George takes over proceedings. “I feared this might happen and this is why I brought you out here. What you perceive to be true and real and what is actually real are two quite different things. Thomas, I have something to tell you and you are going to find it very difficult to hear. Please, let’s take a seat.” He motions towards a bench just metres away from us.
“No, I’m not leaving them! You can’t make me!”
Janey this time; “No Thomas, we can’t make you do anything you don’t want to do but don’t you want to hear what George has to say? You came all the way up here to find out as much as you can about your past, please, just hear him out.”
An inner battle ensues between my head and my heart as I wrestle with what to do next. I see George and Janey walking towards the bench. They sit down and both look in my direction, waiting on me to make a move. I feel torn in two. I don’t want to leave Caroline’s side in particular (since I’ve just been reunited with her) but the truth is whatever George has to say, Janey is right, I need to hear it.
Still in denial about what George and Janey are telling me, I address my sister – “Caroline, would you mind if I left you with Juliet for a minute? I just need to go and see what George wants. I won’t be long.”
“Of course, why would I mind being left with Juliet? She’s my sister after all.”
“I know, of course … it’s just that I didn’t want you to think I was leaving you again.”
“Thomas, I didn’t think that for one minute. Now please go, they are waiting on you!”
As I glance in George’s direction, I notice the solemn look on his face, and I brace myself. Whatever he has to say, I can deal with it. As I draw closer, the two of them shuffle up, leaving a space for me. Janey is sat next to me and places a protective hand on my thigh when I settle down.
We sit in a brief silence as we wait for George to gather himself. Eventually, he starts: “Thomas, did you never wonder why your father didn’t go to prison for what he did that day?”
“Of course I wondered. But he was so clever, and manipulative, I guess I just assumed he had somehow wormed his way out of it. Maybe he made it seem like an accident or perhaps he lied about being there in the first place. I never got to find out what happened because when I recovered in hospital I went from there straight into foster care (as you know), and never heard from mother or father at all. I wouldn’t put it past him to have put me in the frame for Caroline’s death though. That would have sewn it up nice and neatly for him. There was no-one else there that day so with no witnesses it would be easy for him to lie about what happened. I was classed as a minor at fourteen years old so he knew I couldn’t go to prison for it.”
“Thomas, you do realise you have just mentioned Caroline’s death. So, you know she is no longer with us?” A sharp pain like an electric current starts to trace across my skull with the impact of those words as I am desperately confused. I gaze in front of me and as clear as a bell I see Caroline and Juliet standing there, both looking directly at me. My hands move involuntary in the direction of my head to cradle the afflicted areas. This provides only temporary relief before another current tracks right over the crown of my head and a single word escapes from my lips, barely audible: “No.”
“Sorry Thomas, what did you say?” Despite the pain I am more determined this time.
“No, I said! I don’t know what’s going on here. Maybe you are trying to trick me? What’s your game, George?”
“I am not playing any games, Thomas; I simply want you to learn and understand the truth. And on that note, Thomas, there was a witness at the scene. Had there not been, it is unlikely you would have made it to hospital.” I am momentarily distracted by Janey who is shifting around in her seat, clearly feeling uncomfortable. George too seems distracted with Janey’s movements so we both wait for her to settle down.
“Do I know this witness? This really makes no sense, George. There was no-one else out there that day. It was wild. We were the only ones there.”
“That is not the case because the authorities were notified, and an ambulance came to the scene to take you to hospital.” He pauses and I wait for him to fill in the blanks, to tell me who the witness was. “And I am sorry, I am unsure who witnessed it, but to be honest, Thomas, that is all pretty irrelevant. I need to speak to you about what happened next that day and what has happened out here today.”
“Go on then!”
“Firstly Thomas, I have tried to explain all this to you before but perhaps you just weren’t ready to hear it at the time. And Janey, it is good you are here too because Thomas will need all the love and support you can give him.” I can feel the colour draining from my face as I mentally brace myself. What is he going to hit me with? Surely it can’t be that bad?
“You were clinically evaluated by specialists before you left the hospital all those years ago and it was their professional opinion and findings that you were suffering from Psychosis. They deduced the psychosis manifested itself as a result of the trauma you endured at the hands of your father as a young boy. It is my belief that you have had psychotic episodes throughout your life, likely starting well before the incident with your father at Neist Point.”
His words start to sink in, but nothing makes sense. “George, I don’t understand! Psychosis? Psychotic episodes? Are you saying I am a psychopath, George?”
“Not at all, Thomas! The two should not be confused. A psychopath is someone who is unable to feel for others and may act in reckless and antisocial ways. Psychosis, however, is when you lose some contact with reality. It can involve seeing or hearing things which other people cannot see or hear, hallucinations if you like. This can result in seeing people who aren’t actually there or even feeling you’ve been touched by someone who isn’t there. I fully appreciate this is a lot to take in but, if it helps, I still have a copy of the psychiatric report at home. You are welcome to have a look later.”
“You’ve got that right at least. It is a lot to take in and pardon me if I am not fully on board with it! I mean come on; I am not mentally unstable! If I were, I would be the first to knock on my G.P.’s door.”
“That’s just it, Thomas, someone with Psychosis may not be able to recognise their symptoms and therefore it’s quite feasible that you wouldn’t seek medical help if you believed there was nothing wrong with you.”
“It makes no sense, George. Growing up, I remember all the times I shared with my siblings and all the antics we used to get up to when father wasn’t around. There were loads of high jinks. I recall James fashioning a saddle out of an old tractor seat then fixing it onto our tup Bruno then taking off at high speed up the hill. Then there were all the jobs they used to help me with around the croft. How could I have imagined all that? Please tell me – how? I have literally years of memories!
“And then there’s Caroline. I cannot explain it, why she is here with me now because you are correct, father killed her! He planted his hands on her shoulders and shook her. Then he struck her, and she was sent flying off the cliff edge. How could I have made that up? I saw it all plain as day!”
“I don’t know what to tell you, Thomas, other than I am afraid it wasn’t real. And that wasn’t ‘James’ riding that tup, it was you. You expertly created a fictional world, with you as the central character. It helped you cope with the day-to-day living under such traumatic circumstances. And, as for the scene at the cliff edge – it was you he shook so violently; it was you he struck, Thomas!”
Thoroughly fed up and exasperated with the way this conversation was going, I move to get up from the bench and head back to my sisters. George stops me in my tracks. “Where are you going?”
“Where do you think I’m going? Back to my sisters, Caroline and Juliet. This conversation is now over.”
However, a feeling of blind rage starts to set in, and I turn around to address them both. “If what you are telling me is true, why have you waited until now to tell me? Juliet joined us in the car, George, when w
e were en route to Skye. If she doesn’t exist, why didn’t you tell me then?”
“I have to apologise for that, Thomas, but I had to see how it was going to play out. Juliet appeared to you I believe because you were already feeling anxious after being involved in a car accident and then I am guessing subconscious old trauma started to re-surface as we drove closer to Skye, hence Juliet was manifested.
“I had to bring you here to Neist Point to see if it brought any pent-up emotions back for you. I confess I was hoping you would see Caroline today then I would potentially be able to reason with your rational mind. If you believed she had been killed years ago, then how could she possibly appear before you today? But, the truth of the matter, Thomas, is that she never existed in the first place.”
I have nothing. I have no response to give. I am utterly speechless and spent. The magnitude of what he has told me weighs heavy on my heart. As far back as my memory goes Caroline and Juliet have been in my life and he is telling me that what, my sisters whom I love dearly are not even real? They are a manifestation of a supposed mental illness? What did he say I had? Psychosis? And that I had suffered Psychotic episodes? Then it hits me, what about James! “James?” I simply utter and he answers with a simple shake of his head. I slump forwards, broken. It feels as though my heart has been shattered into a thousand tiny little pieces and my head is pounding terribly, unable to process this devastating news.
However, devastation soon turns to denial as I gaze forwards and see my sisters once again, still standing before me. “George it can’t be true! It simply can’t! I feel absolutely sane, and I can still see them! Even after what you have told me, they are still stood there. It makes no sense!”
“Thomas please, try to calm down. This is going to take a long time to process, and it is completely understandable that you can still see them. You have lived with this altered state of reality for most of your life. As I said, the Psychiatrist who evaluated you believed that your mental illness was brought about by severe trauma experienced during your early childhood. In some cases (and I know it was recommended in your case, Thomas), medication has to be taken for a lifetime and, if not taken, episodes of psychosis can re-occur.”
Episodes? Episodes? “George, I don’t experience episodes! This is my reality, not an episode!”
“Yes, I am quite sure it must seem like that, but I can assure you what you have witnessed today is not real and these experiences you have whilst they seem very real and life like, they are simply a creation of your subconscious mind. You created these characters, Thomas, because you have been mentally unwell. It is not your fault, and it is out-with your control. It provided you with a coping mechanism, a way to deal with day-to-day life to get you through it.”
His use of the word ‘characters’ cuts like a knife through my heart. They may be ‘characters’ to George but to me they are my flesh and blood, my siblings. Janey has been unusually quiet. I need to hear what she makes of all this. I plead to her; “Janey, we have been together since we were in university. If I had a mental illness, don’t you think I would be aware of it or at least surely you would have seen something?” She locks eyes with me, and I can tell she is struggling to form the words.
She takes a moment to compose herself then formulates her response. “I can’t imagine what you must be feeling right now, sweetheart. It is a lot for me to take in too, so it must be so incredibly hard for you to hear all that. I cannot lie, there have been several occasions over the years when I have been concerned about your mental health. You have often gone into a fugue-like state where you are not fully present. You lose your train of thought mid-sentence. I never wanted to probe too much – I know you had a terrible childhood – so I just tried to be there for you, best I could.”
She can see the shocked look on my face, and she moves towards me, presumably to initiate a hug, but I instinctively back off, hurt with her admission.
“Let me get this straight, Janey … you suspected I was mentally ill, and you decided to do nothing about it? In all this time, you didn’t think there was one opportune moment you could have discussed it with me?”
“Thomas, I am sorry. I am so genuinely sorry, but I thought it was for the best. You have moved on amazingly well with your life and you have so many positive things going on with your family life and your business that I guess I thought it might do more harm than good.” I mull this over and remain unconvinced.
“Well perhaps you should have given me the chance to decide what I wanted to do about it. Instead, the decision was taken out of my hands and the ‘problem’, it appears, has just been ‘brushed under the carpet.’ This is my life, Janey; you can’t do that! If you wanted to be there for me, you should have been upfront from the start if you suspected something wasn’t right! And you mentioned earlier that you had supposedly heard me talking to someone when there was no-one there then stopping when you came near? You should’ve been honest with me, Janey.”
George this time (providing Janey with what I am quite sure will be a momentary welcome reprieve); “Thomas, you must be aware that you take medication for this illness?”
“No!”
“According to your medical records dating back to when you were evaluated on leaving hospital, you were prescribed anti-psychotic medication and it was the recommendation of the Psychiatrist that you remain on this long-term.”
“George, I am not lying to you, I am not aware of any anti-psychotic medication.”
“Well, let me put this another way, are there any medications you take on a regular basis?”
Now I can feel the worry start to creep in. “There is something but I’m sure it’s not what you are referring to.” I take a deep breath and summon the courage. “My foster parents told me to take medication for my anxiety. I started taking it when I left the hospital and have been on it ever since. I was too frightened to come off it in case all the feelings from the past came back.”
“That will be the anti-psychotic medication, Thomas. It sounds as though they were only too well aware of what you’d been through and were trying to shield you from the truth. I imagine they didn’t want you to suffer any more than you already had done.”
“OK George but if that is true then why have I seen Juliet and Caroline since I’ve been in Skye? I am still taking the medication, yet I can see them!”
“It is more than likely that you being back here has brought all the childhood trauma you experienced to the surface and, even under the influence of the medication, it’s entirely possible that you could have another episode.”
This is all way too much! I need some space! I head off blindly in the direction of the tip of Neist Point. Caroline and Juliet are still clearly visible and present, but my head is too swamped, I can’t even entertain a conversation with either of them right now, so I march right on past them. I can hear my name being called but I have no intention of turning around or acknowledging it. I find a spot and sit down. Unwittingly, I choose a space right on the cliff edge. With feet dangling precariously, I peer downwards and lose all sense of time and space as I sit mesmerised with the waves crashing up against the side of the cliff. There is a deafening sound when contact is made, and it provides a welcome distraction from the churning thoughts of my mind. For a few precious moments I am not Thomas the husband; the father; the mentally ill person with a disturbing childhood. I am simply ‘being’ and witnessing mother nature in all her glory.
As with all good things, however, they inevitably have to come to an end. I can hear the footsteps directly behind me and the familiar voice of George which manages somehow to penetrate the noise of the waves. “It’s time to go now, Thomas. Let me help you up.” Like a little puppet on strings, I let my puppet master hook his hands under my armpits and guide me upwards.
CHAPTER 22
U
tterly crestfallen and heartbroken I ride up front with George, our journey home sure to be a long one as we all sit in a stony silence. Every so often I hear Ge
orge mutter something under his breath. He clearly has something to say but is too frightened to voice it. No doubt he has thought twice before bombarding me with anything else. Janey too remains silent. She will still be licking her wounds after our confrontation earlier. It dumfounds me that she has suspected I have been suffering with a mental illness for years and has said nothing about it.
I need this time. I need this silence to gather my thoughts. This has well and truly blown my mind. If I were to ask my companions how many people were in the car just now, I know the answer they would give but it doesn’t match mine for I am only too well aware of the presence of Caroline and Juliet in the backseats. I do my best to block this out for now and focus on the conversation with George instead.
Nothing adds up. If I have been mentally ill and experienced ‘psychotic episodes’ then how was I able to excel at university, rise up through the ranks in my profession, and have a stable family life all the while being completely unaware I was ill? Surely the cracks would have been evident to myself and everyone else around me? How have I been able to live with this unknowingly for over twenty years?
However, the pills do concern me. They give me pause for thought and make me question what I believe to be true versus George’s rendition of the truth. I can recall the conversation with my foster parents all those years ago. The grave looks on their faces. They made me vow to take my medication daily. They said it was vitally important to help with my recovery and to stop any anxiety setting in. I was only too willing to oblige, fearful of the repercussions of opening the floodgates to the well of emotions bubbling away under the surface. Then it just became habitual. I never questioned it. I simply kept taking the medication year on year on year. I reasoned that it kept all the panic and anxiety under wraps, helping me lead a normal life. But what if what it was actually doing was keeping psychotic episodes at bay? I need to see that psychiatric report. I don’t want to see it, but I need to see it.
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