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BLUE

I have been abandoned, I have been left to die. I am bitter and I am exhausted. It is not yet dawn, yet I am awake with little rest, unable to sleep. I'm frightened, scared of the time when they will come for me.

I can't understand what happened to me, I'm so confused. Life seems such a rush of people and events, I just cannot keep up. Sometimes they shout at me, or speak slowly as if I am idiot, infantilising me, lots of gaga-googoo crap. When I can make out what they are saying, it's usually a load of rubbish, telling me to do this or that. But I don't exist for them, I'm just a number, another mal-adapted creature in limbo. They don't know, they can't say. Who cares?

They'll come for me soon enough, damned beasts. But I will fight - they'll get a good taste of my anger. They come armed with all sorts of contraptions that raise me from any chance of slumber I may have. Some are nicer than others, but none are those whom I long for, but never see. Nice or not, they torture me, some even willingly and with awareness of what's going on – those are the types I dread.

Who's listening? I see ears when my vision is clear, yet rarely does anyone hear me. I shout, but nobody turns anymore. Is my voice invisible? Am I?

Ah, when did it come to this? I just cannot recall, and how I wish I could. There was a time, just a few months ago before my knees gave way, when I could move around and see what was going on for myself. I never liked it, but I was not helpless the way I am now.

And where are they, my loved ones - they who put me in here, a feeble old woman? Those bastards!

RED

Yes you pigs, I've seen what you do to me you liars, standing there laughing at my pain and humiliation. I want out I say, out out OUT!

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HA, that sister of mine, coming and stealing my purse. And...and, I can't even take his name, that bastard. Put me in here, took my house and now isn't even selling it to pay for my so-called 'care'. Little shite, came for Mother's day and left me a card and a box of chocolates – then pisses off to the football.

Get OUT of here, go on the lousy bloody lot of you. I will do NOTHING you say, I want NOTHING from you. Take your shite and GET LOST!

GREEN

If you have made it this far down, congratulations, you have got past my angry persona and I can reveal more of myself to you if you yourself have not become angry – sigh, such is my everyday experience! But what to do, I've been trying to get out of this place for over a year now, and all avenues are closed. I'm a prisoner. I'm confused and naturally I'm going to get frustrated. Anyone who gets close is liable to get their head bitten off. I make demands that carers can't possibly fulfill with their level of nothingness within the system. I tell them to get lost when I really want a cuddle - I just can't accept affection when I'm in anger. Of course all this is baggage I've been carrying since I was a wee girl (those unspeakable days), through my bitter marriage, my coping alcoholism and now, this here incarceration. I shouldn't be in a dementia unit to be honest, but that's the way it is, random and approximate - who is even able to tell the difference? I need healing, I need Nature and I need soft psychotherapy, not a bucketful of pills to keep me quiet! That's not going to happen in a BigPharma-controlled system, oh no, easier to just give me tranquilizers and anti-depressants to shut me up and numb my senses, kill my spirit!

My angry persona doesn't just rant at random! She has her reasons but her brain is dysfunctional and her mobility is poor, and she refuses to accept any help – doesn't make it easy for those who try, that's for sure! But she has been wronged and nobody understands – it's the dilemma of the lunatic asylum, even though it's called a 'carehome' ha ha. In the lunatic asylum, nobody takes the 'lunatic' seriously, there is no opportunity for expression - nobody listens. The 'lunatic' therefore resorts to extreme measures to get a message across, like writing on the walls in their own excrement – nobody's listening, so try and shout out in shit, maybe then they will! However, this is taken as yet another confirming sign of insanity and the poor lunatic is isolated even further under the label. Do you think this kind of stuff doesn't happen in carehomes, even the 'best' of them? Don't delude yourselves you young yins, you may well end up in one of these places yourselves if you're not careful – and by god they are building them like there's no tomorrow, plenty of space available! And for you out there without qualifications or prospects - young mothers and ageing dropouts - don't fret, there'll be plenty of work for you until you retire (at my age ha ha).

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Seriously, what a twisted joke - it's built like a prison, or a hospital at best, but there's no home in carehome. There are even some residents who choose to come here to die – no family or whatever, so they sell their house and pay through the nose for what the glossy brochures describe as 24/7 care with a-la-carte food, taken care of as 'one of the family'. Family? The irony of it really hurts. The simple fact of the matter is that a 'Residential Carehome' is a BUSINESS, and as such the number one priority is the almighty shareholder, and number two is the client – no not us the residents, but our families, who will for the most part be paying! They are the ones that the glossy cover is aimed at. We are not the system's priority, certainly not! GET IT?

And those who look after us - the care-workers and nurses; mixed bunch for the most part, can't say what I'm going to be getting – do they know me, my habits and anxieties? Do they have enough fuel left over from debt, demanding spouses and screaming kids to actually care about me? What understanding do they have of their own emotional workings to be able to put their problems aside and attend to my needs? Are they put off by my anger such that they no longer see me, but a scared and scary withered old face contorted in rage and incoherent expression? But then they are not the system, they are slaves, the front end of an unseen and largely unrecognised three-pronged attack.

The first 'prong' of attack is the pent-up anger and drama and emotional issues of us, the residents - decades of suppressed pain, trauma, anguish and anxiety which, now that the filters are off, get triggered all over the place, and which the carers are the targeted daily cannon fodder for. Secondly, the system itself launches a sustained attack, taking carers utterly for granted as a pool of un(der)qualified, minimum-wage earners who neither get sick-pay, nor paid breaks, yet who, often, and completely off the record and outside of any 'training', provide the real comfort and care that help us through dark periods. The third line of attack is the pressure on carers to dance to the tune of the relatives – the real clients/customers – pressure to prioritise their wishes and demands, sometimes at the expense of the residents' actual needs. Twisted Phsychological Nuts!

I know all of this in my own way. There are many exceptions and counter-examples to be found of course, and many oldies are an actual danger to themselves (that's what they said about me!), but this is how I see it in my current state. I am tired of incoherently explaining my burning desire for something familiar and my deeply disguised need for some TLC. I get nowhere trying to voice what I want. My anger gets triggered so very easily nowadays and my persona switches in an instant. It takes longer and longer for me to come back and my body aches so very much. It's the ones that care – the few carers who give a shit I mean, the ones I can open up to a bit, relax with a little and let my sweet persona have a peek outside – yes, these are the ones I shout at the most, take out my anger on the most! It can be pretty brutal all round to witness and experience!

So yes my dearies, send your sweet and precious oldies off to be 'taken care' of – because you are too fucking lazy or too fucking selfish or else too scared and stressed out yourselves – HA! Dementia is what you are afraid of for yourselves is it? Well sort out your emotional issues NOW and stop blaming the world for how you feel, else it won't matter, for when the time comes, this will all have been forgotten! Ha to the ultimate fucking HA!