by Tom Lally
“Okay, in the first group which will meet right here with me is Drew, Sammy, Leighton, Otis, and Isaac,” Dr. Phillips said.
I stopped listening afterward. I’d heard my name and while I was less unnerved when hearing Dr. Phillips was going to be the group’s therapist; it didn’t fully quell my nervousness.
“Drew, you okay?” I heard another voice say.
I looked up at Harlan who was standing in front of me.
“Drew?” he asked me again.
“Yeah, sorry. Daydreaming,” I said.
“I’m with Natalie in the art room so I’ll see you later,” Harlan said.
“Okay, I’ll see you later,” I said.
I watched him walk away, skinny arms flailing at his sides. His fragile body motions made him seem like he was looking for a light switch in a darkened room. I heard the scattering of chairs sliding against the floor and the clapping of shoes against it echoed as people walked to their assigned meeting rooms. I remained seated while Dr. Phillips started moving some of the chairs out of the way so we could make a small, tight circle.
“Gather around everyone,” she said to us.
Sammy had been sitting in the same spot. He and I moved our seats closer to Dr. Phillips so we could see the light freckles below her eyes. I was surprised by the smoothness of her skin that made up her cleavage. She didn’t have a single noticeable wrinkle or sunspot. It was a soft surface that looked something like the fresh top of chocolate pudding from a cup. Her figure was well maintained as well. She was slightly round, but only so that she looked heavenly real to the eye. Her features were not overly impressive, but when combined, she looked great.
Sammy continued to slide his chair to make the circle tight, but he accidentally pushed his chair too far and stopped with his legs almost fully intertwined with mine. I nearly tumbled over as Sammy’s large elbow dug into my ribs. I turned my attention to him and looked at his Velcro sneakers that were nearly two times the size of my moccasins.
“I’m sor-sor-sorry, I did-did-didn’t mean-mean-mean to-to-to. Oh go-go-god, are you o-o-okay? I’m sor-sorry, I swear-swear-swear I did-did-didn’t mean-mean-mean to,” Sammy begged me to understand.
He backed himself away quickly while his hands started to shake.
“I know. It’s fine, Sammy, really. Don’t worry about it,” I said truthfully.
“Bu-bu-bu-bu-but,” Sammy repeated with loud gasps.
“Sammy, it really is okay,” I said.
I didn’t know how to react, but thankfully Dr. Phillips heard everything and rushed over.
“Sammy,” she said as she kneeled in front of him, “Sammy, He’s fine, you’re fine, and he’s not angry with you.”
Something in her voice made Sammy relax. He simmered down quickly and smiled at her. His big, blue eyes looked like a tarsier’s behind his spectacles. Horn-rimmed with particles accumulated in the corners, I couldn’t tell if he was crying or not.
“O-o-o-o-okay, Dr.-Dr.-Dr. Phil-Phillips, I’m sor-sor-sorry,” he said.
He let his neck dangle again so only the top of his head was facing Dr. Phillips.
“Why are you sorry, Sammy? You didn’t do anything wrong,” Dr. Phillips assured him.
“Bu-bu-but, I-I-I don’t wa-want peep-people to be ang-ang-ang-angry wi-wi-with me,” Sammy muttered.
“And they’re not. No one is,” she said.
“Are you-you-you su-su-sure?” Sammy asked.
“I’m positive,” she said. “Can you look up for us?”
Sammy lifted his head upwards and his big, blue eyes returned.
“There you are,” Dr. Phillips said with a smile. “It’s okay, Sammy. Trust me, it’s okay.”
“O-o-okay,” he said.
Dr. Phillips returned to her seat and everyone else continued their uninterested behavior. My reaction was that of a newcomer, eyes wide and rapid head movements to see if others were as affected as I was. The only faces I saw, though, were ones who were speechlessly questioning why I was reacting the way I did.
When Dr. Phillips finally sat down and looked at all of us, she noticed my uneasiness. I guess it must have been palpable because she nodded her head at me which I believed to mean ‘Everything is okay. Relax and we’ll talk later’.
With this, I calmed myself and watched Sammy as he wiped his eyes and sucked the snot back into his nose.
“Okay, today we are going to talk about your ordeals,” Dr. Phillips said bluntly. “I think that we should tackle this problem head-on. I think we should show Drew the importance of sharing and listening to others. Drew, please do not be shy. This is a safe place, so do not be alarmed, but if you wish not to participate, you may do so. Sharing is not mandatory.”
I nodded at her. She then said, “Secondly, I want to add, Drew, that everyone here struggles with something, whatever it might be. The reason we group you the way we do is to help hone in the idea that you are not alone and others can provide support. You will eventually be grouped with everybody in the following days. We try to make this as comfortable as possible.”
I nodded my head again. I wondered if this is what a rookie felt like in the clubhouse before opening day or a prisoner walking through the gates while he gets heckled by hardened inmates.
“Who wants to go first?” Dr. Phillips asked. “Sammy? How about you start today?”
I looked over at Sammy. He was sweating through the greasy hair that flopped across his forehead. His hands shook against his thighs while his right foot started to tap against the floor.
“Uh, I, uh, I, um, o-o-okay,” he said."
“Great, Sammy,” Dr. Phillips said. “Please go ahead.”
Sammy leaned forward from his seat so he sat with perfect posture. But the second he wanted to speak, he hunched forward again so the top of his head was all we could see. His hands clung to each other, intertwined like gothic tree branches. His knuckles turned white as he tried tearing through the skin between his fingers. I stopped watching. I didn’t want to watch his hands shatter as a result of nervousness. I wanted to cover my ears so I wouldn’t hear the crack followed by Sammy’s screams. The thought made me quiver and I found my hands grappling with each other while I tried to stop them, but like magnets, they started to align and I hoped that Sammy would have a quick speech.
“Well, I-I-I don’t-don’t know how to-to s-s-s-ay this,” he mumbled, “I-I-I-I do-do-don’t know why-why I-I-I have-have depr-depre-depre-depression.”
“Why do you think you feel the way you do?” Dr. Phillips asked.
“I-I-I gue-guess it’s becau-becau, oh duh-duh-damn, because I ha-ha-have anx-anxiety all the-the ti-ti-time,” he said.
“Why do you think you have anxiety all of the time?” Dr. Phillips asked.
“I-I-I-I thi-ink my-my-my da-dad ha-ha-ha-ha-had some-some-some-something to do wi-with tha-that,” Sammy said. “He u-use-used to be-be-be-beat me and my-my-my momma ev-ev-every duh-duh-day.”
“Sammy, breathe, you’re safe here,” she said.
Sammy looked slightly more relaxed after a few moments of breathing through his nose and out of his partially opened mouth.
“I-I, uh, I-I th-think, it, it was be-be-because he ha-ha-hates me,” he said. “Every-ery sin-sin-single thi-thin-thing I di-di-did was wro-wrong. Now, I-I-I thin-thin-think every-every-th-thing I-I-I d-do is-is-wro-wrong.”
“Sammy, thank you for being so brave. Can anyone relate to what Sammy is saying?” Dr. Phillips asked.
“I guess I can,” a girl said.
I was able to surmise that she was Leighton from the fact she was the only female in the group. I recognized her immediately the moment I saw her red, long-sleeved shirt. She was the girl I’d seen sitting with the two gothic girls in the cafeteria. She sat with her legs crossed. Her gray slippers and baggy plaid pajamas were an interesting look as she was someone who without makeup would still shock those around her. Her shirt tightly wrapped around her body, displaying a healthily skinny frame.
“Okay,
Leighton, please share,” Dr. Phillips said.
“I mean, my foster-parents visit me every week now, but until they took me in, I bumped my way through foster homes for a while. The other ‘parents’,” she raised her fingers to show quotation marks, “liked to beat up everyone. I had one home where she used to take the girls and he used to take the boys. He would put the boys in dresses if they did something wrong and the girls would be sent to school in the boys’ unwashed clothing that was too big. It hid the welts from the paddle she used on us, or the rope she’d rub on our chests to burn off the skin. I don’t think I ever got over that. I guess that not’s hard to tell being that I’m here,” she said and the room laughed. “But I know what Sammy means. You end up judging yourself through the eyes of others who hate you and then someone tells you that life is worth living. For me, it didn’t feel that way.”
I listened intently to her every word and occasionally glanced at her, hoping to get a clear image without openly staring. She had a slightly raspy voice with a gravelly tone that made her seem experienced, maybe even damaged, but it worked for her. Her face was beautiful, holding light hazel eyes and a button nose. Her face looked comforting and her smile was nurturing. She looked at the entire room and never once seemed nervous to speak about her ordeals though I wondered if she was doing so on purpose to hide from other tragedies she didn’t want to talk about. Either way, I envied her ability to face what she’d been through.
“Does this way of thinking still occur for you, Leighton?” Dr. Phillips.
“Well, I guess so, in a way. I made decisions that were strictly out of hatred for myself based on their hatred of me. That’s why I’m here. I still struggle with it now, but I know or at least think that they were cruel, but—” Leighton said.
“I don’t think that you should think about them being cruel as a question,” a man said.
I looked over to the man sitting next to Dr. Phillips. His dark skin was tainted by red pulsing bumps and chipped teeth that were rotting. His eyes were bloodshot and derelict. He constantly rubbed his arms as he waited for the subtle moments to pass while Dr. Phillips wrote something down on her clipboard. I saw the blemishes upon his arms and neck where dead veins resided.
“Why is that, Otis?” Dr. Phillips asked.
“Because they were cruel,” he said.
“I understand it in context, but it doesn’t change the way I feel about it. I don’t know why,” Leighton said.
“That’s not uncommon,” Dr. Phillips interjected. “Child development is heavily influenced by parental figures and the nurture given to you as well as the environment you grew up in.”
“Yeah, but it isn’t that easy,” Leighton said while scratching the sleeves on her arms.
“I know. It’s a process. You are getting there, but these things take time,” Dr. Phillips said.
“Otis, would you like to share anything else?” Dr. Phillips asked.
“Same shit keeps happening to me all the time,” he said.
The beard he donned was poorly manicured and patchy. His face seemed sucked dry by grief. His hoodie, which was missing its two strings, was thrown over his scalp, but his long dreadlocks were still visible around his neck.
“I hear voices in my head and see things that shouldn’t be there,” he said.
“What do you see or hear?” Dr. Phillips asked.
“I see this man with a loud voice. He screams at me that I’m gonna die before I turn twenty-five. He said the same thing before I turned twenty-one. He shows up in my room at night. He’s a large guy. He’s always holding a lantern and it lights up his face. His eyes are holes in his head and his eyebrows and mouth are made of wire. He always says I’m gonna die or he’s gonna kill me over something,” Otis said.
“Does-does-does he-he-he,” Sammy blinked furiously like he was in pain. “Scuh-scuh-scare you-you?”
“Yes,” Otis said.
“What do you say to him?” Leighton asked.
“I hold a pillow over my head. I don’t think I’ve talked to him ever except when I scream for him to leave me alone,” he said.
“Are there others?” Dr. Phillips asked.
“Molly is a bird I see,” he said.
“What does she look like?” Dr. Phillips asked.
“She is bright blue and smiles like a cartoon. Most of the time she is perched near me and just smiles. I don’t mind her,” Otis said.
“Does she show up when the man is there?” Dr. Phillips asked.
“No, he scares her away,” Otis said. “It’s the same thing as Leighton in a different way. I know they’re not real, but I can’t believe it.”
His voice was serious and defeated. It sounded like he couldn’t continue fighting this, no matter how long he managed to keep his pulse. He folded his arms and leaned back in his seat. I was glad he kept looking at his lace-less boots. He didn’t make eye contact with me and didn’t acknowledge anyone unless they were speaking about him or to him. It might have been out of nervousness, but I wondered if he didn’t want to see the man in his hallucinations staring at him, wondering why he was telling a bunch of strangers who could never see him just how scary a fictional person he was.
“Does the medication help?” Leighton asked.
“I can’t really tell,” Otis said.
“It takes time. That’s just your body getting used to the medication you’re taking, but please trust me when I say that time is the greatest factor in helping everyone here,” Dr. Phillips said.
She turned to the man sitting in the chair a few seats away from everyone, directly facing Dr. Phillips. He was sitting with his body crunched together like a folding chair. His chin rested upon his hands as he leaned his elbows against his thighs. He covered his face with his palms and his fingertips locked his eyelids shut. His forearms were coated with tattoos. A snake wrapped around his right arm tightly with the head reaching the knuckles of his fingers. His left arm was coated with cursive letters making out the word ‘Faithless’ positioned perfectly between his elbow and wrist. He sat in silence though his breathing and occasional movement made it clear he was not sleeping.
“Isaac?” she asked, “Would you like to talk about anything?”
He mumbled in return, to which Dr. Phillips leaned forward in her chair.
“Sorry, I can’t hear you, Isaac,” she said.
He barely moved.
“Leave me alone,” he mumbled louder.
Dr. Phillips returned to writing something in her clipboard and then smiled at me.
“Drew, would you like to talk about anything?” she asked.
I didn’t want to look at Dr. Phillips. I just wanted to hear the calming sounds that filled my room back home. A few birds chirping nearby or my record player playing Howlin’ Wolf’s London Sessions while I looked up at the ceiling and time would finally stop, as if nothing mattered at all. But this was not my room back home.
No matter how those other patients could reveal themselves to strangers, I wondered if that too was something learned, like the first day at a new school and wondering if you’ll ever learn where all your classrooms are. But then I began to wonder again if this was another ability that was not learned, but strictly based on capability. I wasn’t capable of speaking to strangers and telling them my story though the bandages on my wrist already gave them a decent idea of why I was in the psychiatric wing.
I mumbled slightly, hoping it would beckon a non-participatory response, but I could sense everyone was still pre-occupied by my incomprehensible language. I decided to look at Dr. Phillips solely and simply shook my head. She smiled in understanding though her disappointment was slightly noticeable.
I glanced over at Isaac whose hands were woven through his hair that was oddly propped to one side of his face, so it covered one eye. It looked like he didn’t have a chance of leaving this place just based on his desire to remain silent and I worried that I would one day become him.
“Am I ever going to leave this place?” I
asked myself silently.
Chapter 10
Group ended after two hours. Everyone returned to the common room. I didn’t know what to do except sit on the couch and wait for someone to turn on the television. Free time prevailed in this place, but boredom managed to overtake me. Little tasks such as getting my cigarettes from my room or using the bathroom only took up a few minutes of my time.
I wanted to be left alone without responsibility, but the constant checkups and outbreaks of patients who would scream out of the blue for reasons unknown were already bothering me like nails purposely running down a chalkboard.
Natalie circled around the room before leaning against the back of the couch.
“How are you doing, Drew?” she asked me.
I turned my body to see her chin resting on the couch’s headrest.
“I’m fine,” I said.
“Okay, just checking in,” she said.
She patted me on the shoulder before walking away.
“How was group?” I heard Harlan’s voice ask.
He walked around the couch and sat down right next to me.
“It was fine, I guess,” I said.
“You talk?” he asked as he fell back into the cushion.
“No, I didn’t know what to say,” I said.
“Yeah, that starts to come naturally,” Harlan said.
“Does it?” I asked.
“Yeah. You get used to hearing everyone else talk about why they’re here. It gets easier to talk about yourself after a while,” he said.
“That’s good to hear. How was your group?” I asked.
“Fine,” he said. “We just talk about our progress and stuff.”
“How’s that going for you?” I asked.
Harlan looked at me and shrugged, “Same old.”
Harlan then turned away from me. He looked shell-shocked and tired. The dramatic headshaking with closed eyes coupled with a sigh told me something was off.
“Is it getting better, at least?” I asked.
“Can’t tell,” he said, “I can’t tell.”
I didn’t know what I was supposed to say after this. Harlan held his head up by cupping his hands around his chin so his nails looked like they were gently trying to peel the skin off of his cheeks. I turned away from him and tried to focus on the television screen.