3 October 2027
Sunday. One year on Collins Street! I have written a speech, and tonight I shall give it through the speaker to the empty cell, which is the only audience that never interrupts.
Draft one, opening: “Patients, staff, Lorraine.” Yes, Lorraine first among equals. She has been with me every session this year, warm in the low notes and crackling at the edges, and she has never once let a patient go early. I cannot say the same for the staff, bless them.
Paragraph two thanks the patients for their courage and their screaming, in that order. Paragraph three thanks the gamesmasters, through slightly gritted teeth. Paragraph four is about the gentleman downstairs and is currently one line long.
A responsible note, because a speech should have one: my cell is meant to frighten. It is dark, it flashes, it begins in restraints and it surprises people. Anybody unsure whether they can cope should choose a gentler room, and anybody with a pacemaker should talk to the Collins Street team first.
Closing line: “Therapy is FUN.” Lorraine says it every time as though it were the first time. That is professionalism.
— Your Therapist
