“I want you to tell your therapist about this tomorrow in your session, okay Vada? If you need me to be there with you, I will. I...”
“No!” I say way too quickly. I pull back. “It’s just that…I feel like this will be good for me to come clean on my own. I want to start taking accountability for my own actions. I need to do this to help me get better.” What the hell am I saying? “But I am extremely tired tonight and just want to get to my room, okay?”
“Alright dear, should we pray together?” She tries to grab my hand.
I fake cough and cover my mouth to avoid any more of this intimacy.
“Already did…right after I barfed. Prayed it all better and the Lord is happy that I’m done with the puking and I can now go back to my room and settle in. So thanks, but already talked to God and I’m pretty sure he forgave me for doing the technicolor yawn in there, so I’m gonna go now. Thanks Rita. Thanks a bunch. You are really good at this.”
Rita looks like I just grabbed her ass and she has no clue how to handle it. So I walk out the door and leave her there puzzled, figuring she may as well use the toilet while she’s in there. She’s probably got some hacking to do herself.
Room 109
I know I have to go to my old room and I hope that Bath Salts Mary is already asleep or out chewing curd somewhere because I don’t want to have a one-sided conversation about why I am leaving. I’m just going to get it over with. I walk in quietly and there she is. Oh God. Those eyes turn my way. “Hey Bath-I mean Mary, I don’t know if they told you yet, but I’ve been moved down the hall. Sure will miss having you as a roommate. I just need to get my things.”
Mary looks different for some reason. She has make-up on. Huh…who would have thought? She’s no Miss America but she cleans up at least decently. I’d say she’s at least about a two or a three. And I’ll be darned, but she’s got on lavender satin pajamas. Who the hell is she dressing up for? I keep grabbing things and throwing them into my duffle bag. I swipe my stuff from the bathroom, grab my boys’ drawings, and am ready to head out.
“Well, good luck to you Mary,” I say sweetly and smile. “I know we didn’t become the greatest of friends and I am sure we both have issues that—.”
“Not to be rude,” she interrupts, “but I’m expecting someone and if you could just stop talking and leave then I would like that.” Her blood shot eyes are piercing through my skin.
I stand frozen. Did she just talk, like in human words? Wait a minute. Did she just kick me out? Has she got a boyfriend coming in here? Oh…does she have a girlfriend coming in here? Well, I guess I should leave before she gets feisty. But that bitch has a lot of nerve and apparently needs to get her freak on. Gross. I just look away and walk out the door.
I head to room 109. Why does it have to be an odd number? It is eight thirty and I am tired and ready for my sleeping pill in my little white cup. I must say, however, that this room is ten times better. There is a queen size bed with a fluffy white comforter and two fluffy pillows. There is a private bathroom and a closet with low drawers, no hooks, probably so we can’t hang ourselves. There is even a little table with two fabric-covered arm chairs with floral patterns. They are a pretty sage green, cream, and pale yellow. It’s kind of bed and breakfast-ish, but I like it.
I get my jammies on, pink flannel pants and a wife-beater. It’s not quite as sexy as Bath Salts Mary’s seductive satin number, but the thought of what lies under that lavender fabric gives me a strep throat taste in my mouth. I start to feel a little better about my lame jammies. I don’t unpack, as I am still planning to call Eric in the morning to come get me. I do hang up the pictures my boys drew for me, because they make me happy. I then, lie in this deliciously comfortable bed and let out a sigh of relief. That is, until my door knocks and in walks Katelyn, perfect looking Katelyn.
“Hey there, just checking on your room. I have your therapy schedule for tomorrow and I brought your p.m. meds. How are you feeling?”
“Wait a minute, how are you feeling?” I ask.
“I shouldn’t have told you any of that. I apologize for having a moment earlier, but I needed to get it off my chest. I guess even the nurses here have meltdowns sometimes. I should be helping you get better so don’t even think another thought about me, okay?”
“Well okay, but you know there are ways to get back at this guy.”
“What do you…no…just forget it. I need to move on with my life. Plus, I have one more patient to see before the shift switch.”
“What, you’re leaving?”
“Vada, I’m the day nurse. You have a different nurse at night. Have you not even noticed?”
“I guess the sleeping pills must really work.”
“Okay, I’ll be back in the morning and I’m trying to get overtime, so I may be here more hours than I normally would. Good night…take those pills first before I go.”
“Hmm…a sleeping pill and a pooping pill I am guessing?”
“They give those to everyone. Most prescription meds clog your tank.” This strikes me as funny because I bet Katelyn doesn’t poop. Perfect people don’t poop, do they?
“Thanks Katelyn, and if you change your mind and want some help with this guy…you know where to find me. I’m really good at screwing people up. It’s always been one of my personal strengths.”
“Thanks Vada. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Katelyn walks out, shutting the door behind her. The door is big and creaky and kind of appropriate for a place like this. I can only imagine the different kinds of women who’ve been here before me, who have slept in this bed. There are so many reasons people are here and all of them seem somewhat normal to me. Aren’t we all a little OCD...a little anxious...a little depressed...a little manic...a little paranoid...a little addicted to something? Aren’t we all a little unbalanced?
My deep thoughts are interrupted by a knock on the door. For the love of Haley’s Comet, can’t a girl get some rest around here? I open it a crack and it’s that Jessalyn girl. It’s after nine. I forgot. I knew there was something I forgot; those brownies messed with my memory. I nervously open the door all the way to let her in. She is just a tiny little thing. She looks like a model with blonde waist-length hair that was left to air dry and magically looks like it’s made for the runway. Her skin is pale and her face is pretty, like in a natural way, not a false eyelash kind of way. She seems to be in her jammies too: striped boy shorts and a red lacey tank top that says Nighty Night. Well dammit! I’m back to feeling lame.
“You got my note right?” she asks. She is twirling a strand of blonde hair around her finger.
“Umm…yes. I’m sorry. It’s been a really busy day and I just forgot.”
“Whatever.” She looks off to the side as if deliberately trying not to make eye contact.
Awkward silence….ugh...I hate awkward silence.
“Did you need something?” I ask.
“I’m on to you.” she tells me. Duh? Like I didn’t read the note, but what the hell is she talking about? I don’t love this conversation we are having.
“Well…congratulations, I guess.” I just want to go to sleep and I can already feel the sleeping pill making my eyes all blinky.
“I know you’re not really bulimic. I’m calling your bullshit on that one. So what is it really? Are you a pathological liar? A sex addict? Do you hear voices? Oh…wait, I know. You have postpartum, severe postpartum! Am I right?” she is laughing, still twirling her hair.
I do not know what to tell her. Who the hell does this girl think she is? I don’t have to tell her a damn thing.
“Why do you care? Why are you making it your business?” I ask her.
“Because I don’t like to see people spit lies all over my group. A lot of us have real eating disorders. It’s not fun, okay? It sucks, and whatever it is you are trying to cover up as an eating disorder, well it’s not my problem and I don’t want people involved in our group who don’t belong.”
I point my fi
nger at her like she’s going to get it. “Okay, little girl, you may not understand me and that’s fine, but you don’t know a thing about me so until you do, I suggest that you focus on yourself. I’ve got enough going on and really don’t need your shit, okay? I’ve got three kids at home and I don’t need another one here, so thank you very much. You can go now.” Wow! I’m way more ballsy than I thought. Actually, I’m kind of a bitch. Who knew?
She looks at me like I’ve just slapped her. In my mind I’m all like, what now biotch! You best be headed back to your room! But the mother inside of me sees a little broken girl who just needs someone to be mad at. She lets go of her hair and looks down at the floor like she is about to cry.
I soften my voice and I feel like I’m dealing with one of my children. “Come here and sit down.” I walk over to the chairs and pat one with my hand. “Let’s try to start over, okay?”
I can’t believe it but she actually does. I really hope she doesn’t stay long because Mommy needs sleepy.
“Alright, I’m sorry if I was rude. It’s just been so hard being here,” she says. “I feel so exposed...and the things I have told these women here and the story you heard…about my grandfather…well…” she starts crying.
I hand her a box of tissues, “What?” I ask. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
“But I do want to talk about it. I want someone to know! Nobody outside of this building knows! Everybody thinks, ‘Oh Jess just wants to be a model’ and ‘Jess is starving for attention.’ That’s what my family and friends think is wrong with me. They all think that I’m obsessed with my looks and the truth is I hate myself because when I look at my body it reminds me of what happened to it!”
This little lady is now crying and I find myself crying too. I did not sign up for this. I am not equipped to deal with this. I need to find a nurse. STAMP! or STAP! What the hell is the word they say when the medical people need something quick? I know it starts with an S! STAT! What am I supposed to do with this girl? Maybe I should just let her talk and not say anything. Maybe I should just run out of the room and hope she doesn’t follow me. But I think she came to me for a reason. There must be a reason. Words come out of my mouth, but I am totally winging this one.
“So, you are telling me that you never told anyone what your grandfather did to you? How old were you? When did it finally stop? Is he still alive?”
I ask so many questions and get so many answers. Jessalyn goes on to tell me the details of when she was six years old her grand-pig violated her for the first time. He lived in their house with her mother and drunken father. He told her that if she told anyone, that they wouldn’t believe her and that he’d hurt her even worse. How freaking scary would that be for a child? Her mother died of an intentional drug overdose in the middle of all of this, when she was only eight. Her father left after that, so she was left with this creep to raise her. Apparently, her aunt moved in to help, but supposedly never caught on to what was happening at night. How could she not know? This old prick sounds like a real winner. He tortured her with threats, and the abuse apparently went on for years until she got her period at the age of twelve. It seems that the pervert only preferred pre-pubescent children, because then it stopped.
“Everyone thinks he’s a hero,” she said. “He was in the military, a war hero. He is well-known around town and has always been active in the church. Still to this day, they all worship him. He’s almost ninety years old, but he’s as alive as ever. Every time I’ve been forced to see him, he gives me this look, this creepy look. It’s like he’s warning me...still to this day...not to tell.”
All I can do is hug her and tell her how sorry I am. She thanks me for being a good listener and I tell her that I am here for her if she needs anything at all, so to come see me anytime. She even promises not to rat me out at puke group. I think I’m going to like this girl. I just wish I could help her.
Before she walks out my door, she turns and looks at me with a smile and says, “Oh Vada, by the way…those brownies were awesome.”
Shocked, I say “You are the one that found those? What did you do with them?”
She says through her smile, “I saw your little blonde friend bring them in. Sorry Vada, but I kind of ate one. Even an anorexic chick like me can enjoy a pot brownie now and then…and didn’t you know? The anxiety girls had a little dessert before dinner tonight. I thought it would be good for them to have a laugh and chill out. I think it worked, don’t you?”
I look at her completely clueless.
“Couldn’t you tell? You sat at the same dinner table with them. They were so stoned. It was hilarious! Well, Good night...and thanks Vada.”
Well, lift up my hood and jiggle my parts…no wonder they were all laughing. What a day! I’m going straight to sleep and I am not letting myself think about anything. I will try especially hard not to think about what Bath Salts Mary is doing right now in my old room, but I’ll bet it’s sticky and naughty and has an odor.
March 5th
My quack schedule for the day is light and I am relieved. My morning meds arrive, an antidepressant and a benzo of some sort, in other words a crazy pill and a chill pill. Yes please! Katelyn is not back yet, so I get Gerri, the plastic face nurse this morning. I wonder if her face hurts. I wonder if she thinks fondly of her surgeon and the job he did. I watch her try to smile, at least I think that’s what she is doing, and I see the skin on her bottom lip actually pulling apart. She’s going to need some ChapStick for that because I think it cracked, may even be bleeding, but the wine-colored lipstick keeps it a mystery. Yikes! Her hair, which I am sure is gray underneath the golden dye, is a ponytail set high on her head. I can’t quite tell if it’s an extension or a clip-on ponytail, but I do believe that whatever it is, once belonged on the top of a horse’s ass. It’s definitely not human hair. But what the hell, she’s doing her thing.
I eat waffles and yogurt in my room. I always eat breakfast in my room. The whole breakfast in bed thing is fascinating. You lay there, someone brings you food, you eat it, you leave it, and they clean it up. Brilliant! I get in a nice long hot shower. My therapy appointment is at nine o’clock, so I take my sweet time getting ready. I throw on a hoodie and my stretchy pants because according to the calendar and pains in my worn out uterus, my lady friend is coming to visit today. Woop-a-dee-dooh!
After finding out last night that the “mean girls” that I thought were laughing at me were really just baked, I decide to call Eric and check on the boys, but I don’t hatch a plan to bust out. I might as well ride this thing out...at least a little longer. Eric says the boys are fine and they will visit soon. He reminds me how much he loves me and that he is so proud of me and can’t wait for me to be home. I bet he’s telling the truth because usually if I run out, even to the grocery store, he looks sweaty and anemic by the time I get back. I smooch kisses at my boys on speaker phone and tell them how much I love them and miss them. They tell me they are going to build me the coolest LEGO tower I’ve ever seen. Ben tells me that a girl in his class today told him that her mom is a dumb-ass. Although it kind of surprises me, I wonder what he told her about his mom. I can only imagine, “Well, my mommy’s in a mental institution and can kick your mommy’s ass ‘cause that bitch is crazy!” Oh, can you imagine? The boys think I am at the doctor to get some rest. They are so smart though, they probably aren’t even buying this bullshit.
After my call, I decide to take a walk to ward off the cramps. As I am walking down the long hallway, I see the door open from my old room. It’s probably Bath Salts Mary heading to yoga. I can’t help but get a mental picture. I can imagine her eyeballs popping out and rolling on to her yoga mat while doing the downward dog and then the blood bath that would take place after she started ripping the flesh off the other participants and whipping their skin around in her jowls like a dog eating a pork butt. A tall woman leaves the room stepping quickly, like an invisible elf is walking behind her and jabbing a sharp stick
up her ass. This is not Bath Salts Mary, this is someone else. I see a long blonde ponytail and navy blue pants with a white long-sleeved shirt, but I can’t see the front. Whoever it is must have spent the night and whoever it is clearly has a sore bum. Who is this? I must know. I pick up the pace and try to catch up. I never see her face, but I do see which room she goes into. She quickly shuts the door behind her. Well, hell…somebody’s got a little night-crawler around here. I’m not one for gossip, but curiosity may just kill this cat. Hmm…room 74. I’ll remember that.
Suicide Risk
Another room filled with glee. There is soft music, a nice comfy couch, and a big fluffy pillow. The walls are a tranquil blue and Dr. Ames, my other designated therapist, is a stout little fella with at least four chins and droopy eyelids. He sure seems like a nice enough guy, but I don’t care to get to know him. In fact, he seems too nice to be for real. Something is off about him. I just don’t get a good feeling. I see a picture of him and his wife on his desk. Oh well, he must be at least somewhat normal. I’m sure I am just being paranoid.
The Unbalancing Act Page 6