“No.”
“You’ve had breakfast in your room for over a week now. It will be nice to meet a few people and see the facilities.”
We had gotten half away along the corridor when I came to a halt.
“I don’t want to meet people.”
They’d all know. They’d know what a slut I’d been, fucking a man while my son lay dying. Casey’s words swam around my head.
“Then we can sit on our own,” he said with a smile.
I wanted to punch the fucking smile from his face. My anxiety levels rose as we descended a sweeping staircase, something that would look better in a stately home. A receptionist looked up from behind her desk and smiled. We continued along a corridor. My palms started to sweat and my legs shook the closer to the double doors I got. I should have stopped walking, I could have turned and walked away. No one could force me to eat, or sit in a room full of nutters.
The restaurant was large, bright with floor to ceiling windows along one side. Tables with occupants were dotted around. I sat at the closest unoccupied table and made sure not to make eye contact.
I could feel my heart racing and I breathed in deep through my nose to control it.
“Good morning. Tea or coffee?” I heard. I looked up to a smiling waitress holding a jug.
“Tea,” I managed through my clenched jaw.
“Lovely, I’ll be right back with a pot for you. In the meantime, here’s the menu,” she said, still smiling.
I scanned the room as subtly as I could. There was a mix of people, male and female, young and old. One table housed a group of teenagers and a burly man who wouldn’t look out of place on a nightclub door.
“Have you decided what to eat?” Glenn said, bringing my attention back to the menu.
“I’m not hungry.”
“How about some toast, or there are pastries on the counter?”
The waitress returned with two pots of tea and stood waiting to take an order. Glenn placed his and I just asked for some toast.
“It’s not so bad, is it?” he said as he watched me looking around.
“Most people look, well, normal,” I said.
He chuckled. “First thing on the agenda today is to meet with your doctor. She’ll go through the programme with you.”
“Didn’t I meet her yesterday?”
“That was Louise. She’s your therapist for one to one sessions, but you’ll see a doctor as well.”
Our breakfast arrived and we ate in silence. I wasn’t in the mood for conversation. I was scared, anxious, and felt very alone.
I was shown to a room and introduced to Doctor Tanner. She was my psychiatrist; I truly had to be nuts to warrant her. However, I liked her. I didn’t like the forms and the silly questions I had to answer. On a scale of one to ten, do I want to kill myself? Or words to that affect. How the fuck does one answer that? I didn’t know if I had intended to kill myself or just numb the pain. As my anxiety increased so my skin itched. It felt like a million ants were crawling over me. I scratched my arm, not realising I was until she pointed it out to me. I’d left track marks; big red angry lines ran down my forearm.
Without knowing what we spoke about, our meeting was over.
Glenn appeared from nowhere and we headed back to my room. Louise was waiting to go through my programme. I felt exhausted and all I wanted to do was to climb back into bed. I was given a timetable, as if I were back in school. A daily schedule of therapy to attend was explained to me.
“When can I see my family?” I asked.
“You have visitors this evening. Maybe they’d like to join you for dinner?”
“No, I want to stay in here.”
I had no intention of sitting with whoever planned on visiting me in the restaurant.
I didn’t attend any therapy sessions until late that afternoon. I refused to go until my head was a little clearer. I struggled to piece together the past couple of weeks. It was all just a mess of flashbacks and blurred memories. Glenn managed to coerce me, or maybe it was pure manipulation, into attending a group session.
I followed him to the basement and into a room. A semi-circle of chairs was laid out and Stephen, the therapist, greeted me. I sat on one closest to the door and kept my head down as the chairs started to fill with people. I refused to speak. I didn’t look up but I did listen.
Some people spoke about what had brought them to the hospital, some cried. I cringed as I listened to the whining of one and shed a tear as I witnessed the pain of another. I was invited to speak; I shook my head.
I had nothing to say in front of those people. I’d have to confess my secrets, and I wasn’t ready for that.
When the session was over I walked back to my room and collapsed on the bed. I didn’t want to be surrounded by other people’s misery and I felt terribly guilty about that. I just wanted to wallow in my own.
“Jayne, you have visitors,” I heard.
I had been lying on my side facing the window. A meal had been brought to me and I’d picked at it with no appetite. I sat up and immediately the tears started to fall.
Carla and my mum stood in the doorway. I looked at the anguish and sadness on their faces and knew I’d done that.
“Oh, my baby,” mum said as she sat beside me. She wrapped her arm around my shoulders.
“I’m so sorry,” I said.
“Hush now, nothing to be sorry about.”
“How did I get here?”
I saw Carla look towards the open door.
“Let’s not worry about that now. How are you?” she said.
“I feel strange. My brain is fuzzy, I can’t think straight. I don’t want to be here. Please, Mum, take me home?”
I heard her sob. “You need to be here. You’ll get well here.”
“I’ll get well at home. Please, I’m begging you, take me home.”
My voice rose, I scratched my skin until it bled, and I watched the two most important women in my life cry. I fucking hated myself. I dug my nails into my skin dragging them down my arm, punishing, hurting, bleeding.
“How about a cup of tea?” Glenn said as he strode into the room with a tray.
“I don’t want a cup of tea, I want to go home,” I was on the verge of shouting.
Carla sobbed as she watched me dissolve. I curled on the bed and cried.
“Please, take me home. Don’t leave me here,” I whispered over and over.
My mum brushed the sodden hair from my forehead.
“It was a mistake. I didn’t want to kill myself. I won’t do it again,” I said.
“You have to stay here,” she said, her voice was gentle and soft.
“Why don’t we have some tea? I know I’m thirsty,” Carla said with a forced cheerfulness in her voice.
Had I embarrassed her? I’d cried in front of her before. Why was she more interested in a cup of fucking tea?
It was as she handed mum a cup and it rattled in the saucer that I realised how upset she was.
We sat for a little while in silence, not knowing what to say to each other. How did I explain myself to them? I had no idea what was going on in my head.
“How’s Kerry?” I asked, finally remembering she would still be at home.
“She’s okay, getting bigger. The baby is due soon,” mum said.
“And Casey, have you heard from Casey?”
Mum looked towards Carla. “She headed back to Japan with Michael.”
“Do they know?”
Carla nodded her head. “Yes. Jayne, I need you sign this form. I need to be able to look after things.”
Glenn appeared in the room at that point and I wondered if he’d been listening outside. He sat at the end of the bed and I stared at him.
“What form?”
“It just means I can take care of things on your behalf.”
“I can take care of things myself. What’s happening?”
“Please, darling, just sign the form then concentrate on getting well. I want you home as
soon as possible,” mum said.
A piece of paper and a pen were placed on the bed beside me.
I held it in my hands but the tears in my eyes blurred the words. I didn’t understand what I was signing but I did it anyway. I thought I heard a sigh of relief from Carla.
“It’s time for you to leave now, visiting hours are up,” Glenn said.
I turned sharply to face him.
“What? They’ve only just got here.”
“We have to be strict, Jayne, because of the other patients. I’m sure they’ll come back soon, won’t you?” He looked at my mum.
“Of course we will, darling.” She patted my hand.
“I’ll walk down with you,” I said.
“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Glenn said. No matter what he said he had a smile on his face and it irritated me.
“I can walk where I bloody well want.”
I began to get agitated.
“Please, Jayne, stay here. I don’t want you to walk down with us. I want you to get better and come home.” My mum’s voice had taken on a pleading tone.
“You could have died had Dini not barked. Yes, he barked. I can’t live through that again. You have to stay here and get better,” she added.
I saw the tears roll down her face but her words paralysed me. I nodded and watched as they walked away. Carla had her arm around her and I saw her shoulders shaking as she sobbed.
“What have I done?” I whispered.
“You’re ill, Jayne. Depression is a real illness that most don’t understand. People can’t see it, it’s not a broken leg, and only you can feel it. It’s unique to every sufferer. I can assure you of one thing though, you’re in the best place to conquer it.”
I lay back on the bed as a wave of exhaustion washed over me. Every bone hurt, every muscle felt fatigued. I wanted to sleep, I wanted my brain to not be so cloudy, but I didn’t want to think either. I guessed I had no idea what I wanted.
I took my medication and changed into my pyjamas. It wasn’t long before I felt my eyelids grow heavy and I drifted into a dreamless sleep.
Each day was the same. I rose, showered and made my way down to breakfast. For the first few days, Glenn accompanied me, but it soon became time for me to do it alone. I sat on my own at first but as I started the therapy session so some of the ‘inmates’ joined me at mealtimes. Lilian was one lady I grew close to. She shared part of her story with me. We were each encouraged to talk about what had brought us to the hospital, but other than saying I’d lost my son, I never expanded.
Lilian had been referred because she’d finally escaped an abusive marriage. But by doing so, she found herself alone and unable to cope without the level of control that had been exerted over her for so many years.
Our rooms were next to each other and on occasions we’d sit in the TV room and chat. We would walk to therapy together and she’d give me a hug when things got too much after my one to one sessions or my weekly meeting with Dr. Tanner. She was a kind woman who didn’t deserve the life she’d had.
I followed the programme, I took my pills, and I talked. I saw Louise for an hour every day and we talked about anything and everything. By the end of a week I had a clearer understanding of what was wrong with me.
Art Therapy was something I had no desire to participate in. The session was taken by a student but with a trained therapist overseeing. I remembered one day we were sat in a row along a wall and asked to act a colour. I stared at the therapist in total bemusement. I didn’t like her. I got the impression she was some arty farty do-gooder who, in actual fact, wasn’t very tolerant of her patients.
“Jayne, I’d like you to act a colour, a colour that best represents you right now,” she’d said. There was no asking, no gentleness in her voice.
“I’d rather not, thank you.”
“The rest of the group are participating,” she said.
“Good for them.”
“I think it would be nice if you joined in.”
I shrugged my shoulders. How the fuck does one ‘act a colour’? I watched the rest of the class struggling and generally taking the piss. Not one person in that room was taking it seriously yet she didn’t appear to be aware of that.
“Jayne?”
“I’m doing it. Can’t you guess what colour I am?”
She made notes. That was something that irritated me; whenever I spoke, she made notes.
“I think, class, Jayne would like us to guess what colour she is.”
Class? I wanted to remind her that it wasn’t primary school. She was in a room of people clinically depressed, nuts, barmy, off their rocker, highly medicated, and fucked up. Her condescending manner annoyed most of us.
“I’m fluorescence,” I said to the ‘class’ standing before me.
Lilian sniggered, she’d been prancing around and waving her arms shouting that she’d give us a clue and think ‘daffodil’.
“Fluorescence?”
“Yes, it’s perfect. We’re both chemically induced.”
With that, I stood and left the room. Beyond the restaurant was another art room, that one was for painting, which led to a conservatory then the garden. I headed that way and pulled a packet of cigarettes from my pocket. Lilian, bless her, had her son bring some in for me.
“Fluorescence. That was funny, not that I should say so,” I heard.
I turned to see Louise walking towards me.
“How did you know? I’ve been out of that room for no more than a couple of minutes. Are the rooms bugged?”
“Of course not. Stephen just told me. I was walking past to grab a coffee. I’ve got one for you too.”
She placed two plastic cups on the metal garden table.
“It’s cold out here,” she added as she pulled her cardigan around her.
“Yes.”
“How about you finish your cigarette and we find somewhere warm to talk?”
“I don’t need to talk, thank you though. I truly don’t get the art therapy. I can’t draw, I’m not interested in playing with figures in a sand box, and as for acting a colour, that’s about as barmy as we all are.”
For the first time in weeks, I laughed. I stubbed out my cigarette and picked up the coffee. It was too cold to sit outside for any length of time.
“It’s Christmas next week, isn’t it? What do I do?”
“You’ll be here. I hear Christmas lunch is something not to be missed. Your family can join you.”
“But I can’t go home?”
She shook her head slowly. “Why?”
“There are too many triggers at home. We need to ensure that you are in a position to deal with those. That you are stable enough to function in an environment that is going to upset you.”
Sadness washed over me. I used to love Christmas. I doubted I ever would again.
Mum and Carla visited often; they joined me for meals and met with Louise for ‘family therapy’. Mum set up a small table top Christmas tree in my room as a surprise. She laid a couple of presents underneath and was upset when I told them not to come on Christmas day. The hospital wasn’t the place I wanted her to spend that day at, especially since it would be the first without dad. I wanted them to have a proper family meal at home with Kerry and the bump. I wanted them to walk to the church for midnight mass and to say a prayer for dad and Ben. It took some convincing to explain I would be okay. I felt safe in that hospital. I felt calm.
Christmas came and went. I stayed in my room most of the time despite Lillian’s constant interruptions. I read, I slept, I watched programmes on the TV that I had seen twenty years prior and I cried. Christmas had been mine and Ben’s favourite time of the year. We’d sit in front of the fire for hours wrapping presents, decorating the tree and laughing. It was a tradition; a tradition that would have been broken with the birth of the baby but it was wrenched from me before I was ready.
I knew the calmness I felt was medically induced and I willingly took the pills. I also knew that at s
ome point I’d need to come off them. I didn’t want them long term, but through the therapy sessions I came to realise I’d suffered with depression for many years. It would take time for me to come to terms with that and to change a lifetime of behaviour so as not to sink so low in the future.
“You have visitors,” Glenn said when he walked in to the room.
I looked up to see Kerry, Carla and my mum, but it was the bundle hidden beneath a blanket that Kerry held in her arms that caused me to cry.
“Surprise,” she said as she stepped closer and handed me her baby.
“Oh my God. When? Oh, Kerry,” I struggled to get the words out.
“Boxing Day. Say hello to your Grandson, Benjamin.”
“Boxing Day! Should you be out of the house?” I asked.
“I’m fine, Benjamin is fine. It was an easy birth and I really wanted you to meet him.”
I peeled back the blanket so I could get a proper look. Blue eyes stared back at me. He had blond hair and was most definitely his father’s son. A tear dripped from my cheek and landed on his forehead. I used my thumb to wipe it away.
“I should have been at home,” I whispered.
“No, you should be here because, Jayne, I need you. Benjamin needs you, and we want you well enough for that.”
“I’ll be home soon, I promise you that.”
Benjamin pulled a face. I knew it wasn’t a smile and I wasn’t sure my empty stomach was up for dealing with the alternative. I laughed as I handed him back.
Mum smiled at me. “You look well,” she said.
“I feel better. I’m having one to one sessions every day and I see Dr. Tanner every week. Of course, Glenn watches me like a hawk.”
“Heard that,” he called from the corridor.
He no longer stood outside and I’d learnt why that was. If my visitors stressed me, he was immediately on hand to calm the situation but that day he was just passing. I didn’t need him as much.
“So tell me about this place,” Kerry asked as she changed the baby.
I told her about the therapy sessions, how each day I attended four. I explained about the art therapy and we laughed at my refusal to participate in that. I showed them the notebook I’d already filled after learning about the mechanics of depression, how the brain works and why I was depressed. I also showed them my journal.
A Virtual Affair Page 23