Onika L. Dainty

It is well past midnight and right outside the bolted window all I can see is darkness. The lights from buildings and the flicker of headlights visible only through the rod iron mesh meant to keep me in, keep me safe from myself. The mesh makes the outside world look as if it is caught in a fisherman’s net, trapped, unable to escape. The truth is that I am the one trapped and unable to move. Still, I think of escaping into the darkness beyond my barricaded window.

Even in the darkness I can sense new life forming. Trees pushing through the black earth, rising above the green grass until their branches bloom and breathe. Even the branches know there is nowhere to go but up toward the sky, toward freedom. At this moment I envy those trees. I envy their path to the heaven of the sky. I envy the seeds they sow, that bloom into beautiful buds that grow fearlessly. I envy their right to exist when all my rights have been taken away, when my feet are strapped to a metal bed frame making freedom impossible.

I look to my left to see soundproof, bullet proof, unbreakable glass. Still, I hear the cries for help and the violent rattle of chains, and I am reminded— Although the sun is starting to rise over my right shoulder, insanity waits for me over my left. As night turns to day and the sky goes from black to morning’s indigo I remember I am not outside these four walls where freedom lives and my right to exist is unquestioned. Instead, I am in a dimly lit, locked room, strapped to a bed, on a 72-hour hold in the Psychiatric Intensive Care Unit of the hospital’s tenth floor.

Final Thought

The loss of my freedom is my biggest fear. While hospitalized I spend a majority of my stay strapped to hospital beds, shackled by my arms, chest and legs, unable to move, panicking and unable to catch my breath. There is no pretty picture I can paint of this barbaric experience. Whether it occurs because my sharp tongue has offended the staff or as an arbitrary solution to a non-existent problem it's wrong and inhuman and I have the right to feel fear. This is a fear that is born of past trauma that has gone unexamined by the individuals that wield the power to restrain me. I can’t find neutral words, or hope in a system that uses these tactics to subdue patients. There is no kindness in this process, there is no empathy, just cruelty and It is one of my greatest objectives to abolish this practice in Ontario hospitals. I feel fear recalling and reflecting on my experiences with restraints but I also feel a sense of determination and obligation to my fellow men and women who still have to endure this savage practice. 

A Bipolar Woman’s Self-Reflection on Fear is a series of entries that will allow you a window into my past and insight on my present and the lessons I’ve learned over the years that have put fear in my rearview mirror. 

Coming Soon