11.
I didn’t dream today. I’m thirsty. I pulled out a 500ml water bottle from the small refrigerator under the nightstand. Lately, I’ve had to spend each day on edge because of the uninvited guest appearing in my dreams. On bad days, I even have the dream consecutively. On those days, bloodshot veins would spread across the whites of my eyes all day long.
The identity of the uninvited guest is unclear. Their face is blurred white, with no visible outline—like an egg ghost. But the problem lay elsewhere. When this unidentified figure approached me, I would spread both arms wide toward them as if I’d been waiting. Sometimes I was “myself,” and other times I was an observer watching it all unfold.
‘Does he even know who that person is?’
When I was the observer, I wanted to run over and tear my own body away. But my other self’s will was firm. Those eyes seemed to see only the other person. Once our bodies touched, I would cling using my legs and arms.
Am I belatedly suffering from a fever? They say that boys, as early as middle school but typically in high school, grow a span taller while suffering extreme agony. It might be because of that. Thinking back to how I had less curiosity and fewer experiences compared to others during my secondary growth period.
The relationship with this person I couldn’t dare speak of aloud grew worse day by day. It was like clearing one hurdle only to find an even bigger mission lying in wait. Long-stagnant desires bloomed fiercely. The egg ghost and “the me in the dream” were uninhibited. Afterward, the routine was waking up with goosebumps on my forearms and a strange trembling.
I realized it had reached a serious level when I caught myself touching my genitals in my sleep. Thanks to that, my screams echoed in all directions in the dead of night. The last method I could use was to reduce my sleep.
There’s another curious thing. The memory of the other person evaporates completely the moment I wake up. A week ago, trying to recall even a little, I woke up at dawn and opened a notebook. What were the hands that touched me like? What smell came from their body? What kind of voice did they have…? Everything was a mystery. The lingering sensation of my trembling body was vivid, yet it was no different from a fleeting spring dream.
At first, I wondered if opening up honestly to a doctor might give me an answer. But it wasn’t a problem I could easily confess. I suffered alone over this issue for about a week. When it became two weeks, then three weeks, I let it go.
I was biting my nails to pieces, feeling the sunlight streaming in brightly, when it happened. Through the gap of the low window that only opened the width of a pinky finger, I heard a familiar voice. Since the building was low, even on the F floor, outside noise could often be heard.
“Unstable people sometimes wander around at night. But it’s designed so they can’t leave the ward. For example, you know how stores put tags on items? Like that, certain patients have something like an anklet attached before bedtime. If they try to leave the premises, an alarm goes off. There are limits to caring for patients 24 hours a day, after all.”
Even after this explanation, the guardian’s face was filled with worry and concern.
“There’s nothing to worry about.”
“I’ll trust only you, Doctor.”
Han Byeonguk had been working at a university hospital and transferred here two months ago.
Working at a university ward and working here are worlds apart. Recalling the life of a few months ago when he was busy moving around year-round makes him sick all over again. Even though the physical labor was less than his peers in other departments, the mental labor intensity was far higher. In truth, the various cases there would have helped Han Byeonguk’s career greatly. But he couldn’t take it anymore. It felt like he’d be admitted to the ward himself before building his career. Han Byeonguk, who had grown up confident in his strong mentality, was appalled by the reality of the hospital.
The patients at this hospital fall into three categories: people who come of their own accord, people who come hand-in-hand with guardians, and people who are dragged in. Even so, this place suited Han Byeonguk perfectly. Most patients were so quiet his ears never hurt, and there were no people with severe symptoms. Even those with severe symptoms were just patients with mild schizophrenia.
This hospital, about two hours by train from the metropolitan area, was a bit far from Seoul. There were many rice paddies and fields, and the area was surrounded by mountains on all sides. Most of the apartments standing now were built after plowing over fields. Though banners with the word “New City” hung large as doors near subway stations and highway entrances, the possibility of it actually being developed into a “new city” seemed very slim.
Occasionally during counseling sessions, some patients would grab the hem of his gown and sob. Doctor, I had sleep paralysis yesterday. I saw a ghost. I heard a baby crying, but there are no babies in our hospital. Whenever that happened, Han Byeonguk would put aside that day’s counseling record and ease the patients’ anxiety. He couldn’t very well say, “It’s because they built the hospital on a horse burial ground,” could he?
The provincial and municipal affiliated organizations had opposed the hospital’s establishment to the end. A psychiatric hospital would bring bad luck, they said. But since the site for the psychiatric hospital had been decided for this region, they had to build it, and the compromise they reached was the horse burial ground. After that, experiences from patients with weak energy and sensitivity kept emerging. Sleep paralysis, screaming sounds, baby cries, ghosts…
The point is, as long as the fact that they leveled a horse burial ground and built the hospital on top doesn’t reach the patients’ ears, it’s fine.
Han Byeonguk checked his wristwatch. Smiling at the patients who greeted him, he climbed the white stairs. The counseling time for patient Kim Sunjo, who came in two months ago, was almost here.
“The weather’s nice today, isn’t it?”
The space for consultations with the attending physician is separately prepared within the hospital. But patient Kim Sunjo absolutely refused to leave the hospital room where he was staying. I’m scared. He says it endlessly—that he’s scared. I know there’s nothing there. I know it’s safe. But I still become cautious. There’s no harm in being careful, right? I’m normal. I just came in to rest for a bit.
Patient Kim Sunjo always emphasized that he was normal. Han Byeonguk took those words half seriously, half as a joke. One hundred percent of the patients here say the same thing. Doctor, I’m normal. I’m not a mental patient.
Patient Kim Sunjo was close to the normal range. His symptoms weren’t severe enough to warrant being in the white house on the hill. Modern society is packed full of mental patients. It’s even harder to find normal people. Though patient Kim Sunjo’s depression hovered near the high-risk zone, being confined like this might actually have a worse effect. That’s how minor Kim Sunjo’s diagnosis was compared to other patients—as trivial as a dot. Han Byeonguk felt sorry for him. To be rotting away in a place like this at an age when flowers should just be blooming.
“That’s right. Sunjo-ssi only came in because of a weakened mental state. How is it? Is being here helping?”
“……”
Patient Kim Sunjo looked as if he was carrying baggage on his head, seemingly with many thoughts.
Cases of voluntary admission are extremely rare. Han Byeonguk recalled Kim Sunjo opening the clinic door carrying a faded duffel bag. Despite his shabby appearance, he was assigned to the sunniest single room. It was unexpected. If you were to pick the number one mystery in the hospital, patient Kim Sunjo would definitely rank first. Considering that other patients formed groups and built friendships, this patient was completely alone. No one visited him either. (Before admission, he had earnestly begged to have all incoming contact blocked.)
Also, the fact that he did no physical exercise whatsoever was troublesome. It would be fortunate if he even did calisthenics in his room. He rarely came out of his hospital room, and there was no sign of him all day long—what he was doing, nobody knew. Though they periodically administered nutritional supplements, it was worlds different from the energy a person gains from moving their body. Patients like this required more careful attention. The person had no motivation. Lethargy.
“Usually, drug therapy shows effects after 2 weeks. In Sunjo-ssi’s case, it’s been… let’s see…”
Han Byeonguk flipped through the medical chart and checked the date of the first day.
“10 weeks.”
“Yes. It’s been 10 weeks and 3 more days.”
“……”
“Usually drug therapy is scheduled for a period of 3 to 6 weeks. But in Sunjo-ssi’s case, if you were going to improve, you would have improved much earlier.”
“……”
“This isn’t a guesthouse. I’m telling you this for your own good.”
In the eyes of patient Kim Sunjo looking at him, Han Byeonguk read the resentment of ‘How can you say such a thing?’
“Ahem… so Sunjo-ssi, there’s really nothing…”
Ding—
Though they’d exchanged only a few words, the timer’s alarm rang. It was the time mixed with patient Kim Sunjo’s silence—the time it took him to space out or answer a question. Han Byeonguk picked up the mug he’d brought and stood up from his seat.
“Doctor.”
Sunjo stopped Byeonguk’s feet as he turned the doorknob.
“Yes?”
“Doctor… how well did you study?”
“Probably… enough to shit blood?”
“Me too.”
“I know, I know Sunjo-ssi is smart.”
Soon the white gown fluttered and passed beyond the door. The pale green door closed, and the spaces on both sides sank down as always. Why is a guy who even attended a good university doing that in there? Han Byeonguk handed the medical chart to the nurse in charge and reached behind his head to stretch long.
The promise made before the very first consultation with the doctor had long been broken from the start.
‘We’ll only tell each other the truth. We’ll lay bare our inner thoughts. I’ll swear too.’
‘Yes.’
‘If we’re caught lying, what should the penalty be? How about buying chicken after discharge?’
‘……’
I couldn’t say it today either. No, I’ll never be able to say it for the rest of my life. How could I confess with my own mouth that I get aroused over a man? Revealing the content of my dreams and my physical reactions to them felt as frightening as disclosing something forbidden. Even if I mention it, no one will punish me or inflict terrible torture on me. And yet…
I was scared. I had nothing prepared—how to start the conversation, what the doctor’s expression would be like after I finished speaking, or how I should act if he showed even slightly unexpected reactions. I wanted to mutter to myself alone, so that even if a passing bird heard it, that would relieve my feelings. But there was no chattering voice in the silent hospital room.
I found the notebook I’d scribbled in and thrown at the wall a few days ago. I messily crossed out the last writing and tore out that page. I crumpled the wrinkled paper into a ball and threw it in the trash. Whenever my chest felt stuffy, I would confide in the notebook. I wrote carefully and precisely, like writing the strokes and sounds of Chinese characters. I’m normal. Normal. I’m normal. Perfectly fine. Normal.
As I pathologically wrote down the word “normal,” the white figure from my dreams came to mind. Then I turned to the next page and filled a new line in black. That man… the man in the dream. I don’t know who he is. My body is strange. So strange. I’m normal. I’m not doing this toward a man. No. No. This is all because of Cheon Jae…
I unconsciously wrote Cheon Jaerim’s name, then scribbled it out furiously with the ballpoint pen. Just seeing the name makes my temples ache. It’s because of ‘……’ that I became like this. Instead of writing his name, I substituted it with ‘……’. The ‘……’ I pressed down on as if crushing it had thick black ink blobs. There really was no camera. Camera… he was playing with me… I don’t know. I don’t know anything at all. Writing down words I couldn’t say out loud as if venting my anger, it felt like the lump was loosening.
Just then, I heard a knock at the door—knock, knock. It was time to eat dinner. I’d long since learned to tell time by the meals that came regularly. Today’s menu was seaweed soup and brown rice. I let out a sigh without realizing it. As expected. Even the spoon with soup on it would probably taste bland. It seemed they used salt as a seasoning minimally in all the food. I roughly ate a few side dishes, then rinsed my mouth with water.
What I desperately craved right now was the donuts I occasionally bought, baked practically pickled in sugar. When I took a bite, my mouth would be covered in sweet sugar topping… After eating only hospital food three meals a day, my stomach felt queasy. I tore open a chocolate bar I’d bought from the store. Chewing the sticky caramel, I placed the meal tray on the cart outside in the corridor.
I took my medicine and lay back down on the bed. The blanket I’d received fresh this morning smelled strongly of fabric every time it rustled. Please let me sleep comfortably today. Wishing upon that wish, I slowly sank into slumber.
