Every Night And The People example essay topic

He surrounded himself with a voice keeping up a running commentary of his each and every move. He often found himself preaching to hallucinations of euphoric dreams in which he believed were true, or about to happen. However, there was one thing he didn't know or care about. This man was confined to a cell for more than twenty-three hours every day.

He ate, drank, slept, and bathed in a twelve-by-twelve padded room. No windows, no mirrors, no carpet. The only objects that co-existed with this man for 95.83 percent of his time on earth was the one-hundred-and-twenty watt light bulb that illuminated the room until 8: 30 exactly every night, the lilac blue pillows that covered the walls, ceiling and floor, and this mans psychotic dream-reality. I am the night custodian at the By berry Mental Institution in Emeryville, Kentucky.

I clean, fix, mop, sweep and polish. However, I am also a cook at the local pub called the White Crow, and an on call doctor at the OLNEY clinic. You name it, I do it. People often think that I don't get much done because they say that I "drift off" too easily. That doesn't bother me too much because the people that I talk to here are all nutcases who are locked in their room's day in and day out. Sometimes when I'm walking around, sweeping or whatever, I'll run into one of the staff members.

They always send me to the broom closet. Don't ask me why, because I don't know. All they ever talk to me about is screws always getting knocked loose. And I swear to Christ, this old place is damn near fall in' down in most places. When I decide to take my lunch break, I'll often talk to the people who are trapped in their rooms most of the time, and they really don't seem to mind. The odd thing is that these people who you would think would be the most cramped up and piss people, are actually some of the calmest persons.

Maybe that's just because they " re pumped up with Wellbutrin and Lithium all day. Or maybe they " re just too wound up in their fantasies or whatever to give a damn. There is one man who I see every day; he has what most doctors would diagnose as Oppositional Defiant Disorder. He's the type of guy who absolutely blows up at people for doing the stupidest things. Suppose somebody dropped a plate in his presence. This man would raise hell, just because he could.

I look at this man, and it doesn't seem like he looks back. I stand in his room sometimes just studying his behavior. Asking to myself what kind of environment would let this man grow up to turn out so goddamn mad at everything. I grew up in a home with an incredibly verbally abusive father and a mother who just went along for the ride. I can't blame my parents for the way I turned out, but I can blame them for the sleepless nights where I found myself so fucking angry at the world. People say that children rebel from their parents, well I am a walking, talking, breathing example of this.

I'm the type of person who analyses pretty much everything that I can see. Analyze and interpret... that's my favorite thing to do when I'm bored at work. I look at my life, and how the actions that I made years ago, whether it was smoking a little pot here and there or being suspended from school for stealing a teacher's grade book and how these situations affect my present view on life. I see many people everyday, some of them foaming from their mouth like a dog without water, while others just sit quietly in their straight-jackets in a corner of their padded cell speaking softly to themselves, pondering aimless questions about their so-called personal lives. I get pretty bored here at work... I mean, this isn't really much of an exciting job.

Excitement here is placing bets on how long people can stay out of their cells without being sent to X unit, or the maximum security wing. X unit is where most of the schizophrenics and REAL nutcases are. That's the area that I generally take care of. I have this thing with people. I don't know what it is. I think its because I'm a little too wrapped up in my job.

My thing is that I really don't get out at all. My job is my life. The blue walls that I see each and every day, the lighting system that lights up the halls each and every night and the people who are always bothering me for something, telling me to do this or do that. This is my life. At this point in time I have no idea where I'm going, or how my life is going to end up. A few nights ago I was in bed pondering many questions...

I was once again analyzing and interpreting my life... why did it seem like my life was going nowhere? How come I see so many people every day and not bother to get closer with any of them? It is almost like I am blocked from advancing myself to get anywhere. It feels like my life is just reoccurrence's. Before I could ponder any more questions or attempt to solve the mysteries that I am made of, the man who came to deliver my medicine arrived at my lilac blue door. And then it all came to me.