Hadrian's Wall

by Felicia Jensen

  “Miss Baker?”

  How did she know my name? Oh sure, the extension directory. She’d have a list of people admitted to private wards. Paranoia again...

  “Miss, you must switch off, so I can complete the call. When it rings, the person you want to speak with will be on the line.”

  Oh. “Sure, sorry. I’m shutting down.”

  I put the phone down and waited. A few seconds later the phone rang and I answered.

  “Hello, Carmen?”

  “Hello? There’s no Carmen here,” said a deep, unsympathetic voice. “You must have dialed the wrong number.”

  “It cannot be. This is her cell phone number. This is the number I’ve called before.”

  “Ma’am...” the guy chuckled. “I’m sure I’m not Carmen and I don’t know anyone by that name. Have a good day.”

  He hung up on me. I stared at the phone in disbelief. I lifted the receiver and call the operator again.

  “Hello, please, the number I gave you...would you repeat it back to me?”

  “Sure.” She correctly recited the same number I’d given her.

  “Thank you.” I hung up again.

  I looked at the computer and dashed to the desk, striking my leg on the edge of the bed. It’ll be purple by tomorrow, I’m sure. While massaging the sore spot, I waited impatiently for the Internet home page to appear on the monitor.

  I went to Google and typed “Department Store Wood Village - South Portland.” Quickly, the search site provided me with a huge list of citations to the store, but the only page that interested me was one that had the address and phone.

  I looked back at the telephone, drumming my fingers on the top of the nightstand. Finally, I decided to try something different. Rather than ask the hospital’s phone operator to help, I dialed zero. It worked!

  “Wood Village Department Store,” said a woman’s voice. “How can I help you?”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. “Good morning. I’d like to speak with Carmen, please.”

  “Yes, what department?”

  “Personnel,” I said, hesitating. The operator should know Carmen, right? Was there more than one Carmen at the same store?

  “Just a moment, please...”

  I was listening to music and store promotions for a long time until someone answered. The voice was female.

  “Personnel Department.”

  “Carmen?”

  “Yes? How can I help you?” Professional voice...here we go again.

  “It’s me, Carmen...Melissa.”

  Agonizing silence dominated the line from South Portland to Hadrian’s Wall, lasting for what seemed like an eternity...that is, until Carmen sighed.

  “Melissa? Melissa who?”

  6

  THE INSANITY GAME

  At mid morning, Adrian returned.

  I was like a time bomb. Before he opened the door, I’d been pacing back and forth for more than five minutes, trying to formulate some strategies in my mind...or rather, tactics of war! Nothing and no one would dissuade me. All that remained now was to inform him of my decision.

  “I have to leave...” I was saying when he opened the door. “I need to go back to South Portland to see the people and places with my own eyes. I have to prove I’m not crazy! I’m not crazy!”

  Adrian took a few steps into room, studying my physiognomy.

  “Easy, Melissa. You’re not crazy, just a little confused.” He gave me a shrewd look. “You mean that you couldn’t confirm your stay in South Portland before coming to Hadrian’s Wall, could you?”

  It didn’t sound like a question. His expression seemed so innocent...so confident!

  “I’ll find a way to buy a bus ticket to the coast even though I have to work months to get...” I stopped walking and talking when I noticed his face. It was the first time I’d seen such strong emotions visible on his face. Is he angry?

  “You haven’t been discharged from the hospital yet. You cannot leave.” His voice was sharp as steel.

  Leave from where? From the hospital? From the town? What kind of prohibition was that? “But...”

  “There are procedures and aspects of your hospital stay that need be respected,” he said, this time more controlled. “You’re undergoing treatment, don’t forget that.”

  “Why don’t you tell me exactly what the tests revealed?” I inquired angrily.

  “That’s between you and the doctors responsible for your case—Dr. Talbott and Dr. Barringer. He enunciated every single word. “No point in getting mad at me, Melissa Baker. You have to ask them.”

  I blinked, mortified. He was right, of course. I was unloading my paranoia on a stranger—a very attractive, gentle stranger, but nonetheless a stranger who was under no obligation to put up with me. Even so, I felt offended because he’d said it to my face, like I was an irresponsible teenager. He didn’t need to remind me that he had nothing to do with my problems.

  I replied in the same formal voice that he’d used with me. “I’m sorry. That’s exactly what I intend to do.”

  Adrian sighed, running his hand through his disheveled hair. He seemed to regret his harsh comment, although he was still angry.

  “Just...stop worrying about insignificant things, okay?” He turned around and left.

  So, my sanity is an insignificant thing to him? Humpf!

  * * *

  During the consultation, I mentioned the latest happenings to Dr. Barringer. He said the same thing that Adrian had said, but his manner was much more gentle, even conciliatory.

  “Until you have enough money saved to buy your bus ticket, you should continue with the treatment without worrying about what will happen to you in the future. Besides, Dr. Talbott is considering giving you a discharge from hospital very soon. Maybe you can continue your treatment with another psychiatrist in South Portland.”

  Although I didn’t want another psychiatrist to treat me, I was excited at the prospect of getting out of the hospital.

  “But perhaps you’ll decide to stay in Hadrian’s Wall. That is, if you find what you’re looking for here,” the doctor said.

  “The truth that I was seeking is there—in South Portland. How can I find it here?”

  He shrugged. “What do you mean by ‘truth’?”

  Now he was looking more like the Dungeon Master than Dr. Kildare.

  “What you’re looking for can be unrealistic...it may be the manifestation of your emotional needs and needs are something curable anywhere...not necessarily in South Portland.”

  We were finally having a serious conversation, but I was not willing to allow philosophical evasion, nor to accept bullshit like “the answers to your problems are within you.” I was determined for this to be a decisive session because I wanted a diagnosis report.

  Sensing my mood, Dr. Barringer decided to clarify some things regarding my case, but not in the way I imagined. He took a totally unexpected direction.

  “Melissa, you seem to be a girl who is not satisfied with anything less than definitive answers, but you’re not willing to accept someone else’s answers. You strike me as being a girl who prefers to check things out yourself—to see things with your own eyes...think for yourself about what you see. I noticed that researching is one of your favorite hobbies, so let’s do it then...together! You will participate in each stage of your own diagnosis report, which you will see only when you are ready for it.”

  Can you say, ‘I’m amazed?’ Let’s get the ball rolling! Psychiatrists should hear our problems and at the end of the process, prescribe the appropriate medications for symptoms, right?

  Opening his laptop, Dr. Barringer suggested an unusual game...

  “If you’re looking for an answer, look for it until you find it, even if you don’t like it.”

  I couldn’t resist teasing him a little. “You’d better watch out, you’re deviating from your therapeutic stereotype!” He laughed heartily.

  “Yeah. It’s been a long time since I “retired” the pipe and co
uch. I’m more a fan of the Socratic method.” He motioned for me to move closer.

  Socratic method? He spoke Greek as well? I repositioned my chair next to him, still not believing what was happening. The Google home page appeared on his laptop’s screen.

  “Come on.” He turned his head toward me. “What do you think you have?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What do you think is your diagnosis?”

  I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t articulate either the reason or the oratory. He laughed again and said, “Do you want the cure or the diagnosis? What’s more important to you?”

  “The cure, of course.”

  “Hmm...” He nodded and smiled. “So, take your best guess.”

  “But I have no idea what I have! I’ve searched the Internet many times and it seems that all the pictures more or less fit in my case.”

  “But not entirely?”

  “Not entirely.”

  He put his gloved hands on the keyboard. “So you know as much about your own medical issues as Ian and I know.”

  “Dr. Talbott?”

  “In the flesh.”

  The doctor typed a few words and clicked the mouse without moving his eyes from the screen. “The cure comes not from the diagnosis, although it may be a first step to helping find it. Healing comes from attitudes.”

  “Attitudes?” I made a tremendous effort to follow his logic, but it was difficult. It started to make me angry. He should play the role of the “listener helper” who knows more than I do and in this crucial situation, he made a point of saying that we were evenly matched; thus, without the slightest embarrassment to him, as if things were to be conducted so...frivolously.

  “Yes...attitudes! Taking the reins of your destiny,” he explained. “Having the courage to change yourself...face the causes of your suffering. The worst disease is not one that weakens the body, but one that enslaves the mind. The best diagnosis does not bottle the truth, but demonstrates that the truth has many facets. These facets depend on who interprets them. Therefore, it is healthy to question the origin “of the whole movement” to understand the context that surrounds it. The purpose behind it is often not reflected in the packaging of something so ephemeral that everyone likes to call “truth.”

  Looking at me directly, he added, “I can tell you many truths, Melissa, but only you can accept or reject them. They may make all or no difference in your life. It depends solely on you.”

  The doctor paused as he ran the arrow by links that appeared on the screen. This gave me time to digest a little of what he’d said. His remarks began to make sense and my anger was easing. In some aspects he was right. First, I wouldn’t be happy with anything I couldn’t prove myself. As he said, participation in the process might be less stressful for someone who’s paranoid...like me.

  “So, tell me what you feel. I know you’ve told me several times; however, I’m only interested in your descriptions of symptoms that match those which you’ve already researched on the Internet.”

  “Well, I think the amnesia was the first thing that bothered me. Like, I remember everything, except how I got here. That’s too much for my brain to comprehend.”

  He double-clicked the mouse and then the monitor displayed the title: “Pathological Amnesia.”

  “But that wasn’t the first thing that bothered you...it was the hallucinations, right? As a child, you had strange dreams and saw things.” He clicked again and then pointed to the screen.

  Hallucination: Usually defined as sensory perception of animate and inanimate objects that are not physically present. All the human senses are liable to be hallucinated. Thus, the stimuli may be issued from “inside out,” (i.e., from the mind to parts of mind which recognize the external stimuli: smells, sights, thermal and tactile sensations, tastes, and sounds.)

  The hallucinatory process makes use of memory files to extract its elements, virtually projecting them on the environment. These elements prevail over stimuli from the environment itself. Its culmination often coincides with periods of elation and/or emotional disturbance.

  Hallucinations are triggered, among other factors, by excess or lack of stimulation needed to maintain equilibrium of awareness - organic or psychosocial aspects can turn on stressing stimuli. The level of stress can lead the mind to issue perceptions that, although internal, seem real to awareness - with greater or lesser degrees of distortion. Its symbolical aspects, as well as the magnitude of hallucinations, depend on the personality, previous learning, traumas, and defense mechanisms involved (...)

  Research indicates that states of transition from wakefulness to sleep, or just before awakening, are fertile for the occurrence of hallucinations. In child development, they are common in episodes of night terrors. In the adult, they may be accompanied by a delusional plot - as occurs, for example, reports of paranoid persecution - when individuals subject to a state of altered awareness consider themselves a target of supernatural beings and/or aliens.

  There are several symptoms related to hallucinatory process in different stages of awareness. During the hypnogogic and hypnopompic state (before sleeping and waking), awareness can register sensations of paralysis, tingling, chills (described as electrical currents that run through the skin), visions of lights, as well as sensations popularly called projective: Floating body or shutdown of awareness from the body (dissociative effect). (…)

  The doctor asked me to read the text aloud and then he briefly explained each item. He then clicked the mouse and sent the file to print.

  “You sometimes have to re-read this material. It’s more complex than the articles published for lay persons on this site. If you don’t understand some concept, I’ll explain it the next time we meet.”

  He then mentioned some of the collocations I’d made in previous sessions. “As I said before, you acknowledge that your crises are hallucinatory, that the winged monster is not real. Logically, we can delete the delirium of your symptom picture. Delirium is when a person believes that the hallucinated objects are real, as well as the context that surrounds them and no one can dissuade them of their belief. Delirium involves a set of distorted thinking about reality, while the hallucination itself comes from a perceptual change.”

  Is that...was I embarking on the delirious wave? After all, the line between them—delusion and hallucination—seemed to be very subtle.

  “Let me put it this way: In the hallucination, the person feels things happen. In delirium, the person believes in the events and makes conclusions about what they believe.

  Interesting. Complicated, but interesting. At least Dr. Barringer explains things... very different from the frowning Dr. Talbott.

  He kept talking and I kept pushing myself to understand. Further, the text said that awareness was constantly working to create and re-create consistent explanations about the world from signs and/or stimuli received from the external environment, as well as those that emerged from the mind itself. It tried to conciliate external events with internal values learned.

  When there is excess or lack of such stimuli, such as increase of stress or traumatic situations, serious imbalances emerge. The mind cannot keep the standard of consistency required to adequately feed the explanatory models, which are nothing more than the ways we understand the world around us and how we position ourselves in relation to it.

  According to the doctor, among the various types of deprivation, changes, and excesses (both organic and psychological) that could cause these imbalances, it would be the social isolation into which I sank during childhood. At that time, I should have had had a very active imagination which was not properly directed or exploited by my legal guardians.

  It was like a snowball rolling downhill, greatly increasing in proportion as it rolled. That is, my crises provoked hostility from the other children and adults. As a result, they labeled me “crazy” and I responded, making me even more shy than I really was. Because of that, the crises gradually became more intense and complex. Thi
s only increased the hostility of others towards me and, consequently, the depletion of my social relationships.

  Apparently I had subconsciously employed my fertile imagination to create a fantasy world in which I lived, never realizing that what I’d done was to ostracize myself from the real world in which I lived. That means my hallucinations were a way to escape from harsh reality. But why would I escape to a bad world? Don’t people looking for the exact opposite? I mean, we should fantasize a world of pleasure and happiness where everything is perfect, shouldn’t we?

  After that, I could only conclude that diving into a hallucinatory process was so absorbing that it was just one small step away from my anti-social life. Dr. Barringer opened another link and a new text appeared on screen:

  47) Psi entry: Mythomania - when the patient himself is entangled in a web of compulsive lying (...) But I was not a liar, so I ignored this concept and skipped to the next entry—something about the relationship between memories and false memories. (...) The screen memories are inseparable from fantasy. After all, the memory may have little or nothing to do with the original impression (which results from sensations gathered by the senses in the environment.)

  The screen memory appears ahead or behind a perceptive record, (i.e., can be progressive or regressive, respectively). It connects to this record, according to the degree of anxiety caused by the content that needs to be suppressed - something that according to psychoanalysis is an echo of the trauma (...)

  Trauma. The primary factor, before excesses, deprivation, and all that blah-blah-blah!

  Well, my “visions” began on the day my father died—and I was abandoned by my mother. First came the winged creature. Later, the visions were becoming more sophisticated —creating “tentacles” that went from the sleep to vigil and vice versa, adding symbolic elements to those that already appeared in my nightmares. Perhaps in the process, my mind has been inspired by mythology for its defensive “blockbusters” (giant panthers, winged creatures, warriors with yellow or scarlet eyes). According to the doctor, there could be a connection between the dynamics of screen memories and hallucinations as they both serve the same purpose—to create a subterfuge for my mind to deal with the original trauma. In another words, I was escaping from the pain of abandonment.