Queen of France
The first ray of sunlight creeps into my chamber, splitting my face with light and cautiously awakens me. It has been more than a month now in this possessed place and I am still baffled as to why I am here. It is in times of war and economical plague, a time that has lasted for nearly 10 years now, that one must realize the necessity of sound leadership and judgment. As royalty, I assume that role. It appears that in doing so, I am considered a criminal for an unknown crime, surrounded by fanatics and lunatics whom would all love to kill me.
I can’t bear this anymore. France has known no better queen than I, yet my misery and misfortune continues. I am fed like a peasant, treated like a murderer, and hated by all. In the yard today, I struck a reviled woman in the face that dared approach me with disrespect. I took my hand and swept it across her mouth so hard that blood spilled from her mouth. The rebels took me away and injected poison until my thigh that made revoked my spirit. I don’t remember what happened afterward, other than that I am alone in this room wondering when Louis will rescue me. Oh, my beloved Louis. It was not long ago when ships of jewels from far lands showered my skin and children sang my name as I strolled the gardens of my home. Today, I wear ragged clothes made from cotton, have no gold to my name, and sit in the corner of this room. All I have are my thoughts.
Today is my opportunity. The rebels will meet with me in some sort of counsel. Surely, they will pay with their lives for abducting me in my own home and torturing me. The door has opened and the guard will lead me to the counsel. Now is my time.
Good morning Mary. Do you know why you are here with us today?
My name is Marie Antoinette and you will refer to me as such.
Ok, Marie, please answer the question. Do you know why you are here?
No, I do not. And I will not answer questions to you, a man who has been my servant for 27 years! How dare you talk to me as if our roles were turned upon themselves!
Ma’am, your name is Mary Jacobs and you are here because the court system of the State of Arkansas wants us to determine if you are competent to stand trial.
Ms. Jacobs, various times at our Psychiatric facility you have attacked our patients, refused all of your medications, and have required sedation in order to keep you calm.
What!? Who gave you the authority to speak? I am Queen of France. I am the authority. They tell me so, and if for one moment I could grasp your throat, I would squeeze the life out of you! You speak only when I say you speak! Do you hear me, boy? You have no right to accuse me of such atrocities. I will have your head by guillotine if you utter one more word, you imbecile!
Ms Jacobs, you are mistaken. The year is 1989, not 1789. You are not the queen of France. You are here because you are accused in the murder of your husband, Louis Jacobs.
*Based on a real encounter during Forensic Psychiatry month in medical school*