“Mabel,” she called out, “we’re going to my office. Can you come get Elizabeth in an hour?”
Mabel, talking on the phone at the nurses’ station, gave her the okay sign and off we went to the right. We went through two sets of double doors before entering her office. It was small but comfortably furnished with a desk, two chairs, a love seat, and a bookcase. There was a window along the far wall. Something soft and jazz-like was playing on a small compact disc player. The smell of vanilla from some sort of diffuser was a nice homey touch.
She sat on the loveseat and I took the chair opposite her. “I’m so glad you could see me today. I really am ready to get out here and start over. Dr. Pearson said I couldn’t leave without a psych eval. So let’s get this done.”
Aimee looked at her notes, and then flipped to a new page. “You’ve been here a little over two days, correct?”
“Yes.” I smiled. I wanted to look calm and confident.
“And you are ready to leave?” she asked quietly.
“As soon as you do this, then the doc said I could go.”
“Three days ago you tried to kill yourself. What has changed?”
I squirmed a bit in my chair. I knew I needed to be convincing. “I’m calmer, clear-headed, and recognize that I made a poor choice. I want to start fresh, start over.”
“What poor choice was that?”
“Taking a bottle of sleeping pills.”
“Why did you do that?”
I shrugged, looking down and away from her. “I’d rather not talk about it. I’ve put that behind me now and I want to move forward.”
She wrote for a moment, then adjusted her glasses and gazed directly into my eyes.
“You said you were calmer, but didn’t you yell at Dr. Pearson yesterday?”
“I got a bit angry.”
“Why?”
“He said he couldn’t release me as long as I was a threat to myself. I assured him I was not going to harm myself. I already had learned that. Didn’t I call 911? But he refused to believe me.”
“Then you refused dinner. How is that taking care of you?”
I closed my eyes and breathed in. Stay calm. I opened my eyes and tried the smile again. “I just wasn’t hungry.”
“And today?”
“I’ve eaten breakfast and lunch. Ask Mabel.”
“Good. What choice are you going to make the next time your problem comes up?”
“I’ll handle it.”
“How?”
“Isn’t that your job, to give me coping mechanisms?” Her raised eyebrow confirmed I had slipped over into sarcasm.
“That is a part of my job. One I cannot help you with since you refuse to discuss your problem. Apparently you have been reading up on the psychology of—.”
“Depression. And nothing you say will help me, so let’s move on.”
“Tell me about the alcohol.”
“I have a few drinks.”
“Define a few drinks.”
I knew I had to be somewhat truthful. “A couple of drinks a few nights a week.”
“That’s all?” she asked.
“Yes.” I stated firmly. Definitely. She didn’t need to know the whole truth.
Doc Aimee got up and leaned across her desk, punching an intercom button on her phone. “Tell Mabel she can come get Ms. Sullivan.”
Just her tone clued me in to the fact she was not going to let me go today, but I tried anyway. “So, I’m free to go?”
“Back to your room.”
“How long to process the paperwork?”
“That depends on you, Elizabeth. First, you need to start telling me, and yourself, the truth.”
“What are you talking about?”
She flipped back a few pages in her notes. “Fourteen empty bottles of rum in the trash. Ten bottles of various sleeping pills. No food of any substance. Bills stacked on the foyer table. No clean clothes, except a load in the dryer. Five dead plants.”
As she ticked off the evidence, I felt release slipping away. I stood then and began to pace in the small office. “Look, I can’t stay here. I have a job, a home, plans …”
“Your job has given you a leave of absence. Your parents have cleaned your house. Your day-planner was empty of plans.”
“My job knows I’m here? In the loony bin?” I dragged my hands through my hair, trying to stay calm. “My parents know I’m here too?”
She consulted her notes. “Yes, you called and left work a message that first morning. And you actually spoke to your mother.”
I ran my hands over my face, thinking, and thinking. How was I going to explain this? How could I spin this into a celebrity rehab type thing? “How can I explain this?”
“You already did, Elizabeth.”
“No. I can’t be crazy. No one should know. I have to be strong. You see why I have to leave, right?” My voice was rising. “You shouldn’t have told them.”
“You told them.” She scanned her notes again. “You called them and said you were getting help, asked them to pray for you.”
I reached over and snatched the notebook. “Stop it. Just stop analyzing me and looking at me that way. I just need to get out of here …” Just then Mabel opened the door. The scream came from deep within. “NO, I AM NOT GOING BACK TO THAT ROOM.”
Some part of me watched the rest of me have a breakdown right there in the counselor’s office. The tears, the anger, the pain all took over. It was like I couldn’t plug all the holes in the dam any more. There were too many truths leaking through into my carefully constructed make-believe world. How could I hide the ugly truth if everyone knew it? Where could I hide? And still I fought until they sedated me and took me back to the room.
Dream 3
I was curled up in my bed at home when I awoke in my dream. It was daylight with the windows cracked and the blinds slanted open. I remember I used to do that when I woke up early all through spring and summer. I hadn’t this year.
I was dressed in my favorite nightgown and I had a cup of my favorite coffee in my hands. I sipped slowly, suspicious. It sure tasted real. And I might have thought it was except for the man sitting cross-legged at the end of my bed, sipping his own coffee. A plate of beignets sat between us on the bed and I watched him eat one, then carefully lick the sugar off each finger.
I took one. “Oreos last night and beignets tonight. I’m going to get fat.”
“Mine are calorie free.” He grinned.
“Did Jesus send you?” I asked.
“Jesus prayed. I sent myself. Don’t try to figure it out.” He waved a hand in the air and then deftly changed the subject. “How are you feeling, Elizabeth?”
I paused and did a quick assessment of myself. “Okay.”
“Good. Just relax and enjoy your coffee and doughnuts.”
This was ludicrous. “What kind of meds are they giving me?”
“I’m not here because of the meds, Elizabeth.”
I tilted my head and studied his earnest face and demeanor. He was calm, assured, and radiated peace. The kindness in his eyes reminded me of Mabel’s.
“Mabel is one of mine.”
“But this is a dream?”
“Yes.”
“You’re not real.”
He raised both eyebrows.
“You’re not! You are some manifestation of a hero or rescuer or something. You are not God.”
He did not argue with me but got up and looked at the pictures on my walls. Collages of pictures of all the people I loved. He pointed to a picture of me with my best friend. “Theresa misses you and prays for you every day.”
“I miss her.”
“She couldn’t have you drinking in front of her grandkids.”
“I know.” Guilt churned.
He pointed then to
an Easter picture from several years ago. All of my family was in it. A neighbor had taken the photo. “They miss you too. They want to help.”
“They can’t help. No one can.”
He turned to look at me then. His hands stuck deep in his khaki pockets. His dark brown eyes filled with concern. “I can.”
Sarcasm swelled with the pain in my chest. “Really? Well if you are really God, then put my family back together again. Then I might believe you.”
“No,” he said softly yet clearly.
I waved him off then. “Then just go. I don’t want to know you. You can’t help me either.” I reached into my night stand drawer and pulled out a bottle of rum. I opened it, defiant as he watched. I tilted the bottle up, but nothing came out. I threw it across the room and it slammed against the wall.
“Has that helped you?” God asked.
“It dulls the pain.”
“I can heal the wound that causes the pain.”
I flipped over on my side, turning my back to him and shutting my eyes. “Bring back my husband and daughter and we’ll talk.”
Day Four
November 9
“Good morning! Your breakfast is here.”
I rolled to my side away from Mabel. What had God said about her last night? She was one of his. I could see that now. “I’m not hungry.”
“I thought we were done with that attitude.”
“I don’t feel good.”
She moved quickly and quietly for such a large woman. Her feet barely whispered across the tile floor and her cool hand was on my forehead. She stuck the temperature reader in my ear. It beeped, but she said nothing.
“You need to take your meds.”
I held out my hand, took the cup, downed the meds with a sip of water, and closed my eyes. I was so tired. Just so very tired.
***
I covered my eyes at the sudden brightness from the overhead light, until it blinked away.
“Elizabeth? Mabel says you aren’t feeling well. Is that true?” Shrink Lady asked.
I flashed back to yesterday’s conversation about her wanting me to tell her the truth. “I feel awful.”
Doc Aimee pulled a chair close to the bed, sat down and looked me in the face. “I think we should talk about yesterday.”
“Look. I’m sorry about yelling at you, and getting upset. It won’t happen again.”
“What upset you?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it matters a great deal.”
I tuned her out then. I closed my eyes, my mind, and willed myself to sleep again. No dreams. No nightmares. Pain free. Silent. Quiet. Sleep.
Dream 4
“I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to see you.” God and I sat on the swings in a very busy park. It was a bright sunny day and children ran everywhere. Slides, merry-go-rounds, and the monkey bars were all covered with kids. Moms and Dads watched over them, or chased them, or threw Frisbees with them. They laughed and smiled and hugged. I used to love the park. Now it made me sad, and I closed my eyes.
The roar of the ocean waves filled my ears.
We were at the beach now, but so were all the families. Playing volleyball, building sand castles, and flying kites. “Why are you doing this to me? Just leave me alone.”
I covered my face with my hands. My heart broke to hear them all. Then it was silent. And dark beyond my closed eyelids. I heard an owl hoot and then the crackle of a fire. I smelled something burning. I wiped my tears and opened my eyes.
We were in a small clearing in the woods with a wonderful fire, and hot dogs were roasting over the flames.
God turned the skewers the hot dogs were on—to burn them evenly I assumed. He glanced back at me. “Better?”
I nodded, my face stuck in a sad position.
“Good. Have a hotdog.”
I started to say no, but my stomach growled. I hadn’t eaten all day. He handed me a foot long with ketchup, mustard, onions, pickles and little bit of chili. “You’re just like my mom, always feeding me.”
“Where do you think moms got that from?”
I took a bite and chewed. “You?”
He pointed to himself.
I took another bite. It was perfect. “This is just the way I like it.”
“I know.” He put napkins in my lap and a Diet Cherry Coke in the drink holder of my folding camp chair.
I watched as he fixed his hot dog with sauerkraut. “Ewww … how can you eat that?”
God smiled at me. “I like variety.”
Images flashed through my mind. Blue birds, cardinals, sparrows, sea gulls, pelicans, hummingbirds, eagles, and many more than I could name. Oaks, redwoods, palms, firs, pines, birches and again more than I could name. Butterflies, flowers, types of clouds, the shades of the color blue … thoughts spun faster and faster through my mind. And people, the variety of people. Shades of white, brown, and red skin, with all kinds of textures and colors of hair, light and dark eyes, short and tall heights, and baby sizes to Sumo wrestler sizes. Stunned, I stared into his eyes and saw my thoughts there. I nodded thoughtfully, wiping my mouth free of mustard and chili. “I can see that.”
He took a big bite of his own hotdog and chewed with his cheeks puffed out. God could be a pig about his food.
He seemed satisfied with our silence and sat back in his chair to study the flames. I did likewise. I watched them flicker and reach, changing colors, greedily burning up the wood. The warmth seeped into my bones and my tiredness gradually overcame me. I think I actually nodded off in my dream. Isn’t that weird? To fall asleep while sleeping?
I awoke briefly as God tucked me into bed at the private care facility, the thirty day live-in program, where I was spending my days. The place was called Safe Haven. A part of me hoped it really was.
Day Five
November 10
“Girl, what have you got on your face? It looks like mustard … … where did you get mustard?”
“The hotdog,” I mumbled, rolling away from her and the light.
“You’ve got to get up. You’ve got visitors today.”
That got my attention. I pushed the hair from my face and propped up on one arm. “Who?”
“You need to get a shower. Eat. They should be here shortly.”
“Who, Mabel?”
“Your mom and dad.”
I slid from the bed, and then stopped halfway to the bathroom. “I have nothing to wear. I can’t let them see me like this. No makeup. No. Tell them no.” I turned back toward the bed, but Mabel blocked me.
“Go get in the shower. I’ll work on clothes, make up and such. Wash that hair too.” Mabel pushed me into the bathroom and closed the door.
I did not recognize the woman in the mirror. Dingy straggly brown hair, dark circles under dark eyes, shallow unhealthy skin, thin lips stretched into a grimace. What had I done to myself? I got in the shower, turning it on full blast and hot. I lathered my hair up and let the suds wash down over my face and body. For a few moments I was okay and then the tears started. My parents, whom I adored, were coming to see me in a mental hospital. A thirty day program for crazy people.
How far I had fallen this past eight months. I had become no one. Not a wife. Not a mother. Not an employee. Not a friend. Not a daughter, sister or aunt. I wept, the sobs shaking me until I sank to the floor of the shower. The loss overwhelmed me. I could do nothing but cry.
Mabel found me there, the water running cold. She turned off the shower and somehow got me up, dried off and wrapped me in a towel. She bustled out of the room for a moment and came back with a suitcase and a small travel case.
“Your mom brought some of your things.” She opened the suitcase and unzipped the case.
I rose from my seat on the toilet and walked into the room and my gaze went immediately to the pic
tures on the table, and the stack of books, and the vase of bright white daisies. Where had she found daisies in November? Leave it to mom to find the impossible. A smile tried to cross my lips. I picked up the first photo of mom and dad from last Christmas. The second photo was of me and my best friend, Theresa. The last photo I tipped down on the table.
Taking a deep breath, I ran a hand through the clothes in the suitcase and peered into the shoulder bag. I saw make up, hair brush, and found all kinds of comfy clothes—jeans, T-shirts, sweatshirts, socks, tennis shoes, and my flannel nightgown. All good choices for a woman going nowhere the next month.
“Do you need help getting dressed? Do you want me to dry your hair?” Mabel asked.
I shook my head. “No, I’ll be okay.”
“I’ve put your parents in the guest waiting room, so you buzz me when you get ready and I’ll take you out to them.”
I nodded, fingering the soft flannel of my gown.
I stood there another few minutes, looking at the pictures, the clothes, the books. Flashes of memories kept coming and coming. Vacations with family, sleepovers with mom making cookies, sharing tears over boys and hurt feelings and failed tests, watching football with dad, dad teaching me how to drive, college graduation … years and years of shared joys and sorrows.
I wanted to see Mom and Dad … but I didn’t. I couldn’t. Not like this. I had to get better first. Grabbing my backpack from the floor I searched out a pen and a scrap piece of paper. After scribbling furiously for a few minutes I buzzed Mabel.
She pushed open the door, her smile fading quickly to concern. “Why aren’t you dressed?”
I held out the letter I’d written. “Please take this to my parents.”
She took the folded page slowly. “Are you sure?”
“They can come back, right?”
“Yes. Visiting day next week.”
I nodded.
As soon as she left I went to the window and peered out between the slats of the blinds. I was hoping to catch a glimpse of my parents walking back to their car, on the other side of the six foot chain link fence. After a few minutes, I saw them. They walked holding hands, heads down. When had they aged so much? Had I done that? To me they had always been young, vibrant, active and alive. I hoped they had understood the note and would return next week.
30 Nights with God Page 2