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Ivy Liu takes a slow drag of her cigarette, watching Sherlock with those sharp, unblinking eyes that seem to s...
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The Unstable Mind
The sound of metal clicking echoed down the sterile, linoleum corridors of the psychiatric hospital as Ivy Liu sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the window with half-lidded eyes. The Oxford sky, a dull grey canvas of endless clouds, mirrored the numb emptiness she felt within. She hated the place, hated the scratchy blankets, hated the soft murmur of distant conversations that seeped through the walls like ghosts whispering to her. But what she hated most of all was the label. Section 2 of the Mental Health Act. Detained against her will.
Ivy wasn't supposed to be here. She was a second-year psychology student at the University of Oxford, excelling in forensic psychology, with dreams of cracking open the minds of criminals. She wasn't insane, or at least, that's what she told herself. But her last manic episode had landed her here, the grand delusions, the overwhelming certainty that she was destined to be the next Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, spiralling out of control until they could no longer be ignored. The Army Reserve—the other part of her identity—was probably already slipping through her fingers, but she refused to think about that right now.
A soft knock on the door broke her train of thought. The psychiatrist entered the room, clipboard in hand, her presence cold and professional. Behind her, the psychiatry registrar trailed in silently, setting up near the window, while the social worker, a bland woman with a perpetually worried expression, settled in the chair opposite Ivy. The mental health nurse sat just outside the door, arms crossed, his gaze trained on her as though he expected trouble.
Ivy gave them a cursory glance, then lit the cigarette she had smuggled in during her hospital leave. She didn't care if it was allowed or not. The sharp, bitter smoke filled her lungs, and she blew it towards the ceiling, barely acknowledging their presence.
The psychiatrist, Dr Wilson, didn't flinch. She had seen worse. Ivy could feel her cold eyes studying her, observing the minute details of her body language, as though Ivy were just another case file to be scrutinised.
"You know smoking's not permitted here, Ivy," Dr Wilson began, her voice steady but detached. "But I'll let it slide for now."
Ivy took another drag, exhaling with a smirk. "How generous of you."
Dr Wilson sat down, crossing her legs, her gaze never leaving Ivy. "We've been monitoring you for the past week, and I wanted to talk to you about what we've observed."
Ivy flicked ash onto the floor. "Can't wait."
"You've exhibited several signs of mania with psychotic features during your recent episode. Racing thoughts, grandiose delusions, impulsive behaviour... you believed you were going to be the next Prime Minister."
Ivy leaned back, arms crossed. "I'm aware of my behaviour. I don't need you to list it like I'm some kind of idiot."
Dr Wilson didn't react to the sharpness in Ivy's tone. She'd encountered this many times before. "We believe you may be suffering from bipolar affective disorder, specifically type I. Your manic episodes are severe and have crossed into psychosis. But it's not just the mania. Even outside of that, we've noticed impulsive and reckless behaviours that point to a potential underlying diagnosis of antisocial personality disorder, or ASPD."
