I like to sing in the mental hospital, especially when I'm in an excited state. Sometimes I sing the Internationale. I live on the fourth floor and often chat with the female patients on the fifth floor. There is a corridor between the activity room and the bathroom, with a gap in the middle, so we can talk to each other. One early morning, a female patient on the sixth floor sang the Internationale loudly, "This is the final struggle, unite until tomorrow, the Internationale must be realized." I said, "Hello to the leader on the sixth floor." Yao Xuerui from the fifth floor echoed, "Hello to the leader on the sixth floor."
In the ward, I sang Andy Lau's "Chinese" with the lyrics "The future still has dreams, let's explore together." I changed it to "The future still has dreams, I'm exploring alone." There was someone who looked like Chow Yun-fat who commented on my line, but I couldn't tell if he thought my version was good or bad. He was worried about finding a job after being discharged, and I suggested he sell alcohol, promoting it to liquor merchants, going to supermarkets and wholesale stores, riding an electric bike, which doesn't require skills or education.
During rounds, a patient was talking to the doctor about his situation, and the doctor said if he could work, that would be fine. He replied yes. Indeed, it's good for mental patients to be able to support themselves after discharge. Of course, in Zhenjiang now, we also provide a subsidy of seven to eight hundred yuan a month for mental patients without income to maintain a basic living, but that's another story.
The mental hospital has a work therapy room, where stable patients change their environment. I often go to the music room, put on headphones, listen to Teresa Teng's songs, and flip through old picture magazines. During work therapy, male and female patients are together. There are young male patients who try to flirt with girls, which generally annoys the girls. However, I have seen a pair of young patients who acted like a couple, holding hands during work therapy.
Sometimes the nurses from upstairs come to our ward and ask male patients to help tie up female patients. Once, a tied-up female patient said a male patient took the opportunity to touch her, protesting, but since it was the nurse who asked for help, the nurse didn't pursue it.
Zhenjiang Mental Hospital (Fourth Hospital) was originally built for the volunteer army, with some soldiers being transferred to Zhenjiang for treatment after being traumatized on the battlefield. They have a separate ward and wear military uniforms. Once, when I entered the hospital, I gave an old soldier half a pack of cigarettes. He was short, thin, and capable, named Huadong, and often came to our ward to play early in the morning.
One time, when the volunteer soldiers were allowed to relax in the courtyard, I sang by the window, "You are the little red ghost on the Long March, I am the younger generation in the revolutionary ranks," while handing out cigarettes. A couple of volunteer soldiers came, and I gave each of them a cigarette.
An old doctor came to our ward and spoke to a patient who was holding a broom. I noticed that the doctor's employee number was 001, so he was either the director or the secretary, and I quickly asked the patient to put down the broom.
Sometimes I have a few patients kneel down and teach them slogans. If they shout it correctly, I say, "You may rise," and give them a cigarette. If they shout it wrong, often "Ge Yimin" is mispronounced, and I tell them they got it wrong, so no cigarette. There was an old man named Hu who got it right, took the cigarette, and mocked others, saying they were wrong.
This time, Zhang Wei was my supervising doctor. Once she asked me to come into the doctor's office, and I sat in front of her. She said, "She is looking for you," and asked me to go to another female doctor's desk, whom I didn't know, and I was confused.
A female nurse talked about me and women, saying I showed a woman my graduation certificate. I don't remember talking to her about it. I said after showing the graduation certificate, I said, "Love you, love you," and they all laughed.
When I was discharged, Zhang Wei wrote in the summary, "Total illness duration eighteen years," but in reality, it was eight years. I got sick in 1990, and at that time it was 1998, and I was only 29 years old, which I didn't understand.
Once, when I was excited and didn't sleep well at night, the next day in Manager Cai's office, he asked what time it was that night. I said I didn't turn on the TV and didn't know the time because I couldn't find the remote. He immediately asked, "Where is the remote?" as if he was asking where the person controlling me was.