Silver

Chapter 74 - then

It might have been a rash decision, but I pulled out of my course and I transferred into mental health training at Melbourne Community College. I needed to become a mental health worker to find Jarvis. It was the only way I'd ever get access into a Sydney institution. No one even knew where these institutions are.

The class was full of desperates; single mothers, eking out an existence, ex-tradesmen suffering from back injuries, trying to upgrade their employment to less physical work, people from the mountains who wore tracksuit pants, had stains on their t-shirts and spoke with a grating ocker accent. In the second week we were sent on a work placement at an institution in the Dandenongs. We were driven there in a tinted van and made to watch course videos so that no one would pay attention to the route. We drove through three guarded gates, and a long driveway, until we arrived at a red bricked building. The ten of us work placement students got out of the van and stared at the building, quietly preparing ourselves for what we may find inside. Our teacher Mr Harrow told us not to be alarmed when we walked in there and to keep a straight face. Whatever happens, he said, don't let the patients see any emotion.

We followed him through the doors and signed our name into a zaplet screen. Someone gave us a name badge. They'd spelt my name as 'Sylvia'. Mr Harrow introduced us to the Director of the Institution, Mr Jansen. His name reminded me of meat pies. He said, 'It takes a special person to survive working in mental health centres these days. You need to have compassion, but you also need to have strength. You need to be understanding to these people, but you cannot put up with their nonsense. They've been cursed with diseases of the mind. We are here to protect society from them. We are not here to rehabilitate them, we are here to babysit them and keep them occupied. Remember that. You cannot help these people. You will want to, but you can't. They have cancer in the mind. You will find people here with severe anxiety, depression, psychotic episodes, people who are bi-polar, delusional, have personality disorders, anorexia, you name it, we've got them here. Some of them are quite charming and come across as normal. But don't get lured in. Avoid getting into meaningful conversations with them. You are personal carers, you are not psychologists. You are better off wiping their arse, if they need it, than listening to a story about how their mother neglected them. Do you understand?'

We all nodded feebly. He started walking and we followed as a group.

'This institution is one of the leading centres in the country. We have lots of activities for our patients,' he guided us down the hallway. 'We have a games room here on the right, there's table tennis, pool, chess, even air hockey. This is our library. Patients can help themselves to any books they please. We prefer non-fiction, because fiction can give people all sorts of ridiculous ideas. They're allowed to read in the library, but they're not allowed to take the books to their rooms.' There were at least a dozen people sitting on couches reading their books.

'This is the performing arts room. We have a rotation of teachers every day. Patients do singing, drama and music in here.' It looked as though they were having a recorder class. I could see at least fifteen patients in there, from teenagers right up to a sixty-year-old man. The old man was hitting a table with the recorder, rather than playing it. 'This is the exercise area. Exercise is better for mental health than medication. This is the epicentre of our institution. Every day patients do at least an hour of exercise before breakfast. They exercise again before lunch and again before dinner. We have a minimum of three hours of exercise every day. If they feel lazy, or they refuse to participate, they are sent to a sports psychologist and get specialised fitness rehabilitation.

'We have a fully equipped gym, triple the size of a normal community gym. We run rotating classes in pilates, aerobics, yoga, weights and cross training. We have a tennis court, a basketball court, a squash court, a running oval and mini-golf. Do you see any fat patients here? No. Because they are all fit in the body. We watch what our patients eat. There is no sugar or caffeine in this building. We minimise carbs and processed foods. Our patients love lettuce leaves, broccolini, spinach and beans. Greens, greens, greens. And they have at least 12 hours of sleep a night. Exercise, good food and plenty of sleep – that is the magic formula. They may as well be on a health retreat,' he laughed here. I could tell he'd used that joke a million times before.

'This is the art therapy room. Art therapy is very important for our patients. We have six art therapy teachers. The patients do lots of craft. We restrict anything representational, there is no drawing or painting here, as it can be counterproductive to their management plan. If you give a patient a pencil to sketch, do you know the first thing they'll draw? Something miserable. The person who wronged them, the boss who made them have a breakdown, the child who got left behind when they were taken away. So, they are only allowed to do craft-making, cutting, collages, pottery, sculpting and modelling.'

'Now, before we break up into small groups, and you start working with patients, let me remind you. We are a State institution. We are here to work for the State. Our government understands what is best for our people. These patients were a risk to the safe harmony of life out there, and that is why they are in here. They are being managed here. Many of them will die here. Their families have given up on them, but we do not give up on them. We are here to care for their practical needs and to keep them busy. By looking outwards, they do not look inwards. They should be occupied for as many minutes of the day as possible. They do not need to sit around thinking or talking. They need to be doing. Every patient has a strict schedule. It is our job to make sure that they are doing. Think of yourselves as activity coordinators.'

I put my hand up. 'Does anyone ever get out of here?' I asked timidly.

'A handful a year. If we believe they are truly cured and there is no chance of a relapse. There is no point sending people out into the world, if they cannot cope with it. They are better off in here. But yes, there are a very small number each year, who will claw themselves out of mental despair and we can resettle them elsewhere. Many will get a job for the State in an institution such as these ones, as this is where they feel comfortable. They can become workers like you. But do not have hope for these people. 99.9% of them are risks and need to be housed here for the rest of their lives. It is better for everyone that they are here. Do not pity these people, respect them, and believe that this is the best place for them. Before, people suffered from mental health disorders on their own. It was very isolating. Here they have a community of people to share their experience with. They have a team of people caring for their wellbeing. We have actually revolutionised the treatment of mental health. There is no more suffering in loneliness.'