Chapter Four - The Others

CHAPTER FOUR

The Others

YOU ARE NOT alone in here.

From the moment you’re admitted, you become part of a strange, involuntary tribe — one made up of strangers with diagnosis codes instead of names. Some have been here days. Some, weeks. Some never leave.

You learn quickly: patients come in types.

There are the screamers, who erupt without warning — anger, panic, despair, sometimes all at once. There are the shufflers, who move like ghosts, doped beyond recognition. The talkers, who never stop explaining their case to no one. The stares, who fixate on you until you feel like prey.

And then there are the ones who seem completely fine.

You ask yourself if you seem that way too.

Some people are kind. They offer you a seat. They ask if it’s your first time. They give you tips, warn you about staff, tell you which groups are worth skipping. They’ve made a life out of this place. They know how to survive it.

Others? Not so kind. They fight over chairs. They steal from the dining trays. They pace the hallways muttering about the government, or demons, or their ex. Some try to get under your skin just to feel something. Some don’t notice you at all.

Conversations drift like smoke:

“They’re poisoning the food.”
“I’m here because I’m too powerful.”
“He’s not dead. I saw him last night.”
“I was chosen.”

You don’t know what’s true. You don’t ask. You just listen — and slowly, you realize what you’re listening for:
Proof that you’re not like them.

But that’s the trick, isn’t it?

They see you the same way. You’re the new one. The unstable one. The one who broke. The one who belongs here.

And the more time you spend together, the harder it becomes to draw a clean line.

You laugh at the same jokes.
You complain about the same staff.
You stare out the same windows.

Eventually, you all start to blur together — one big patient with many faces.

And that’s when the walls really start to close in.