More Than Us

by Dawn Barker

  Cameron looked at me, his eyes pleading with me to rescue him. This is why we were here: he’d forgotten how to play, how to just be. I nodded at him and gestured towards the back yard. He glared at me and stomped off.

  I forced down a surge of irritation at his sulky behaviour. I reminded myself that soon, I could teach him the value of hard work and self-reliance, far away from all the things and people who had made him sick.

  Damian closed the door and sat back down in the armchair. ‘How did it go with Emily yesterday?’

  ‘Oh, mate. Don’t suppose I’m allowed a drink?’ I smiled.

  He shrugged. ‘We don’t tell you what to do. You have to be the one to make the right choices.’

  ‘I was joking.’ Sometimes I wished that Damian could be more relaxed around me. I saw him as a friend as well as a mentor, but it seemed that he still didn’t trust me enough to let his guard down around me.

  ‘Did the psychiatrist come?’

  I stopped smiling, I nodded then filled him in. When I finished and look up at him, he was sitting up straight, his jaw set.

  ‘I’m proud of you, Paul, for standing up to the psychiatrist, and to Emily. They all want to give him drugs, Paul. You are the one who is going to save Cameron from them; look what’s happened already. She’ll do it again, you know.’

  ‘I know. I just…’ I couldn’t help but want to defend Emily; I knew what she did was wrong, and I was furious for her deception. But I wasn’t ready to completely demonise her either.

  ‘Paul. Look at me.’ I looked up at him, staring intensely at me. ‘You’re a clever man, Paul, well read.’

  I smirked. ‘Not really—’

  He pointed his finger at me. ‘Stop. You’re putting yourself down again. You are an extremely intelligent man. Now, tell me, when you think about great literature, or great men in the history books, did you ever read about them having a mental illness? No, you didn’t. Did people have ADHD when they were fighting for survival? Did people have problems with gambling, or sex addictions, or multiple personalities when they were working hard and being self-reliant and improving themselves? No: those so-called mental illnesses didn’t exist. Mental illness still doesn’t exist.’

  I felt hot. I glanced out the window at Cameron, kicking at the dirt.

  Damian continued. ‘I’m not denying that sometimes we feel sad; I’ve felt sad many times. But being sad is not an illness. And if someone, in the history of the human race, was a bit different to others, they weren’t put on brain-altering medication and given an hour of therapy every week and government handouts. They were accepted into their village and given a different job. Maybe they weren’t ever going to be the leader of the group, but they’d be given a role. Maybe they’d be the cook, or the one who tended to the animals. They were still important, no, crucial to their village. They were integrated and genuinely needed.’

  ‘I know, I know. You’re right.’

  ‘And this is what happens, Paul. This is what happens when they get their hands on our children.’ He pointed his finger outside towards where Cameron was.

  ‘She does love him, though.’

  ‘I have no doubt she does, and so do you. But she doesn’t understand. She has refused to listen to you. You need to get him away from her, from the doctors.’

  ‘I know. You’re right, I’m just worried—’

  ‘There is nothing to worry about. He would never have been in this situation, Paul, if it wasn’t for the medication. I’ve alerted the Phoenix team in Scotland and they’re ready to work with Cameron.’

  He stood up and went over to the bookshelf and took down a thick hardback book. He handed it to me.

  ‘DSM five,’ he said, disdainfully.

  I looked at the cover, then flicked through the pages. ‘Yes. The psychiatry book.’

  ‘This book is how the psychiatrists have falsely diagnosed your son, Paul, and how they would have diagnosed you if you had been weak enough to let them. The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual. Instructions, Paul, step by step tick boxes. You could train a monkey to use this.’

  I nodded.

  ‘They used to have homosexuality in there Paul, as an illness. It’s dangerous, Paul. Just look at psychiatry’s history: torture, genocide, forced sterilisations, locking people away for being disabled. They’re little better than alchemists, trying to turn the misery of others into gold for themselves.’

  I took the thick book and began to flick through the hundreds and hundreds of pages, scanning the titles on each. Major depression, reactive depression, persistent depressive disorder, generalised anxiety, unspecified anxiety, ADHD, ADD, social communication disorder, autistic spectrum disorder, conduct disorder, oppositional defiant disorder, intermittent explosive disorder, Bipolar 1 disorder, Bipolar 2 disorder… During my time at Treetops, and in the many meetings I’d attended afterwards, we had discussed how our society expects excellence. We tell our children that if they work hard enough, they can be a sports star, an academic genius, slim, popular. And when our children are not brilliant, what do we do? We pay huge sums of money to a doctor to give them an excuse for not living up to society’s expectations, and if you’re extra lucky, some toxic medication that gives you diabetes and stunts your growth or makes you fat and fries your brain.

  I had heard of the DSM-5 diagnostic book before I had become involved with Phoenix. It was a few years ago. I’d had a long day at work, and when I put my key in the front door lock, I paused for a moment, not sure what I’d find when I stepped in. Often, I’d walk into a mess, Emily red-faced and slamming things around; other times, she’d smile at me and ask how my day was, and the place would be spotless.

  I turned the key, and stepped inside. Emily was sitting at the kitchen table with her laptop open, a notepad beside her.

  ‘Hey,’ I said.

  Emily swivelled round, grinning, and beckoned me over. ‘Come and read this.’

  I put my keys and phone on the kitchen bench and leaned over her shoulder. ‘What is it?’

  ‘So, there’s a new diagnostic system about to come out. DSM-5. They’ve updated it from DSM-4 – they change it every so often, you know, to make sure that it’s up to date with all the mental illnesses.’ She went on to explain while scrolling through webpages and pointing at the notes she’d been scribbling on a notepad. ‘I’m just trying to find all the details, this could be just what we need…’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  She patted the seat next to her and slid the laptop over towards it so it was half way between her and the other seat. I sat down. ‘They’re changing the way they make a diagnosis. The psychiatrists. So maybe we’ll get some answers now.’

  ‘But how does that change things for us?’

  ‘Well,’ she continued. ‘They can never figure out what’s wrong with Cammie. So maybe now he’ll finally fit something, maybe now he’ll get a diagnosis.’

  ‘Emily,’ I groaned. ‘That’s ridiculous.’

  She turned to me, frowning. ‘It’s not ridiculous, Paul. If he had a diagnosis, then we could get some help.’

  ‘He’s got lots of diagnoses, Emily – you’ve told me at various times he has autism, bipolar, ADHD, OCD, anxiety… am I missing any?’

  She tutted. ‘Paul. Don’t be horrible. He doesn’t have any diagnosis, that’s the point. These things have been thrown around him for so long and everyone disagrees. Don’t you see, Paul? If he fits into one of these new diagnoses, it’ll help him. Once he gets a diagnosis, he can get help at school, and maybe there’s a treatment that can help him.’

  I pressed on my temples. We’d been through this so many times and neither of us would say what I knew she was thinking: that if Cameron had a diagnosis then people would stop looking at her as if she was a bad mother. Because she’d told me before, in tears, that it was what she feared, that every time he acted up, she felt blamed.

  ‘Emily,’ I said softly. ‘I understand why you’re excited, but doesn’t this seem ludicrous? That one
day a kid is fine and the next day he has a mental illness.’

  ‘They discover new physical illnesses all the time.’

  ‘That’s different.’

  ‘It’s not different at all.’

  ‘What about kids who had a mental illness yesterday and now don’t?’

  ‘Then their parents would be ecstatic. To be told that their child is fine.’

  I sighed. ‘We’ve been told Cameron’s fine, and you’re not ecstatic.’

  She was silent then, and I watched her eyes fill with tears. She shook her head just a little. ‘Is it so bad to want him to be happy?’

  ‘He is. In his own way.’

  She her fingers on the table and shook her head harder. ‘He’s not. You know he’s not.’

  ‘Okay, Okay…’ It wasn’t worth another fight. I knew he wasn’t completely happy. But what boy is? I wasn’t when I was his age. Everyone thought I was happy because I was good at sport, but I still thought I wasn’t good enough. ‘Emily. Sometimes I just wonder if we’re losing sight of him, you know? There are so many labels flapping around him that we can’t see his face anymore. Maybe it’s better if he doesn’t have something. Think about it – every school, every uni application, every job, every insurance policy, he’ll have to say he has a mental illness that might not even exist in a couple of years’ time because they might change the book again!’

  I took a deep breath and looked at Emily. She was staring at the screen, her lips tight, but I knew she was listening. I was glad she didn’t respond. We were just trampling over the same old ground, and none of this was helping Cameron. Or us.

  * * *

  I looked up from the book, back at Damian. I felt sick at the thought of how frantic Emily must be. ‘Am I doing the right thing?’

  He nodded. ‘You are. You have to help Cameron.’

  He was right; I knew that. Cameron had no way here to avoid the influences that were making him sick. It was everywhere – television, magazines, social media, music videos that told my daughter she had to grind her body at a misogynistic man if she wanted to be loved. We feed them over-processed food full of sugar and wheat that our body was never designed to digest, making their bodies sluggish as their liver and kidneys work overtime to try and clear it all from the body. They spend their days stooped over screens forgetting how to connect to the outside world while their cervical spines curve and parents pay quack chiropractors to help them straighten up as they would be if they were outside all day. Mobile phone signals are mutating their brain cells, vaccinations are assaulting their immune system and then we turn around and expect them to be miniature versions of what we ourselves wish we’d become. We’ve all known for so long that there’s something wrong with the way we live our lives. And my children are paying the price.

  Not anymore.

  I nodded back to Damian. The only thing I was unsure about was leaving Emily and Tilly. I was doing the right thing for Cameron.

  ‘I don’t even blame her, Damian,’ I said.

  ‘She doesn’t understand. But she will.’

  ‘I’m sure she’ll come around too, once she sees the difference in Cameron. She’s a good person.’

  ‘Of course, she is. But right now, she doesn’t understand. This is the only way to help her see that you – that we – are right. You’re going back to where you grew up, when life was simpler. Sometimes you need space and a change of scenery, and you’ll have plenty of support. There’s no time to waste for Cameron, though. You can’t wait.’

  ‘I know.’ I stood up, thanked him, and shook his hand. ‘I’ll see if he’d like a nap before the flight this evening.’

  Soon, we’d be on our way.

  Thirty-Two

  Emily

  The police were sympathetic, but disinterested. He was with his father, they said, and when they asked if I thought that Paul might harm Cameron, I shook my head. ‘No,’ I had said, quietly. ‘He wouldn’t hurt him.’ In my heart, I knew that.

  Back at home, I allowed Tilly to go into her room with her laptop. I had her phone near me, as well as my own. We had a home phone, and though Paul and Cameron wouldn’t even know the number, I checked the voicemail anyway. I searched Cameron’s room for any notes, or anything obviously missing, but it was so hard to tell. In our bedroom, I looked up on top of our wardrobes, where we kept our suitcases. I dragged a dining chair through from the kitchen and stood on it, stretched up, then pulled the cases down. I screamed as one of them caught the corner of my head. The cases clattered to the floor. I felt myself teeter sideways, then jumped down onto the wooden floors and let my tears fall. How many cases did he have? Was there one missing? Maybe he was coming home, maybe it was all a misunderstanding? But it was the afternoon now; they’d been gone all day. If there was nothing to worry about, he’d have called me by now.

  Suddenly, my phone rang.

  In an instant, I was on my feet, flying along the hallway to the kitchen. I grabbed for the phone. Tilly ran towards me from her room, then stopped as I picked it up.

  ‘Paul,’ I said. ‘Where the hell are you? Where’s Cameron?’

  ‘He’s fine, Emily. He’s with me.’

  ‘Jesus, Paul. Where are you? Put him on, I need to—’

  ‘Emily, he’s here, he’s fine.’

  ‘I, I…’ I didn’t know what to say. I had so many questions to ask but it all just seemed so bizarre that I couldn’t formulate the right sentences. ‘Where are you? When are you coming home? Is he okay?’

  ‘Emily. He’s perfectly fine. We… we’re just going to go away for a while.’

  My heart almost stopped. ‘Away? Away where? He’s got school tomorrow.’

  ‘Please, Emily, you have to trust me.’

  I was aware of Tilly gripping the edge of the benchtop, staring at me. I turned my back to her and walked back towards my room. ‘Trust you? I – Put him on, Paul. I need to talk to Cameron. Now.’

  ‘Emily—’

  ‘Now!’ I screamed. ‘This is not a joke.’

  Paul’s voice was strained. ‘Emily, I’m just taking him home for a while. To Scotland. I want to spend some time with him, get him away from all of this for a while.’

  ‘All of what? Me? His sister? And what do you mean, home? I’m at home, Tilly is at home, and we’re terrified and we’re watching the door and waiting for the phone to ring and I just want to speak to him.’ I started to cry. The firmness in Paul’s voice scared me. My anger drained away, replaced by something far more terrible. ‘Paul, please, please, let me talk to him.’

  Paul hesitated.

  ‘Please, Paul. Don’t do this to me. You’re scaring me, and Tilly. She’s here now. She’s listening.’ I whispered.

  ‘Mum?’ Cameron’s voice came on the line.

  I almost sank to the floor. ‘Oh. Cameron. Cameron, thank God. Darling, where are you? Are you Okay?’

  ‘I’m not sure, we’re at one of Dad’s friend’s places, Damian’s, in the bush. We’re going to the airport soon.’

  I tried to keep my voice light. Damian. I started to feel dizzy; I made myself slow down my breathing. ‘The airport? Where are you going, sweetie?’

  ‘Scotland,’ his voice wavered. ‘Didn’t Dad tell you? We’re going to see Grandma and then we’re going on a camping trip. Dad?’ I heard Cameron and Paul mumbling but couldn’t make out what they were saying.

  ‘We have to go, Mum. Dad said that you and Tilly will come and join us in the school holidays after we have some time together. Are you coming?’

  ‘Oh darling, that sounds wonderful. We will come. We’ll come very soon. Cameron, do you remember my phone number? Off by heart, I mean, not just from your phone.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  I hoped he understood what I was trying to say. ‘Make sure you write it down, okay, in case you don’t get mobile reception out there, so you can call me from a payphone or something when you get there, okay? Just call the operator and reverse the charges.’ Can you even do that these days?
<
br />   ‘Sure.’

  ‘Cameron, I’ll see you really soon, okay. I love you.’ My voice broke.

  ‘I have to go, Mum.’

  ‘I love you, Cameron. I’ll be there as soon as I can.’ I spoke lightly. ‘Can you put your dad back on?’

  ‘Okay, bye, Mum.’

  I heard mumbles again as the phone got passed over to Paul.

  I hissed at him. ‘Paul, do not dare go anywhere. What the hell are you doing?’

  ‘I’ll contact you when we get there. Please don’t be angry. I just need some time with him, I just want to reconnect with him. I’ve been away for so long.’

  ‘Paul, don’t you dare turn his head with all that—’

  ‘Emily. I just want to show him a simple life.’

  I was losing him; I knew he was trying to end the conversation. ‘Please, please—’

  ‘Em. I love him. I love you all. I promise it’s all going to be okay. I’ll be in touch soon.’

  And then he hung up.

  * * *

  That evening, Tilly and I sat opposite each other in the café. She ordered the Thai beef salad, me the duck and lychee red curry. Cameron usually had the burger; Paul usually had the nasi goreng. Now that we were here, I realised how silly it had been of me to come, but I didn’t really know what to do and I needed something to be familiar. I waved as a woman I knew from school bustled in with her kids trailing behind. Maybe I’d thought that no one would think anything was wrong if they saw Tilly and me out together, or maybe I just needed to see life going on as normal because then, my fears seemed silly. Fathers and sons went on trips all the time, didn’t they?

  I ordered my second glass of wine. ‘Isn’t that Sasha, from school, over there?’