Chris (name altered for confidentiality) was a 17 year old young man recently admitted to the borderline personality disorder unit. He was a big guy at 6 feet 4 inches, with curly hair and a boyish face with signs of burgeoning good looks. When he wasn't violent, his smile was the most exquisite smile anyone ever saw, with cute dimples on both cheeks. But I didn't see this perfect smile until a fews after his admittance into the hospital. He came into the unit as an unruly teenager with venom and violence in his voice. The psychiatrists had warned everyone not to go near him. He was often led by 2-3 strong men to the isolation room, strapped down on a stretcher with a thick piece of cloth stuffed into his mouth to keep him from screaming. A week after his arrival, I was allowed to accompany his treatment team on its daily rounds. Chris was often ill disposed, in bed under covers, and rude to the staff. He refused to come out of his room and socialize. Two weeks passed by with Chris alone in his room, sleeping (or pretending to sleep). One afternoon, I was making my clinical rounds, alone. Chris' door was ajar and I knocked on his door before entering. He lowered the bedsheet that covered his face, and I saw his beautiful blue eyes looking at me, first with anger then with recognition. "What do you want?" he said. "I need to check on you, Chris. How are you doing today?" I ruffled through his file, my pen poised to jot down my observations. "Check on me? For what?" "It's the rule here." "F*ck the rules. I'm sick of it. I wanna go to sleep. Get outta of my room." He covered his face. I stood there scribbling my notes. He removed the sheets again. "Hey, aren't you the little lady who wears flower patterned dresses?" he said without any inflections in his tone. "Yes, I do wear dresses with flower patterns. It's summer, you know." I kept writing. He sniggered at me. "Yeah, I noticed you when you come with Dr. X in the mornings. You like flowers or what?" His face seemed to soften. "Yeah, flowers are nice. There are lots of them in the garden. Have you looked out your window?" "Nah, I don wanna get up. I wish to sleep forever." "Why is that?" I asked. "What d'ya mean why do I wanna sleep all the time? Cuz that's what I want. Now just leave me alone." "Well, why don't you tell me why you wanna sleep all the time? Don't you wanna come out and hang out with the other people in the living room?" "Nah, I just wanna sleep," he said, resting his head on his arms and staring at the ceiling. I was quiet for a moment, busy writing my notes. "You know, when I sleep, I can dream of all the good things. I can do what I want. If I go outside, then I have to do what those f*ckers say. I ain't my own boss. And I hate that." "So you always dream of good things when you sleep?" "Yeah." He then looked at me, fumbling a bit. "Well, not always. Sometimes I have bad dreams, like nightmares you know. Then I can't sleep." I looked at him and smiled. "Well, then perhaps you should come outside and hang out with the others." He looked at me blankly. The next morning, when I entered the unit, I found Chris sitting on the sofa in the living room, sour faced and somber. The resident nurse called me to her office and said, "Chris has been asking for the little lady with flower patterned dress. I think he meant you." She smiled and continued, "I think he'll open up with you soon enough. Keep a report on his progress for the team." To be cont'd ....