The Powers That Be

The Bubble

I suppose the most appropriate place to begin documenting my story is the day when true chaos finally struck, and the proverbial shit hit the fan.

I was restrained to a hospital bed in a dark room that was some distance away from the emergency room, where I had been initially evaluated against my will. The doctor had determined that I was a danger to myself given the circumstances of my visit; under his breath, he had murmured to the nurse, "Put her in The Bubble. She'll be going to the eighth floor."

Unfortunately, this was not my first experience of being committed to the psychiatric unit of this particular hospital. I was reasonably acquainted with The Bubble - it was the dark room nestled somewhere deep within the hospital where they held the psychiatric patients (often for hours) until a room on the eighth floor became available. It felt incredibly far removed from any sense of civilization and eerily isolated.

I had been infuriated to have been forced into the hospital. I had protested against the doctor and spit vitriolic vulgarities at him. I could not understand why they were forcing me to choose life after they had refused to treat my three-year-old son. He had died a brutal and tragic death three days prior. His father (my fiancé) and I had taken him to every hospital, only to be turned away every single damn time because our son, Julian, was infected with the new strain of the coronavirus. Each hospital had informed us that they were too overwhelmed with current cases to even bat an eye in his direction.

Yet, on the day I had decided to make a genuine attempt to take my own life, they were not too "overwhelmed" to evaluate and commit me. What kind of sick, twisted bullshit is that?

The doctor had not understood, though I had not expected him to. I now realize that he had no fault in my son's death; he was just a doctor on that fateful day who was doing his job. He hadn't a clue about the untimely death of my son until I had told him about it in a hysterical fit of tears.

But with the tears had come not only the drowning sorrow of having suffered such a loss, for the fury had made its reappearance. Feeling trapped within my own abyss of intense emotions, I had felt like a dying star collapsing in upon itself. Fearing a massive inward explosion, I had channeled that electric energy from my head down into my neck, my shoulders, and then my arms. I had extended my arms outward, seeming to reach for the doctor. He had looked at me quizzically and taken a tentative step back.

The energy had exited through my hands in a sudden, strong gust of air that threw the doctor against the wall. The nurse who had accompanied him immediately scurried out of the room. He had fallen to the floor with a hefty thud, and I had heard the wind press out of his lungs upon his drop. He hadn't deserved it, but Julian had not deserved to lose his life so young, either.

I had expected him to be surprised by my ability as most people often are, but he had simply stood and dusted off his coat and pants as though what had just occurred was common in his field of practice.

"Very impressive, Ms. Hartley," he had said calmly. He had sounded at least slightly intrigued, but there had been no trace of bewilderment in his voice. I had been too furious to find his blasé reaction as odd - I had just wanted to get the hell out of the hospital and finish what I had started.

But the doctor had other plans, though his intentions were not necessarily "good," as I would later come to discover.

The nurse had returned, standing in the threshold of the claustrophobic little hospital room with a syringe clutched in her hand. Four other nurses had seemed to loom behind her. At the sight of this threat, the electric energy had begun coursing into my arms again. It had not yet been strong enough to direct at my foes, but within a minute or so, it would be.