The psych ward was like a revolving stage of personalities—some tragic, some absurd, some terrifying. Over the days, I collected nicknames and mental images of the people I encountered. Here’s a gallery of the ones who stuck with me the most.
Martin – The Weeble. Short, round, scowling—he looked like a watermelon on two legs. Mean, arrogant, thoroughly unpleasant. The first thing he announced when he arrived. Everyone in his last placement hated him. What a surprise. He didn’t take long to make enemies here, either. I called him The Weeble. I always wondered—if I knocked him down, would he wobble back up?
Carol — My first roomie. Wheelchair‑bound with a muscle disorder, living in her own delusional world. A slob, leaving clothes, personal items and papers all over the floor in our room. She slept constantly, and you couldn’t help feeling a pang of sympathy for her. She was trapped not just by her body, but by her mind—and somehow, by the ward itself.
Vicki — The Welcome Wagon. When I wandered down the hall for the first time, a woman cornered me like she’d been waiting for fresh meat. She announced she was giving me a tour of my “new home,” complete with rules, seating charts, and all the things we apparently weren’t allowed to do. For a minute I thought she worked there—until I realized the staff didn’t even have that much enthusiasm.
She carried a notebook everywhere, scribbling in it like she was gathering intel for a coup. She corrected staff, hijacked group sessions, and declared herself a “work in process” so often it felt like a threat. She pounced on every new patient the second they crossed the threshold, eager to induct them into whatever fantasy she was running. I avoided her like she was contagious.
Agnes — The Geriatric Old Lady. One of those people who irritated me simply by existing. I couldn’t pin down why—she just did. Maybe it was how impossibly slow she moved, like time bent around her and stalled. Everything she did took forever. Being stuck behind her felt like a personal punishment.
Rus — The Purvey Walker Guy. Tall, frail, squinty‑eyed, tongue hanging out, shuffling around on a walker and sometimes leaving puddles of urine behind. The nurses gave him Depends, but he didn’t always wear them, saying they were uncomfortable. He did things out in the open—things I don’t want to remember, things that should be done in private—which earned him the nickname. And when he got mad? He’d raise that walker over his head and swing it. Once in the lunch line, he yelled “HUNGRY…” and let’s just say everyone stepped back. You learned fast to watch yourself around Russ.
Eileen – Esmeralda. Tiny, confused, like a fairy‑tale witch with long, unkempt gray hair. She wandered in a fog, taking other people’s belongings—especially pillows—and sleeping on the floor. She’d walk up to the men asking them to be her man, oblivious to boundaries. Somehow, the ward let it happen, day after day.
The Gangsta. Never knew his street name. Quiet. Spanish‑speaking. Mostly kept to himself. He spent hours talking to my second roommate, Mama Bear. With his do‑rag and silent presence, he seemed untouchable yet harmless—a strange contrast to the chaos around him.
Mirabell – Mama Bear. My second roommate. Her presence towards me, comforting, enveloping all my unraveled edges. Calm, soft spoken and uncaring about the ward rules of no touching. The few hugs I got from her was like an anchor, willing my mind still for a while.
Richard — “The Cop.” In‑your‑face, no‑nonsense, the kind of guy you avoided if you valued your sanity. His father and brother were cops, but Richard had hugged the other side of the law. “In” for assault and battery, he carried himself with an authority he didn’t need a badge for. I asked him once—politely—if he really was a cop. He laughed, shrugged, and left me both terrified and fascinated
Suzzie — The New Girl. I couldn’t give her a nickname; anything I came up with felt cruel. All I felt was sadness for what had become of her life. She arrived a few days before my discharge, being led down the hall zombie‑like, completely unaware of what was happening. So high on drugs and floating outside reality, she’d sit in the day room staring at nothing, then aimlessly drifting off and drop her shoes, glasses, coat—everything she carried. I’d quietly gather her things and leave them outside her door. Watching her blank stare, I wondered what her story was, what black hole had swallowed her, and whether I’d looked like that on my first day. I’ll never know; my mind erased those hours completely. Maybe I was in my own black hole too.
Sam – An overpowering force in the funny farm. She was involved with my roomie and so difficult to avoid. They had a fling going on, a childish one, but they would write notes to eachother and have me deliver them. It was commical actually. They pulled me into their clique and kept me entertained during the rest of my vacation. It was nice to belong, a rare occurance in my former life. They gave me fantom strenght, a super-hero attitude and I was the one to hang with. Leader of the of the cool gang and I liked the new person wore it like a badge and pushed against the boundries of the place, changing every part of my once timid personality.
Frank – Dear Frank. I started out disliking him. He was loud, very loud Constantly out in pain and . Yelling down the halls like the world was ending. I get it, he was in pain, but did the outside world have to know it too? When not in is room he was always be accompanied by Sam, another member of the chaos crew. They always talked quietly with eachother, just background noise really. Nothing attention grabbing. They sat in the same corner of the day room always laughing and making comments about everything happening within the ward full of crazies. At one point, I heard him state he was a first responder. I job i also had back in one of my past lives. I guess it created a bondd we became friends for the rest of my sentence.
Jenny — The space cadet. The youngest of all of us, she wandered around, unbothered of where she really was. She would go from one patient to the next dropping breadcrumbs. Her current activities like a child sharing their day. She was fun, mildly entertaining. I will always remember the day she yelled down the hall that the nurses left the string in her coat and someone could hurt themselves with it. In the room you could hear a humorless laugh. The kind that only people who had considered an alternative to use the cord would understand.
The Others. There were a handful of others there, unnamed because for the most part they were unremarkable. In the end, they were all just part of the daily rotation — the Chaos Crew, the ward’s unofficial cast of characters, each one unraveling in their own way. I watched them, learned from them, sometimes feared them, and occasionally found pieces of myself in their mess. Maybe that’s the real joke of it all: you walk in thinking you’re the observer, the sane one, the exception… and then one day you catch your reflection in a hallway window and realize you’ve become part of the exhibit too.
Signing off before the doors lock me back in,
K.
Read more about the mess I’ve been trying to survive, →
I'm Still Here. Somehow... 