The Unbalancing Act

by Lynn, Kristen

  “Yes Rita, I have. I am doing great. I feel great, aside from all the stitches and welts and bruises. I feel like a million bucks. I haven’t been doing any purging and I haven’t even thought about it.”

  “Well, darling, I would love to believe that is true. I see so much potential in you Vada. You know though dear-heart, we recently found vomit on your clothing.”

  Oh freaking bloody hell. I was on opiates! Pain medication! Who doesn’t puke on pain medicine?

  “Well, Rita,” I say, “my medicine made me sick. Wait a minute, how on earth did you find that out?

  “I don’t think that is important.”

  “Just tell me...How do you know there was puke on my clothes?”

  “Well, if you must know, one of the staff members found a sweatshirt with vomit on it in your room and felt it was something I needed to know about. I believe this person was correct. All of our staff looks out for our patients.”

  That dirty, sneaky, redneck asshole Jeremiah! What the hell is his problem? He may be mad about me not coming out when he was there to pick me up, but he didn’t have to go and do something like that. What a turd. He must have just found it right after I left my room and ran this info to Rita. Unless...he was in my room while I was sleeping! Eww...that creeps me out!

  “Rita, I can promise you that I was not making myself throw up. I don’t tolerate pain meds well. As for Jeremiah, he can stay away from me. I have a feeling he was in my room last night, and that is a violation...a security....”

  “Who is Jeremiah? Vada, you are not making sense. I don’t know anyone with that name.” Her face is truly concerned.

  “Oh, he’s the janitor. I’m sorry, I just thought...”

  “Vada, I don’t know who this is or why you are fraternizing with the janitorial staff, but let’s be clear. The person who shared this information was looking out for your best interests.”

  “Oh freaking spare me this crap Rita! Let’s knock off the bullshit and tell me who it was.”

  “Fine, it was Sheila, the new day nurse we have added to our staff. “

  “That bitch!” I am almost yelling and realize I need to calm down.

  “Oh my, Vada. You are so angry, dear. We need to address this.”

  “No! No. I am not angry, see I am happy. I’m just defending myself from false accusations.”

  “Vada, at this time I would like you to do some breathing exercises. Just calm down...in and out...in and out.”

  I’m sorry. But my mother is not paying an arm and a leg for this bitch to tell me how to breathe. For heaven sake it’s already cost her two toes. In fact, I believe people start practicing breathing in utero, so this is some really messed up shit. I don’t know why I am so angry, but these people are so bass-akwards. Instead of providing a calming and healthy environment, they are just continually pissing me off. I need a Xanax. But I breathe like an idiot and do my best to swallow my craziness.

  Rita looks at me and smiles. “I feel like you are letting anger get in the way of your treatment. Let’s try the breathing when you start to feel rage. Now Vada, I am going to have to ask you to step on the scale. We are focused on health, not numbers, but you have not been tracking this information and I know that because I have seen no documentation of this since you were first admitted. Let’s just hop up on the square in the corner over here, alright?”

  “Sure,” I say. I walk over to the white floor scale. The digital numbers pop up and to my surprise there they are—105. Oh holy hell. For the first time in my life I am not happy that I have lost weight.

  “Vada, clearly you can understand my concern.”

  “Rita, look, I totally get it, okay? But you have to understand I was getting ready to start my period when I came here. I always gain water weight around that time. I’m done now and I’m sure that explains it, plus the medicine I’ve been on hasn’t made me quite as hungry. Please believe me when I tell you this. I am not throwing up! Not on purpose!”

  “Darling...”

  “Don’t ‘darling’ me Rita, I am fine. I haven’t puked since that night in the bathroom, (which never happened anyways) so get over it and get my husband here to pick me up now!”

  Rita throws her hands up and shakes her head. She starts writing on a clipboard and I almost lose it. Breathe, Vadie, fucking breathe. Maybe this bitch was on to something with the breathing after all.

  “Vada, I want you to know where we stand. I am giving you an opportunity to tell me the truth right here and now. Do you realize what I am saying to you? Here is your opportunity.”

  She says the word opportunity like it’s a word from a 40’s musical number.

  “Well Rita, thank you for the opportunity, but since you don’t believe anything that I say, I am evoking my Fifth Amendment right. I can’t quite remember exactly what that means. However, I do know that it has something to do with the fact that I don’t have to talk to you anymore. So shoo fly! Don’t bother me! Go find some other troubled girl to save.”

  “I think we are done for now, Vada. You may return to your room. We will see you for your evaluation at eleven thirty. Just remember, I was trying to give you a chance.”

  I get up and walk out. No, I don’t walk out. I hobble out like Igor. What is Rita talking about anyways? I’m so confused, but too pissed to think about it. I’m mad and grumpy and have an expression on my face that probably looks like I just ate a bag of shit. As I make my way down the hall, I see her coming at me. I think she’s going to charge me like a bull. She has those crazy eyes and her stringy hair is in her face. Her gray matching sweat suit has pit stains, and looks like a 70’s high school gym uniform. I close my eyes and brace myself as Bath Salts Mary comes leaping and pummels me like a linebacker. I fall to the ground and my head hits the marble floor. Oh my God ouch. The pain in my head makes my eyes hurt and I am totally disoriented. Water fills my eyes. The cut on my back feels like it’s been torn open, but I don’t feel any blood coming out. What the hell is wrong with this person? I think she may have just tried to kill me. I’m going to play dead. If I move I could possibly get it again. I’m just going to lay here and hope someone comes to help before my face gets eaten. I bet she’s going to eat my eyes out first. So I keep them shut tight. Bath Salts Mary says nothing, but I can hear several people pulling her off of me. I know one voice is Rita, the other one Jeremiah. They have taken her off into a room and hopefully shot her crazy ass with a syringe full of chill-the-fuck-out. I open my eyes and to my surprise I see my sandwich friend; the pretty one from the group meeting, standing over me. I also see several nurses and some stunned patients staring as if they’ve never seen a girl get tackled before. The next thing I know I am in an office lying on what seems to be a hospital bed, one with the side rails and a tray.

  I’m shocked to discover that my sandwich friend is holding an ice pack on my head.

  “Hey you,” she says.

  “What just happened?”

  “It appears you may have an enemy. You were attacked by another patient and you have a pretty bad bump on your head. You are going to be fine. You don’t have any signs of a concussion, just a nasty bump.”

  “Well, isn’t that just dandy!” I say. “You look familiar; I thought you were a patient.”

  “Oh no. Although sometimes I feel like I could be. I’ve got four kids at home and I swear sometimes I’m going to lose my mind.”

  “Oh, well, I know how that feels. Do you mind telling me what the hell that crazy bitch’s problem is?”

  “Oh Vada, I think she’s protecting her territory. You see, I am a nurse practitioner. I am here for medical treatment, not mental health purposes. Most of the patients don’t know that and I tend to get an earful of gossip whether I want to hear it or not.”

  “What are you saying? Are you saying there are rumors going around?”

  “Not necessarily, but I do know that Mary Weaverton has a crush on the janitor and I think she may have an inkling that he likes you.”

  “Th
at’s ridiculous! I am married and I wouldn’t touch him with a ten foot pole! Eww...not only is it him, but do you know where that thing has been? And who it has been in? Yuck.” Mary must know that he gave me a ride to the country club the other night.

  “Oh I know that, and you know that. But that lady for some reason does not know that.”

  “Lady, my ass! I bet her mother was an elephant and her father was the Hunchback of Notre Dame. She is not a lady. She’s a garbage truck with legs! You seem like a normal person. I think everyone else here is nuttier than a bunch of fruitcakes. Can you please try and tell them to let me out of here?”

  “I’m going to get your evaluation team. They are the ones you should be speaking with about this. I am just here to fix the boo-boos.”

  She leaves the room and I sit and wait. This whole thing is absurd. Several minutes pass and she comes back in with her pretty face and tells me that I am free to head to Dr. Lipton’s office. I feel like I should be wearing a damn helmet and possibly a bullet proof vest at this point but my sandwich friend assures me that they’ve got “Miss Weaverton” in isolation. Walking down the hall, a sense of total anxiety washes over me like a torrential downpour. I am sweaty and tense and want to jump out of my skin. I know I am about to face the panel. It’s like the first day of high school. I can’t even think I am so nervous. I take my stupid deep breaths and try to fake the fear that I can feel from my head to my ass and down to my toes. I turn the corner into the big room that is set up like a dinner party. Dr. Lipton, Dr. Ames, Rita, and Amelia Peters, hospital administrator, are all seated and waiting for me, the late guest, to arrive. Everyone has a drink in front of them, coffee or water, and they all look as cozy and comfortable as if they were getting ready for their appetizers to arrive. I stumble in and take a seat in an empty chair. They are all looking very serious. Ms. Peters has on a red silk button down shirt and a charcoal pencil skirt. Her red lipstick is glistening in the recess lighting.

  “Well, Mrs. Bower, how are you today?” asks Ms. Peters.

  “I am just lovely,” I say, even though I’m covered in stitches and just got my ass kicked by a woman twice my size.

  “We are all here as you know to evaluate both your progress thus far and to determine your needs for future care. We understand that this may have been a difficult week here at New Outlook for you, and we want you to know that your well-being is our number one concern.”

  “Thanks.” I’m trying to control my anxiety, but I feel like a spider has been turned loose in my underwear and I want to run out screaming. “So what is the verdict?”

  Dr. Lipton immediately chimes in, “Vada, I feel that there has been some progress made in the last week. You have shared with me many of your experiences and I think you have been able to identify triggers and hopefully have learned how to cope when things begin to weigh you down. I see some positives.”

  “Well, that’s just wonderful.” Okay, maybe this isn’t going to be so bad after all.

  “I would also like to stress to you the importance of taking care of yourself and as we have discussed, making time for yourself.”

  “Yes, I know I need to do that. I’m going to start bowling or something.” This is total bullshit because I hate bowling and I would never wear rented shoes. Can you imagine the amount of fecal matter inside of the bowling ball holes? Bowling alleys are disgusting!

  Dr. Lipton looks over at Rita. She seems to want to take it from here and I fear this could be a shit show.

  “Okay, from my personal experience with you Vada, I still see a lot of denial. You have lost weight since you have been here. I’ve on several occasions found evidence of purging. I feel that you are still at a high-risk level and that you have a way to go. On a positive note, I do think that you have made many personal relationships during your stay which tells me you have probably found ways to relate to others in recovery. That is crucial.”

  “May I just say one thing?” I ask. “I am not trying to interrupt but I am not really bulimic. I have tried to tell you that. I made it up okay? It was all BS. I tried to puke one time at my house. It didn’t even work. I’ve only lost weight because I have been on so much medication...”

  They are all staring at me. Their eyes are glued to my face. It almost hurts. I wish they would stop staring at me. Oh yes, and then they do. Just long enough to exchange worrisome glances and jot down some notes.

  “We know that, Vada.” says Dr. Lipton. He glances at Dr. Ames and nods.

  “You do?” I ask.

  Dr. Ames pulls out a tape recorder. What is that for? What the hell is he going to do with it? He pops in a tape and places his hand over it almost like he is afraid I’m going to snatch it and throw it against the wall. He’s probably smart to think so.

  “Given your diagnosis Vada...” says Dr. Lipton.

  “And what is that exactly?” I ask. “No one has ever even mentioned to me what the hell I am diagnosed with! So you tell me Dr. Lipton, what is it that Vada Bower has, huh? I know it’s not an eating disorder. Do you know how I know that? Because I love fried chicken. I love pizza and chocolate and beer. I love corndogs and milkshakes. I also love digesting these things and then having a nice relaxing crap. So go on, spill it. I think I should know my diagnosis, don’t you?”

  “As I told you, we know aren’t buimic Vada, that’s why your diagnosis is complicated.”

  “Uh..umm...” Dr. Ames clears his throat. “I think that it is time you took a listen to your hypnosis sessions, Vada. I thought you would have recalled this information by now, but seeing as though you haven’t, I do think, from a doctor to a patient, that it is important for you to know.”

  This is kind of scaring me. What could I have said during hypnosis?

  “Okay, that is fine. Let’s hear it.”

  Everyone knows something. I feel like there is an elephant in the room and I am the only one who cannot see it.

  “I assume that you have all already had the pleasure of listening to my tapes, am I right?” I ask.

  They nod. What a bunch of freaking donkeys.

  “Alright then, Vada, we’ll start with this recording from your first hypnosis.” Dr. Ames clicks a button with a blue arrow. All I can think is that tape recorder looks like it’s from the early 90’s and I am anticipating hearing some funky beats once it starts rolling. It doesn’t. No music plays. I hear Dr. Ames’ voice, sounding like he’s reading a bed time story and I can barely make out what he is saying. Now I hear my voice. It’s sleepy and slow, but it is definitely mine. I brace myself for what I am about to hear. It sounds like he’s starting in the middle of a session.

  Me: Yes.

  Dr. Ames: What worries you the most Vada?

  Me: That I am a bad mother.

  Dr. Ames: What makes you think you are a bad mother?

  Me: I am away from my kids. I am in here.

  Dr. Ames: You are in here for treatment for mental health. I want you to understand that it is okay to take care of yourself, Vada. You are helping yourself so that you can help your children. Do you believe that?

  Me: I don’t know.

  Dr. Ames: You don’t know what? You don’t know that you are in a mental health recovery center?

  Me: I know that.

  Dr. Ames: Then what don’t you know, Vada?

  Me: I don’t know if I need to be here.

  Dr. Ames: Why do you say that Vada, what makes you think that you shouldn’t be here?

  Me: Because...none of it...is true. I made it all up.

  He stops the tape. I am sitting in front of this panel. They are all judging me and it’s not for my singing voice. They all seem to know something that I don’t. I have the funniest inkling after hearing that, that I recall that conversation. I kind of remember saying that now. Oh Lord!

  “There is a diagnosis out there, Vada, which is referred to as mythomania, or more commonly known as pathological or compulsive lying. I am not saying that we believe you are a pathological liar, I want to make sure yo
u understand the difference between...”

  I cut him off. “I’m not a pathological liar, you guys. It’s not even like that. I meant that I was lying about...”

  “It’s my turn to interrupt.” says Dr. Ames with all his chins. “There is another section of tape that I’d like for you to hear before we go on.” Dr. Ames says in a tone that makes me want to take an ice pick to his scrotum sack and remove his teeny tiny balls. He hits the forward button and then the blue arrow. There’s my sleepy voice again.

  Dr. Ames: What have you accomplished so far in your stay here at New Outlook?

  Me: Well, I have eaten delicious brownies. I helped Katelyn lose her low-life boyfriend. I helped Jessalyn expose her perverted pedophile grandfather. I tried so hard to help Lauren with her birthday party. I helped Bath Salt’s Mary’s boyfriend treat her right.