and drinking coffee was an everyday occurrence whilst sitting with other caged beings in a private zoo for the unstable. Outside was grey and the morning mist made the river look uninviting. Would he be allowed out, he asked himself.

He hadn't realised that he would be required to attend the morning meeting, being unable to speak German he couldn't understand what the other patients were saying and he feared this would look bad on his release report. Being unable to communicate with others was surely a sign of reduced societal procedures was it not?

"He likes your shirt" said a man of his mid-twenties, referring to his whispering friend.
"He says it reminds him of penguins"
"It stands for war and peace, I think" he replied "it's a dove and a grenade"
At this moment he wished that his girlfriend had picked another t-shirt for him to wear

It was 10:30, the morning had dragged on like a funeral and he was sitting on a chair outside the office.
She announced his name with a question mark

When the doors had opened he wanted to say goodbye to the friends he had quickly made but felt too afraid to in case they suddenly changed their minds and decided that was a crazy thing to do. His roommate had left his room and he felt somewhat pleased with himself, maybe he had helped him in some small way, just by being accepting and saying a few words to him.

The smoking room was the conversation room and this was where he met the man who had been admitted so many times through drug abuse which amounted to self-abuse that he had now been kept in there for a month.
But he had friends that were visiting him today, he said.

The bench by the river was the place where he felt most free. There were empathised and possibly imagined feelings of guilt for being such a short-stayer, that he had somehow betrayed his fellow mates. Why, afterall, should HE be let out? He is obviously just as crazy as we are. Is it because he is English?
But still I was pleased to be outside.

His flight left in 4 days, he would've missed his friends wedding if he hadn't been let out. His girlfriend had been extremely kind to him for leaving the door open, laptops on the kitchen table, no note telling her where he had gone, and for ending up in the hospital. But all that was irrelevant now they had decided one month back that they were going to break up.

The next evening he met one of his best friends as she walked down the steps at Friedrichshain train station.