I continue on. There are some drunken students behind me singing. I ask them where the end of the city is and they tell me to carry on down the road and take a right. I look at my cell phone and it’s just after ten. I figure that at Ashburn they will have realised by now that I’ve gone AWOL. I’m keen to get out fast. I stand at the beginning of the motorway and roll a smoke, my first one since starting the journey. I stick my thumb out and watch car after car.
Finally someone stops for me. He says, “Where are you going?”
“As far north as possible.”
“Well, get in. I’ll take you to Ashburton. It’ll be easier to hitch there.”
Feeling very excited I get in the car. I cannot believe I am actually getting out of Dunedin. I figure the cops north of Dunedin will not be looking for a hospital runaway. I talk to the driver and ask him how he is. I feel safe with him because he’s playing Johnny Cash, which is what my mum plays in the car. The voice starts telling me she is my real mother and I should go back to Wellington. I see the music as a positive sign and feel glad that I am heading back to Wellington.
At Ashburton the man drops me at a well-lit spot by a service station. I use the toilet in the service station and then stand on the road with my thumb out. I wait for a while but no trucks stop and no cars seem to be passing. I decide to walk until I make it to another town. I walk across bridges and beside forests. I don’t feel afraid of what’s in the forests. Instead I look up at the stars and thank them for being there. I walk across gorges and admire the moonlight and how it shines on the ground leading my way. I say thank you to the moon for seeing me away from Ashburn.
I stop walking to roll a smoke but I can’t find them. I search all through my clothes, and feel disappointed that I lost a fresh pouch. I worry about how I’m going to handle not having a smoke as it still seems I have a long way to go: all I can see is extended road.
I continue on my way and enjoy breathing in the freezing cold fresh air. I talk to the stars and the voice tells me not to worry because the angels are with me. Some cop cars go past me really quickly with their sirens on. I worry for a second that they are after me but they keep going. Trucks go past and don’t pick me up but I don’t worry about it, I just enjoy the walk and my freedom.
I keep following the road and eventually I end up in a small town. I see a service station and a small supermarket and café but not much else. A truck is pulled up at the side of the road. I don’t approach the driver. I’m wary of looking strange—don’t want anyone to alert the police. I see a little wooden cupboard attached to the back of a phone booth. I climb in, crouch, and close the lid to hide, but I’m uncomfortable so I get out.
I am starving. I look over the road and see a small grassy area with a wooden shelter, concrete paving and built-in benches and tables. I decide I will try and rest there. I fill my Coke bottle with water to give me energy and sustenance: it should make my stomach feel full. I search through my pockets and find a cigarette. I smoke the cigarette and check the time. It’s five a.m. I feel happy because it’s nearly daylight and shops will be opening up, which means coffee and hopefully a bus to Christchurch.
I lie down on the bench and close my eyes but I don’t feel tired. I think about what I am going to do in Wellington. Although I am safely out of Ashburn I am worried about the implications of lack of sleep, which I know from previous experience can send me a bit crazy. In fact no sleep and no meds can spell disaster. The voice is likely to tell me to do strange things and if I slip into mania or depression I don’t have anything to take to ease it.
I try to sleep on the bench but instead I keep running across the road to drink water—anything to ward off the effects of lack of sleep. I keep myself entertained by talking to the voice. Some water spills on the ground and I start hallucinating while I look at it. I see images of people I know, such as my family and the psychiatrist in Wellington. They look happy because I’m in Dunedin. Perhaps the psychiatrist was manipulated by my family to get me down to Ashburn. I also see a lawyer I know; he’s at his desk. The voice says I should go and see him when I get back to Wellington.
Seven o’clock rolls around and the supermarket opens. I buy some tobacco, and some Panadol for sleep. There’s a coffee shop inside. I look at the hot food, and buy myself a pie and some chocolate cake. I think I need to eat more. I consider hitching further but I figure I don’t want to stand out on the road in case of the cops. I ask the people in the shop if there are any buses to Christchurch. They point across the road to the bus stop and show me the timetable.
The bus will come at 10.30 so I sit in the shop, drink my coffee and watch the road. When I look at my phone it’s 9.30. I go and wait at the stop because I’m anxious not to miss the bus. While I wait I smoke, rolling cigarette after cigarette to compensate for the ones I didn’t smoke while walking. The cigarettes and Panadol ease me down a bit. I start thinking about drugs and how nice it would be to get some. I fantasise about the feeling, and decide I will get a drink when I get to Christchurch. I still am on edge about being picked up by the police.
The bus turns up. I pay my fare and sit near the front. I try to sleep but keep getting distracted by thoughts. After crossing the flat plains, we pull up in the centre of Christchurch. The bus stop is like an exchange, with heaps of buses driving in and out. I ask where I can catch a bus to Picton. I don’t contemplate taking a plane as this seems too complicated, and I feel I will be less conspicuous going by bus. I get told to go to the Square: there’s a ticket shop where the bus leaves.
I make my way to the Square, a popular sightseeing spot with a cathedral and a statue. At the statue I look around, see the road the man told me to go down, and find the place to buy tickets for Picton. Cop cars are going out of the building across the street. I feel my anxiety rising and my heart pounding. I walk into the reception area and buy a ticket for the bus. It is going to be leaving at six o’clock, which means I have the afternoon in Christchurch. If I were more mellow I might enjoy this, but not in my heightened state. I don’t much feel like walking around so I go to a café just around the corner, where I sit and have a coffee and a muffin.
By now I just want to get back to Wellington and find somewhere to sleep. Because I haven’t taken my meds I feel pretty desperate. The voice kicks in, telling me to jump in a car and wait for somebody. I also hear the voices of old friends telling me I am free and will never have to go back to the psych ward again. I keep nodding off to sleep and then waking up because I don’t want to miss the bus when it arrives.
The bus finally comes and I climb on board. As we drive out of Christchurch I manage to keep my eyes open and check the cars on the road. I decide the voice wants me to get into a white Skyline, but then everything starts to look hazy and I fall asleep.
When we make it to Kaikoura township the driver tells us to grab some food and drink. I have a cigarette and use the public toilet, which is by the sea. I go into a café on the main street. It has hot food on display. I don’t know what to eat so I just buy a Coke, sit down at a table, and look around the restaurant. There’s no one there so I feel comfortable.
I go outside and spot the white Skyline. I start walking towards it, and just as I get alongside some people jump in it and give me a strange look. This doesn’t surprise me: I’m used to being let down by the voice.
The voice keeps sending repetitive messages, telling me not to go back to my parents. He says that I’m on camera all the time, and no one will help me because it’s entertaining to see me suffer. I wonder if I’m destined to have a life of suffering and should just do drugs for the rest of my life. I would have to sleep on the streets because nobody would accept me into their home or flat.
We all get back on the bus and make our way to Picton. The road is windy and bumpy. I look out of the window at the sky. I smile and think surely there are some blessings out there for me. I sip my Coke. The voice tells me I’m all right and he loves me.
I arrive in Picton and walk away from
the bus depot thinking ahead to the night. It will not be the first night I’ve spent here, walking around waiting for the terminal to open. I start hallucinating and think I can see dead bodies on the beach. I walk from the water’s edge back to the playground. I see cartoon images in the playground that scare me: I can’t tell if they are real or fake until I walk right up to one and touch it.
I walk through the playground and follow the road to the main street. There’s a service station but it is serving from the window only, seeing it’s after midnight. I buy myself a Cookie Time and a coffee, and head down a side street to a small green wooden bus shelter opposite a backpackers’ lodge. I don’t think to go into the lodge and pay for a bed. I sit in the shelter and enjoy my cookie and coffee.
Since I haven’t been on pills, my body has more energy and I start getting into a bipolar high. I feel superhuman. I spend the night walking up and down the beach singing any song I can think of and then going back to the bus shelter. When I’m in the shelter I pour water on to the ground and watch the images in the water. Sometimes the images make me laugh. Sometimes they disturb me and make me scared. I don’t get bored. Everything is a little adventure. I think I am fast becoming a genius. I would like to disturb the peace, but unfortunately, because the whole of Picton is asleep, that might mean disturbing people who have the power to lock me up again.
Six o’clock comes around soon enough. I get myself another coffee from the service station, take it down to the water and watch the sun rise. I dip my head in the sea to feel the cold water. I check what time the ferry terminal will open. I can’t find any information so I figure it will be about nine o’clock. I go to the Subway near the ferry terminal. Behind it there are some train tracks, so I guess trains leave from around here too. I get a Subway seafood sandwich, which I think will be good for my brain, and a Coke and hang out the back on the seats by the train tracks.
When the ferry terminal opens, I buy a ticket for Wellington. The ship will leave at ten. I hang around the terminal waiting for boarding to start. People are milling about everywhere. Most of them look like tourists. I don’t talk to anyone or make eye contact. I’m paranoid that a police officer may come in and ask me my name; this has happened when I’ve been in Picton before. Half of me wants to lie down on the ground and sleep, but I figure I just need to make it back to Wellington and I’ll be fine.
An announcement on the loudspeaker says the ship is boarding. I search through my pockets and finally find my ticket. I get on board and say my goodbyes to Picton. I find some chairs I can lie across and fall asleep straight away.
Two hours later I wake up to find some tourists chatting on the chairs beside me. Half asleep I lumber out on deck for a smoke. This wakes me up a bit but I feel I can still use some sleep. I cruise past the food place but I don’t want to spend money on food as I’m trying to save. I head down to the bar where there is a band playing. There are leather seats by the window so I sit down, lean my head into the corner of the wall and fall asleep again.
15
When I wake up, people are leaving the ship. The weather in Wellington is sunny and warm. I want to take off my hoodie but I have no bag so I just stay hot. I realise it won’t be good to walk around in case I’m seen, so I get a cab back into the city. Along the way I watch the cars, looking out for the white Skyline.
The voice has told me to go to the house of Brian, an older guy I dated several years ago who happens to be a lawyer. I don’t feel particularly good about doing this as Brian was not particularly nice to me, but the voice says it means I will have somewhere to stay. I also figure that being a lawyer Brian may be able to tell me what my legal rights are with regard to being institutionalised.
I get a taxi to the top of Willis Street and get out at Brian’s place. I walk up to the door and I sit in the waiting room he has because he works from home. Things have changed since I was here. There’s a rug on the floor as you walk in the door and four chairs placed in a square. The voice talks to me and says Brian is part of my gang and I can trust him.
A woman comes down the stairs, not someone I recognise, and asks me what I’m here for. I say in a soft voice, “To see Brian.” She says he isn’t busy so I follow her up the stairs. I look at the paintings and see they are still in their original places.
I get to the top of the stairs and walk into Brian’s office. He is dressed in a black shirt and black pants, which I see as a good sign. I tell him I have run away from Ashburn Clinic, have been on the run for a few days, and need a rest. He is standing looking at a document and doesn’t look up. I take this to mean the voice is telling him what to do.
He says, “You can sleep here ’til five. My daughter is using that room so you can’t stay overnight. I will ring your lawyer from the ward and get back to you.”
He continues reading the documents and I leave the room and go and lie down. There are clothes and tissues everywhere. I tidy the clothes and put the tissues in a bin. I talk to the voice and he says that I can’t stay here tonight. I get into bed and rest. I look at my phone and it’s after two in the afternoon.
I fall asleep and wake up at five, when the woman who led me up to Brian’s office says it’s time to get up. I go down and sit in the dining room, hardly able to speak. The woman offers to make me a sandwich and I whisper, “Thank you.” I eat the sandwich. Brian tells me he’s going to a meeting and will be back at six.
With everyone having left, I wait on the doorstep. I sit and talk to the voice and look around the garden. It’s a rather large garden for somewhere so close to the city. I remember sitting in it in the daytime when I used to live here, just as messed up then as I am now.
When Brian comes back we go inside and into his big commercial kitchen. As he starts making dinner he says, “You were more attractive with blonde hair and what’s with the tracksuit?”
Dinner is fish cakes and roast vegetables. Brian asks about my “fucking parents” and I say I haven’t seen them. I look at my plate and don’t feel like eating so I put it on the table and watch him shovel food into his mouth.
He says I need a rich man to take care of me—information that passes right through my head. “So you need a place to stay tonight?” he says. “Well, we will go down the road and find you a hotel. And you don’t need to worry about the police. They can’t chuck you back in the bin.”
“Oh cool, thank you.”
I can still hardly speak but I’m happy at the news. We leave his place and walk down Willis Street to a hotel. He writes out a cheque and gives it to the receptionist. We go up to the room, which has a decent-sized bed, a TV and an ensuite bathroom. He tells me to take off my clothes. I don’t feel comfortable but I figure the voice has put him up to it so I take off my clothes. Brian is sitting on the chair. He says, “Not bad.” I quickly put my clothes back on and he leaves. As he walks out I think to myself, fucking bastard. I realise I was very naïve. If I were well I would never have let myself be treated like that, or gone to a person like Brian for help.
After he’s left I get worried that he may come back in. I go into the bathroom and stand in the shower. I decide to shower facing out to the door so I can see if someone enters. I shower and wash my hair. When I get out I stand and look at my body in the mirror. The voice says, “You have a beautiful body; don’t listen to him.”
I lie on the bed and look at the TV, then I look out the window and see a car in the car-parking building straight across the road. The voice tells me to get out of the room because there is a gunman in the car. I get changed quickly and go down to the lobby. I quickly walk down Willis Street and decide to go to McDonalds in Manners Mall because I figure it will be safe. All I want to do is sleep but I’m not safe. I walk down to the waterfront and try and enjoy the scenery but I find it hard when I feel like this—on the run.
The voice says, “It will be safe to go back at four.” I look at my phone and it says 12.14 so I wander around the city for hours and hours. I buy some herbal pills to keep me awak
e but they don’t do anything. I try to get into bars but the doormen won’t let me in. My tracksuit is the problem: it is starting to go greenish-grey from its original black colour.
The voice tells me that I swallowed poison when I had the pills and I need to drink Coke to neutralise it. I go to Star Mart and get a Coke and sit on a stool in the window. People are going in and out of bars, and coming into the shop singing and buying mince pies. I sit and resent them. They are not in the real world and can’t see what’s going on. I think how unjust society is that they can walk around like that, but if I were to do it it would be a different story.
I head up the road to Midnight Espresso and have a coffee. They’re giving away leftover food. I get a tofu burger and put it in a bag. I look at the clock on my phone. It’s four o’clock so I head back to the hotel. I hesitantly enter my room and lie on the bed. The car’s still there, but the voice says I’m safe so I fall asleep.
The room phone is ringing. I pick it up and a voice says, “Checkout time is 10.30.” I have another shower, boil the jug and make myself a drink with a sachet of instant coffee. I eat the tofu burger, which I cut in half because it’s so big.
The voice tells me that I know how the world is going to end and I need to get somewhere safe so I can write about it. He says there is no one I know who can help me and that I have to save money and leave the country.
I look in the mirror. My clothes are starting to wear out. My anxiety and paranoia are growing from lack of sleep and lack of meds. I gather myself together and go to a café in Aro Street. I sit and listen to the music in the café and drink beer. There are not many people in the café and the staff seem friendly. I feel myself relaxing and getting happy. I study the weather forecast in the newspaper. When I look at the picture of New Zealand the voice says, “You leave from Auckland and go to America, and you go to Washington and try to meet the president of the United States.”
Sarah Vaughan is Not My Mother: A Memoir of Madness Page 19