Rose didn’t ask me why I freaked out. She started prattling on about celebrities and makeup. I was thankful I didn’t have to see the Rooths or Thomas because I was too exhausted to handle one more emotional confrontation. I was more tired than I’d ever been. I felt as if I could sleep for days. My thinking was muddled. I nodded off on the couch listening to Rose talk and trudged to my bed when we were allowed to go to our rooms.
Morning came too soon. I wanted to lie in bed in a state of emptiness and nothingness. And then I remembered—it was day three.
My seventy-two hours were almost up, and this entire ordeal was going to be over soon. I’d made it. Rose had been right when she’d said these would be the longest three days of my life. I felt as if I’d been in the psych ward for weeks instead of days. It was like being engaged in psychological warfare, but it was finally about to end. Soon I wouldn’t have to think about any of their questions or torturous mind tricks again.
I was excited to get out of bed now and was one of the first to arrive in the family room. It was empty except for Matt and Arlene. Arlene was sitting in front of the TV, even though it wasn’t turned on. I grabbed my coffee from the breakfast tray and decided to take a seat near Matt since he wouldn’t bother me. Dr. Larson summoned me before I had a chance to finish my coffee. We took our usual positions in his office.
“How are you feeling this morning?”
I was sick of everyone asking me how I was feeling. Did things have to happen the same way day after day in here?
“Tired.”
“I suppose you are.” He folded his hands on his desk. “Is there anything you’d like to talk about?”
I didn’t want to talk or answer any more of his questions. I didn’t know how I felt and didn’t care to find out. I wanted him and everyone else to stop looking at me and messing with my mind. I only wanted out.
“I’m wondering if there are any papers I need to sign before I leave. Do I have to do anything with my insurance company?”
Dr. Larson cocked his head to the side and eyed me quizzically. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Today is my third day. I’ve been here seventy-two hours.”
“I still don’t understand.”
“I thought I was going to be leaving today.”
“What gave you that idea?”
The look on Dr. Larson’s face filled me with dread.
“I heard people who try to commit suicide are only here for seventy-two hours.” My heart sank as I watched his expression change.
Dr. Larson shook his head. “Each case is different and your case is very unusual. We have a lot of work to do before you’re ready to leave.”
The thought of having to go through another day like yesterday made me want to cry and filled me with anxiety.
“I think I’m ready to leave. What if I don’t want to stay?”
“Nobody has explained this to you?” he asked.
A horrible sense of impending doom enveloped me. The room got even smaller. I shook my head. My voice had left.
“When you were in the hospital, your therapist, Lisa, worked closely with Dalila and Bob as your advocate. She helped Dalila complete the necessary steps to take over as your power of attorney. This means Dalila’s responsible for all of your medical decisions and your care. Lisa advised her to retain a 5150 and Dalila followed her suggestion.” He looked at me expectantly, as if I was somehow supposed to know what he was talking about. I was sure Rose knew what he was talking about, but I didn’t have a clue.
“I don’t understand.”
“A 5150 is issued in order to confine a person to a psychiatric facility when they’re a threat to either themselves or others. This allows a person to be hospitalized against their will. In many situations, it’s only for seventy-two hours, but in certain cases, it can be extended for up to fourteen days. In your case, we felt you needed an extension.”
“I have eleven more days here?”
“It’s not quite so simple. If we feel you’re ready to leave after that time period, then we’ll discharge you. But, if we still feel you need to be kept safe then we can continue to hold you.”
I wasn’t leaving. I was trapped here. Ice water shot through my veins.
“I’m sure it feels overwhelming. You went through a lot yesterday. But we are all here to help you. How can I help you today?”
I shrugged my shoulders. We sat in silence for a few moments. It was unnerving.
“We’re going to have to start talking about Emily. I think a good place for us to start would be to begin with easy things. Maybe not easy, but at least easier.” He paused. “You did a significant amount of work with Lisa in therapy before, right?”
I nodded.
“How about if you tell me about what your therapy experience was like working with Lisa?”
“What do you want to know?”
“Anything you feel comfortable sharing.”
I launched into talking about Lisa. It was the only time it’d been easy to talk to Dr. Larson. I told him how I was scared of her at first, but how that it wasn’t unusual because back then, I was scared of anyone who wasn’t Emily.
Lisa was different from everyone else who tried to help us. People who met us felt sorry for us and looked at us with pity, but Lisa never looked at us that way. Even Dalila and Bob did it, even though it wasn’t intentional. Our individual sessions were the one place where I felt like a regular kid, and I never got to feel like a regular kid, especially not in the beginning. It was a welcome break not to be treated as so special and fragile.
Our sessions with Lisa followed the same structure every time. The first part consisted of cramming the Rooths, Emily, Lisa, and me into a room so small that it felt as if we were sitting on top of each other. I didn’t like the family session time because Emily and I were expected to sit still and listen while the Rooths and Lisa talked about things I never understood. They spent the first few minutes talking before we began our activity. Even though there were lots of toys in the room, we could only play with the toys when it was a part of an activity we were all doing together. We went over and over charts, rules, and consequences. But afterward, Emily and I each had our special time with Lisa where we got to be alone in the room with her. In those early days, it was the only time I tolerated being away from Emily.
During my special alone time with Lisa, I didn’t have to sit still or be quiet. I could play with whatever toys I chose and got to play how I wanted. Lisa played beside me and let me make up the rules. While we played, she talked to me about things or asked me questions, but she never made me speak if I didn’t want to. She was content to sit in silence while we brushed the doll’s hair or changed the stuffed animals’ clothes.
I had a favorite doll that I fell in love with during our first session because of its beautiful mane of blond hair. I named her Annabelle and rarely made it through a session without picking up the brush and pulling it through Annabelle’s hair from scalp to end. There was something soothing and calming about it for me. Whenever I started to get upset about something we were talking about, Lisa would notice my anxiety and hand me Annabelle and her brush. It never took long before I relaxed.
We stopped meeting with Lisa for sessions when we were eleven, but she never disappeared from our lives. She became more like a close family friend who occasionally came for dinner and was always at any special event we had at school.
In a few short years, when Emily spiraled into her depression, we started meeting with her again, but this time, the attention was focused on Emily rather than the two of us and we no longer had family sessions. Although Lisa always made time to check in with me for a few minutes to see how I was doing, the therapy she did happened with Emily. In the beginning, I was in the room with them, but eventually, once Emily felt comfortable enough, I’d sit in the waiting room doing my homework or reading a book while they met. I never asked what they talked about and Emily never told me. She seemed emba
rrassed to be meeting with Lisa so I never pushed her. It didn’t matter to me what they talked about with each other, only that Emily was in better spirits when their sessions were over.
It was easy to talk to Dr. Larson about therapy with Lisa. The words flowed freely from my mouth and I didn’t feel like I was under constant scrutiny to say the right thing. Maybe it was because I was talking about the past and the past didn’t seem nearly as questionable or as frightening as what was going on right now.
“It sounds like you felt safe when you were in her office,” he said after I finished telling him a story about how we used to play “Feelings Candyland” when we were kids and how we’d continued to play it even when we were teenagers. It was like regular Candyland, except each color represented a feeling, and when you landed on a particular color, you had to give an example of when you experienced the emotion.
I shrugged.
“Do you think it would be possible that therapy with me could represent the same kind of safety you experienced with Lisa?” he asked.
“Probably,” I said.
There was no way he believed I was telling the truth. Therapy with Lisa was different from whatever kind of therapy we’d been doing. I’d felt comfortable with Lisa because she was the only person who hadn’t looked at me like there was something wrong with me, which was not the case here. There was no mistaking that Dr. Larson thought something was wrong with me. My favorite part about therapy sessions with Lisa when I was a kid was being able to play. I was willing to play Feelings Candyland with Dr. Larson, but I was pretty sure it wasn’t what he had in mind. But most importantly, I liked that she allowed me to be silent and never pushed me any further than I wanted to go. Dr. Larson didn’t just push me, he shoved me right over the edge, and Lisa would never think of acting that way towards me.
“Good.” He clasped his hands on the desk. “That makes me feel happy. I think a lot of progress could be made if you would allow yourself to open up in here.”
He seemed pleased. Maybe he did believe me.
“I understand yesterday was a very intense day for you. I’m completely willing to talk about it if you’d like to do so, but I’m also open to letting you take some time to let it all sink in before we process it further. What do you think?”
What was I supposed to think? Yesterday he’d told me Emily had been dead for two years even though I’d been with her every day. The suggestion that she’d been dead when she was alive was unbelievable. What I didn’t understand was why all of the doctors were lying to me. Why were they trying to get me to believe something that wasn’t true? Dr. Heimer said they weren’t testing me, but what else could they be doing? The only other possibility was that they were telling the truth, but that was unimaginable. There had to be another motive for them to lie to about Emily.
“I’m not feeling like talking about Emily.”
“I can respect that. Anything you’d like to talk about? Any questions?”
I shook my head.
“I’m always here to answer any of your questions.”
I was glad our session had ended. Unfortunately, tomorrow I would be back in the same chair, following the same routine. Maybe tomorrow I would have some questions for him, but not today. Today it was over and I couldn’t get out of the room fast enough.
13
“I’m not leaving. I’m here for at least eleven more days.”
“No way, really? I thought for sure they’d let you out in seventy-two hours. You seem perfectly fine to me.” Rose reached over and gave me a quick squeeze. “Don’t be mad, but I’m glad you’re still here. I like having you around.”
I couldn’t bring myself to say the same thing even though I liked Rose. I couldn’t handle more days. All the life had been sucked out of me. My brain felt like it would explode at any minute and spray pieces of me all over the linoleum floor. The day crawled. It was worse than any shift I’d had at my job. Our morning group was filled with Shelly’s drama.
“I want to drink so bad,” she said, skipping her long list of disorders.
“Why do you think you want to drink?” Mark asked. “What’s the trigger?”
“There doesn’t have to be a trigger. Maybe I just want to drink. Have you ever thought of that? This shit is stressful.”
“Maybe you could learn a healthier way to deal with your stress.” Mark looked around the room. “Does anyone have any ideas for Shelly about how she might be able to deal with her stress in a way that doesn’t involve drinking?”
Shelly didn’t wait for anyone to respond. “It’s not like I can drink anyway even if I wanted to. I’m in the fuckin nut ward.”
“Remember, we don’t like to use that language.”
“We don’t use that language.” She mocked him in the same way she mocked anyone who upset her.
“I think it’s time to move on to someone else. I’m not willing to fight with you or talk to you when you’re being disrespectful, Shelly. We’ve talked about this before. Tobi, let’s continue checking in with you.”
Tobi began but was interrupted by Shelly’s loud sobbing.
“I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I’m acting this way,” she wailed, getting louder and louder as she went. “Nobody understands me. Nobody. For once, just once, I want someone to know what it’s like to be me. Why doesn’t anyone get it?”
Tobi reached out to her and tried to hug her.
“Don’t touch me!” Shelly slapped her hand away.
Shelly’s anger turned a switch on in the room, setting everyone in motion. Arlene started rocking rhythmically and pulling her hair. Rick and Darin became animated, as if someone had plugged them in. Tobi started sobbing as loudly as Shelly. Denise looked back and forth at each of them, trying to decide who she should comfort first and clearly afraid to make the wrong choice.
“Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.” Doris joined the chorus.
Besides Matt, who didn’t seem to notice the noise, Rose and I sat in silence. I watched as Mark worked frantically to keep things under control. I was the newest member and wondered if I’d have a role in the group after I’d been here a few more days. Would I respond to their agitation in the same way they responded to each other? How long would it be before I joined their ranks? What would happen to me in eleven more days?
I turned to Rose, who was watching them in the same way I was, but not participating. How had she managed to stay so normal through all of this? She’d been here the longest, so shouldn’t she be the craziest? I was curious to know more of her story.
Mark ended group early once he’d managed to get everyone calmed down without having to call in the bouncers. I didn’t know how he did it, but he’d methodically worked his way around the circle, talking in a hurried voice to each person while managing to sound like he wasn’t hurried. It had worked.
I started asking Rose questions as soon as we got to our spot. I was surprised at how easily she talked to me about her stuff. Everyone here shared intimate details about their lives as if it wasn’t a big deal.
“The only friends I ever had as a kid were imaginary ones,” she said after she’d explained that she was an only child and had grown up without any other kids around.
“I’m a twin.”
“No way, are you serious? That’s so cool. Are you guys identical or fraternal?”
“We’re identical.”
“You guys must be super close. I’m so jealous.”
“We are—were …”
I didn’t know how to talk about Emily.
“Is she going to come visit tonight with your family? Can I meet her?”
I shook my head. Rose’s face fell.
“It’s not because I don’t want you to meet her. She’s … she’s … dead.” My words got quieter and quieter as I spoke. Dead came out as a whisper.
Rose’s eyes got huge. “Oh my God. When? How? My God, I feel so bad for you.”
How was I supposed to answer her questions? The only thing I knew for sure was that E
mily was dead. It was the one piece of information everyone agreed on.
“It’s really complicated,” I said.
My brain was still reeling from yesterday. I was trying to think logically about what Dr. Larson and the team had said, but my thinking was muddled like I had a brain full of cotton. I wanted to remember something. Anything that would help me comprehend what was happening, but it was like digging through quicksand. Each time I felt like a small hole might be opening up in my memory, it was quickly swallowed up by a feeling of panic.
“Were you guys close?”
“Extremely. She was my everything.”
“I’d probably want to die too if I lost my twin.”
“I do. Nothing feels right without her.” A huge lump rose in my throat.
She moved closer to me on the couch. “I’m so sorry.”
Her words were simple and matter of fact, but no one had acknowledged my loss and it touched me. Her words made their way into my center and for the first time in my life, tears started to fall down my cheeks in front of someone other than Emily. I wiped them away.
Rose put her arm around me. “It’s okay to cry.”
It was as if her words released a bag of rocks I’d been carrying, and I began to sob in a way I’d never sobbed before. Rose didn’t say anything, just moved to hold me, and I fell into her embrace, sobbing against her collarbone. My guttural cries were from somewhere deep inside me. I didn’t notice Shelly, Tobi, and Denise had come up behind us until I heard Tobi’s voice.
“What’s wrong with her?” she asked.
“Just leave us alone, please,” Rose said in a soft voice. “Please … Please.”
I didn’t know if they’d gone away or if they still were there, but I didn’t care. Rose held me until my anguished cries became silent weeping and kept on holding me until the grief had gone beyond tears and sounds to find its way to my center, where it would never leave. I lay limp in her arms like a lifeless doll.
I’d never let anyone comfort me or see me cry besides Emily. Not even Thomas. I’d started swallowing my tears as a little girl when I figured out that the only way Mother knew she hurt me was if I cried and I was determined that no matter what Mother did to me, she would never know she’d hurt me. By the time I was five, I’d quit crying whenever she beat us. I never shed a tear or showed any emotion.
Phantom Limb: A Gripping Psychological Thriller Page 13