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She sat at her desk, I sat opposite and George hovered around the room that was so indescribably bland it really wasn’t worth describing. It had paintings, it had plants; it did nothing whatsoever to inspire anything other than depression. Tess had been in this room so long, it had affected her, too. She couldn’t give anything more than a small smile or grimace to show emotion. Trust me, she grimaced a lot with me.
Tess looked more like a Mary or a Jane. Sensible shoes, neat slacks, pastel sweater. Dull, dull, dull. All that was missing was a pair of eyeglasses and she’d have the cat-lady spinster look down pat.
‘How’ve you been these past few months, Ann?’
Absolutely fine and dandy, obviously. That’s why I’m living life to the full and enjoying each day as it comes.
I mean, really? Did I not mention that she did this? She asks completely stupid, innocuous questions which mean nothing and are a waste of everybody’s time.
‘How do you think?’ I replied, gesturing to my attire and the room itself. She grimaced slightly. Ah, first one of the day. Off to a good start.
‘Ann!’ George hissed. Oh, he didn’t like that? He was in for a rough ride.
‘Are you still seeing...’ she trailed off, clearly unable to speak the word that mustn’t be spoken.
‘Ghosts? Yeah, I am. It didn’t suddenly stop, and you know this, because this is why I’m here. Can we just cut to the chase so we can both get on with our day?’
Grimace number two, come on down. Or maybe it was the same one. Hard to tell.
‘I’m not a drug dealer, Ann. Medicine is always a last resort for me. I don’t want to give you-’
‘So, don’t,’ I suggested. I hadn’t realized there was a gun to her head.
‘I’ve tried my hardest to help you via other methods, but you don’t seem to be responding. I’d like to try you on these, say for a month or two. After that, we can see how you feel.’
She unlocked a drawer and handed me the bottle, my name already emblazoned onto it. Didn’t I feel special? I took one look at the name and shoved it back across the desk.
‘That’s for schizophrenia,’ I said through gritted teeth.
And that was one reason why I’d stopped coming here altogether. You see, everything can be explained to her. Everything is all tied up in a neat, boring bow. The second she heard that I saw things others didn’t, she’d pounced on schizophrenia and hadn’t let go. I was schizophrenic: that was it.
Admittedly, if I was to play devil’s advocate to myself, I can sort of see why. I do have some of the symptoms. I see things others don’t. I hear voices, sort of, and I use words that only make sense to me (lucies... okay, that was the only one). I’m also fairly negative and critical, but that’s for a different reason.
I am not schizophrenic.
‘I still firmly believe-’
‘I’m not schizophrenic.’
‘There’s no shame-’
‘I know there isn’t, but I’m not schizophrenic.’
‘Those with schizophrenia-’
‘Don’t know they have it, I know,’ I yelled. I tried to calm myself. Violent outbursts was another symptom. She’d only use that against me.
And before you ask, no. I don’t mean that in a “she’s out to get me” way.
‘You’re shouting, Ann. Why is that?’
She cocked her head to one side, putting her listening face on. Only the face, you see, not the ears.
‘Because you’re failing to see the actual issue here,’ I said, focusing really hard on not raising my voice a single decibel.
‘And what is the issue?’
‘The issue is that there is no issue. I don’t need professional help. I’ve never asked for it. There is nothing wrong with me. I just have a quirk, that’s all.’
She looked at me without saying a word, which always made me nervous for some reason and start to talk over myself. I suspect she did it so she’d have a reason to prove that I was schizo.
And no, that also doesn’t count as her being out to get me.
I tried to explain my earlier conclusion of my dad. Let’s see how well that turns out, shall we?
‘Look, my father thinks I’m crazy which is why he keeps sending me to you. He wants me to “get better” so I can be normal. Or, failing that, just to keep me out the way so he can go back to his old, easy life. I’m not the daughter he wanted, you see. I should be like him, but I’m weird and speak to the dead. He doesn’t like that.’
Her eyes hardened slightly. Crap, what had I said?
‘You believe your father wants you out of the way?’
Great.
‘No, that’s not what I said at all. You think that I’m- you’re twisting my words,’ I sighed, urging my beating heart to be still.
‘You kinda did say that, a little bit,’ George inputted.
‘Shut up,’ I couldn’t stop myself from hissing at him. Or the bookshelf, as Tess saw it. Doubly great. I’d be in a padded cell in no time.
‘Ann, do you feel unsafe at home?’
‘No, just perennially annoyed.’
‘Because if you do,’ she went on as if I hadn’t even spoken, ‘there are places you can go.’
‘An asylum? Yeah, got it.’
She gave me one of her famous small smiles.
‘They don’t exist any longer. We have clinics now, and rest homes for long stays. Kids your own age will be there.’
‘Are you supposed to be selling this idea or putting me off?’
Small smile number two. Okay, we’ve had two of each today. Since they cancel each other out, this means this session has been totally neutral. An improvement, if you will.
Nope, not having that.
‘It’s an option, if you would like to explore that at any time.’
‘I wouldn’t. Am I free to go now?’
‘You’re always free to go, Ann.’
‘Technically, maybe,’ I muttered.
‘Do you believe I’m keeping you here against your will?’ she asked, again latching onto the schizo idea like a lamprey.
‘No, that’s not what I meant. I am not crazy,’ I repeated. And the more you repeat something like that, kinda has the opposite effect.
‘I know you’re not crazy, Ann.’
Well, that sounds too good to be true.
‘You’re ill,’ she went on, not-so-subtly pushing the pills back to me. I was kinda fighting a losing battle here. I could argue all I want, but I was leaving with these pills in my pocket and my stomach.
I gave in.
‘Fine,’ I said shortly.
‘I need to confirm a few things with you first, before you leave. Are you diabetic?’
‘Nope.’
‘Any history of diabetes in your family?’
‘Probably not.’
‘How about heart disease? High cholesterol? Any history of mental illness?’
‘Only my mom, I think,’ I shrugged.
‘Your mom had high cholesterol or heart disease?’
‘Neither, she had PND.’
‘PND?’
‘Postnatal depression-’
‘I know what PND means,’ she interrupted, frowning. ‘I’m just a bit confused, is all. I’ve known your father for quite a while and he’s never mentioned that.’
‘That’s why she left,’ I explained, cueing more confusion. She stared at me, long and hard. I wondered if I’d grown an extra head. Either that, or she was broken.
‘Okay, you’ve lost me.’
I was sure I’d already mentioned this at some point. I mean, I’d known Tess for almost a year. Surely the fact that I came from a single-parent household would’ve come up. Therapists love that crap.
‘My mom left shortly after I was born-’
‘Who told you that?’ she cut in. Okay, we were both lost. And I did not like wherever the hell this was going. I quickly shared a look with George.
‘My dad?’
Who else?
‘When was this?’
‘Alright, what’s going on?’ I asked bluntly.
She opened her mouth, about to say something or chew a fly, and then decided against both.
‘I think that’s something you should ask your father,’ she said gently.
‘I’m asking you. If you know something about my mom that I don’t-’
‘You should ask your father, Ann. It’s not really my place to say,’ she attempted, but I was not having that.
‘No, it is. As my therapist, you have a duty of care. If my father’s lied to me about my mom, why would he tell me the truth now? Please, Doctor. I want to know.’
For once in her life, she did not reply with the automatic “please, call me Tess.” Instead, she took another look at the pills, frowned again and cleared her throat.
‘Your mom did not leave when you were born, Ann. You were six years old.’