I never thought I’d be describing clothes as a miracle. I suppose miracle is the wrong word for it really – no God came down and gave me this bundle of bland, mono-coloured fabric, it just appeared in my room by the door. It was there when I woke up, so I guess someone who works in this awful place put it there. Or maybe it was God.

I don’t know anything anymore, so I guess that’s as good a conclusion to come to as any.

I changed before I did anything else. I didn’t even sit on the bed for my usual morning mope about how this situation is the worst isolation I’ve ever experienced in my life – it’s an important part of my time here, honestly. But today it was put to one side so that I could strip off and get into this… I guess you’d call it a uniform. It’s not old-school black and white stripes, or orange, but it does resemble the stuff you see inmates wearing in those documentaries. Pants and a shirt in a weird, pale beige colour, and one set of underwear, which is too tight but I couldn’t give a damn. It’s not drenched in sweat, so it works perfectly for me.

I briefly considered banging on the door for a bit to see if they’d give me a shower too, as they finally appear to be giving my hygiene a second thought, but then I remembered how sore my hands were after the battle for pen and paper and reconsidered.

My old clothes are now in an untidy pile in the corner of the room. Something that has occurred to me, oddly enough, is that the mess feels homely. This place is the opposite of anything I would even remotely consider home, and one part of that has to be the clinical-ness of it. I don’t have any of my belongings to throw around here and there – fuck, I can’t even remember what my belongings are, or if I have any in the first place, but I assume I must have some. Somewhere. Hopefully.

Now, there is mess. There is disorder. It’s almost hope, in a weird way. I’ve humanised this dehumanising mess of a situation, and all it took was having more than one set of clothes. Part of me doesn’t trust them not to come in while I’m sleeping and steal my clothes away, but I guess there’s no point worrying about that too much. If it happens, then it happens. I can’t stop them.

I could use the bundle as a pillow, actually. I’d wake up if they tried to take it and I’d finally have a nice-ish rest for my head at night. Not a bad idea at all.

Hang about – someone’s knocking at the door.

Conversation With The Psychologist Lady

-she knocks, and I don’t bother answering because I know she’ll come in anyway, and then there’s a second of pause, and then she comes in anyway-

Her: How are you doing today, Robin?

Me: Robbie. And better, to be honest, now that I’ve got these new clothes.

Her: I do apologise, on behalf of the facility, for the delay with… that. I want to stress that we don’t see changes of clothes as a privilege, but rather a right, and that we were experiencing a higher intake volume than usual at the time of your arrival, accounting for the delay.

Me: You sound like that bloody voice that rabbits on and on about ‘high volume of callers’ whenever I’m on hold.

Her: Well, I’m glad you’re more comfortable. (ignoring me)

Me: What about showers, then? A toothbrush would be nice too.

Her: Yes, other matters of hygiene will be looked at accordingly.

Me: … you can’t just let me get rotting teeth and stinky pits, lady. Basic self-care is not exactly a ‘privilege’.

Her: The facility takes a different view. Due to the carefully calculated nutritional content in your meals, we don’t foresee poor dental hygiene to be a detrimental issue.

Me: And the showers?

Her: That will be discussed at a later date. Today, I have something much more exciting for you to consider.

Me: Is it a toothbrush?

Her: Please be serious, Robin.

Me: Robbie.

Her: It’s a different privilege that you could gain through co-operation, and I have a clear plan for you to get there. I’m on your side.

Me: Forgive me for being sceptical that the lady who works for the people who locked me up is ‘on my side’.

Her: The facility is running a multi-patient group pre-assessment session, and I’ve suggested that you can be included.

Me: In English?

Her: Several patients, including yourself, will be involved in a group session where you will be asked questions and presented with different scenarios in order to gauge the likelihood of your success upon taking the assessment.

Me: The assessment?

Her: We have spoken about this before. Anyway, it’s an important step towards the assessment, and if you co-operate and show good signs of progress, then we will be able to give you some limited access to that secure outside area that I’ve also mentioned to you.

Me: How the fuck am I meant to show ‘progress’ when I don’t know what’s going on? I don’t even know what I’m meant to be progressing to, or from. I couldn’t do what you wanted me to do even if I fucking tried!

Her: Please, try to calm down. You’ve already been showing great progress by taking the medication that we’ve prescribed for you. This progress isn’t something that you have to ‘try’ to achieve – in fact, it’s more beneficial that you don’t know, so that we can be sure that your responses are genuine.

Me: So if I do your stupid group therapy session, and I show ‘progress’ of whatever I’m meant to be doing here, then I can go outside for a bit?

Her: Essentially, yes. Of course, you’ll also have to be on your best behaviour during the session – no foul language outside of this room.

Me: You don’t half take the fun out of everything, y’know.

-she sighs a bit here, and moves her head in a way that implies she wants to roll her eyes but she can’t because she’s being ‘professional’, or at least that’s what I think she’s doing-

Her: This is not meant to be fun, Robin. This is treatment. This is necessary for the safety of the public, and yourself.

Me: And such a bloody state secret that even I’m not allowed to know what’s going on, yeah, I get it. Alright, fine. Group therapy, here I come.

Her: Excellent. Tomorrow, I’ll bring you the form required as a pre-check for the session, and then I’ll take you to the allocated room.

Me: Just to be clear, there’s a pre-check for the pre-assessment?

Her: Yes. (not finding that funny)

Me: Whatever gets me out of this room, I guess.

Her: Have a good day, Robbie.

Me: Oh, I’ll have a blast, like always.