Writer's Block

By Holly Isaacs

The doctor: What does a doctor at a mental institution do when she has writer's block for her fiction books? She uses her patients as her resources. 

 

The patient: Skylar was a woman with an active imagination and big dreams. She was only researching a paper for her college course when she entered the institution. Now, with each passing day, Skylar loses hope of ever escaping. 

 

The visitor: Scott was an overworked business developer that needed a break.  Books were the closest thing to a vacation he had in years. His biggest dream was to meet his favorite author.  It did, however, come as a surprise that she worked as a doctor at an institution that cared for the mentally ill. 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Holly Isaacs
• Release date: Oct 10, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215690758

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Looking Back and Moving Forward

What had brought her to this moment? There were too many small incidents that she could no longer name them all.

Skylar stared out the window wondering if she would ever again smell the flowers in a garden. What she wouldn’t give to smell fresh lavender or wild honeysuckle. This hell smelled of a mix of antiseptic, medication, sweat, and the ever-present odor of vomit. She noticed these things because there was nothing else to do but sit and categorize everything in her mind. Her schedule was rarely altered. Her medication altered constantly, causing her to lose track of time occasionally but she gained it back by noticing where the nurses and orderlies were and what they were doing. She wouldn’t let them take everything. They had taken too much from her already.

Skylar barely remembered her life before this living nightmare. The sessions with the doctor only jumbled things further in her mind. Dr. Cinfield made her speak of things that caused too many emotions to surface. There were times she cried, and times she would sing, but the worst were the times that made her scream. She no longer trusted herself to know the difference between dreams and reality. Her only hope was to find a way to stop taking the medication that Dr. Cinfield told her was imperative to her recovery. After missing a dose one evening, Skylar realized that it was critical to her sanity to quit taking the drugs and escape.

The biggest issue was that patients were watched when medication was distributed. It wasn’t always possible to slip the medication into a sleeve or hide it in a blanket until the nurse left. One nurse caught her last month trying to skip a dose; they switched to giving her shots.

There was a lady that came to visit a patient while Skylar was getting the shots. The lady was nice and spoke with her for a few moments. Skylar tried to respond to the conversation, but she wasn’t even sure the lady was real until the nurse tried to give her a shot, and the woman had seen the needle tracks down her arms and had a fit. Skylar was scared they would try to admit the poor lady the way she was screaming and yelling about patient abuse.

The lady must have said just the right thing because the shots stopped, and the pills started again later that night. A few days later the nice lady took her friend and left. She wished the lady had taken her too.

Skylar’s luck had changed only recently when she found a way to hide the medication from a new nurse. She was growing more determined in her quest for freedom. If she didn’t give herself away, the new nurse may be her best bet to escape.

Outside the window, big puffy white clouds loomed in the sky reminding her of being a child and playing outside. This was a good day. Coherent thoughts meant she could scrutinize her surroundings. She would remember every detail. Some things she would use in her therapy session later today if she could keep from laughing. Maybe she would just laugh and not say anything. A nice hysterical laugh with eyes bulging while staring at nothing might be just what the doctor needed. If she could pull off a good scream it would add to the effect. Then again, maybe she shouldn’t push it. If she overacted the doctor would know something was wrong and adjust her medication again. She knew what to expect from the current medication, if they changed what she was taking it could cause more problems and she would never get out.

Escape! The word kept screaming in her head. Soon! She told the voice. Soon! That part of her mind didn’t want to listen, and it took most of her strength to push the voice to the back of her mind. This was part of the reason she was in this mess. Voices in her head could be put to good use too. The doctor always liked what they had to say. She taped the conversations as if worried she would miss a single word.

Focus! She needed to be able to concentrate and there was still too much medication in her system to consider escaping. She couldn’t walk well enough yet. Dr. Cinfield didn’t like her patients being too mobile. It gave them too much of a chance to escape. If the drugs didn’t slow you down enough, well, an accidental fall could injure you enough to leave a person bedridden for a few days. Practicing in her bathroom each night wasn’t easy. The bathroom was one of the few places without cameras, but it was small. Besides, if she spent too much time in the bathroom, they would check on her. She needed more time. The whole process was frustrating and slow. There were too many chances of getting caught. There had to be a better way.

The chair she now sat in was old. The material was stained and torn, but the cushion had somehow maintained its shape, making it one of the most comfortable chairs in the recreation room. No one else disturbed her when she sat for hours looking out the window. During coherent moments, she noticed which orderlies and nurses showed any hint of kindness. These were the people that might inadvertently provide the needed help to escape.

The patient’s recreation time rotated so you weren’t always with the same people. This was a precautionary measure because fights occurred occasionally. The room was large. Round tables with chairs were provided, along with a few games. Televisions were mounted high on the walls at each end of the room. Nothing with edges so patients couldn’t get hurt. Old, overstuffed couches and chairs sat within viewing distance of the televisions. Skylar’s chair was near a bookshelf that held a few books and old magazines. No one ever read, but it showed guests that they were provided reading material.

The central recreation room was in the middle of the building, just behind the lobby. The location was essential in helping guests overcome their anxieties about leaving their family members in an institution. It also gave patients the perception that they might one day walk out those doors. Skylar knew that her chances were slimmer than most. She didn’t feel she was being dramatic to think that her only option was to escape, or she might die here. She had no one to help her. No one to visit her. No one left who cared.

There were smaller recreation rooms throughout the facility. A little closer to the rooms where a patient could walk on their own if allowed. Skylar had been to a few. Some were themed for children, but she had never seen any children.

The clunking sound of a woman’s shoes echoed through the room. It was almost time for her medication. This was the hard part. She was in the central recreation room today. There was no place to hide the medication here. If she didn’t come up with an idea soon, she would have to take it. Her body shivered at the reminder of the nightmares that would follow if she took the pills. Dr. Cinfield would love the nightmares. She always did.

Think, before it’s too late. Think! She whispered to herself. Time was running out.

Down the road, Scott was having trouble containing his excitement. He needed to concentrate on his driving and quit thinking about the moment when he would meet the women he had been thinking about for so long. He had never seen a picture of her until yesterday. She wasn’t a beautiful woman, average-looking at best. Her angular face and sharp nose took away from her nicely shaped eyes. He would have liked to have known the color of those eyes, but the picture was black and white from a newspaper article a few years old. It was sometime after one of her books was published but the article had nothing to do with the books Scott had read because she used a pen name for those. The article only covered the book she had written about her study in psychiatric disorders.

The pen name for her fiction books was understandable since a psychiatrist would doubtlessly be more interested in being known for her analytical mind, rather than her captivating imagination. Her descriptive words made every story come to life. The fear, the tragedy, and the excitement she created through words. Her books drew a person into a fantastical world with more color and depth than any reality. Scott figured the woman must be some kind of multifaceted puzzle the way she truly mesmerized the mind. He was addicted to her books like an addict was to crack. Every time a new book was released, he was prepared to stand in line for hours just for the chance to purchase it. If there had ever been a book signing, he would have camped out like a teenager trying to get concert tickets to his favorite band. He didn’t know how she had time to write so many books in only a few short years. It amazed him that anyone could do that, but he thought a practicing psychiatrist would have so little time for themselves.

Scott still couldn’t believe he had finally found her. Dr. Felice Cinfield worked with patients at an institution in a small town. The woman was more than everyone thought. He was half in love with her already just from reading her books, which he knew wasn’t rational. It was pure luck that Bridget, his assistant, had figured out her real name. Bridget’s boyfriend worked for a publishing company. She happened to mention his fascination with the books and her boyfriend let the author's real name slip during the conversation. Bridget picked up on it but didn’t let her boyfriend know what he had done. Bridget was due for a raise as far as he was concerned.

Scott pulled into the parking lot. The building was old red brick with a main central area. A wing could be seen on each side coming off the center. The building appeared massive because of the number of middle floors of the structure making it difficult to tell if there were any additional wings. Each wing had half as many floors. The building was long and deep. Windows ran down the length and depth on every floor, indicating the multitude of rooms down several hallways on both ends. The building and the grounds were surrounded by woods with a long driveway leading up to it. The drive circled up near the main entrance with parking extending down the front of each side wing. The architecture dated the building, but it was well maintained. The lawn was well groomed, and Scott thought the serene atmosphere surely was conducive to a healing environment. Sadly, from his research, he found that this was more of a long-term facility and most patients were here for life.

He parked his SUV far from the entrance and any other cars. Even after all the time that had passed, he watched for any little dings or scratches and took care of them right away. His car was checked by a mechanic every couple of weeks. After what he had gone through, he tended to baby everything and everyone around him. His doctor told him it would pass with time. The sooner he resolved the fact that his wife was gone, the sooner things would start to feel normal again. That had been a few years ago. This trip was just one more step in reclaiming his life. His first attempt was to reach out beyond friends and work associates.

His wife, Elizabeth, had a car that had only been a year old. The low tire pressure indicator had a malfunction and never registered an issue. The summer had been especially hot that year and combined with the low air pressure in one of the tires; it caused a blowout. Had she not panicked and hit the brakes, things may