Sad Perfect

by Stephanie Elliot

  “But I need to talk to my mom.”

  “She’ll be here at visiting hours tonight at six, right? You can talk to her then.”

  “Is Damian here?” you ask. You’re positive he’ll help you make a call to your mom. He’ll help you get in touch with Shayna.

  “He’s working the evening shift.”

  Something in you rages. But this time, it’s not the monster, and you feel this time it’s something stronger. And you’ve never felt anything more powerful than the monster inside you. You start to scream at the top of your lungs, shouting and yelling, “Why won’t anyone listen to me! I need to talk to my mother! I need to get out of here! I have to get out of here!”

  Two male guards rush over and grab you and attempt to calm you down, but you are so worked up and upset that nothing they do works. They threaten to put you in a room by yourself for the rest of the day, they threaten to give you a sedative, they keep throwing threats of all sorts your way until finally a well-dressed woman presents herself.

  “Come with me,” she demands. “Now.”

  You stop screaming and thrashing because she seems to have the authority that no one else possesses and you’re hopeful that this woman can get you the hell out of here.

  She takes you to an office filled with impressive mahogany furniture and all sorts of books about the injured child, the depressed child, the hurt child, the damaged child, the sad child, the unfortunate child. You sit and stare at all the titles of how pathetic you’re supposed to be. Finally, she speaks.

  “I’m Dr. Winthrop. Head of the hospital.” She clasps her hands together. “We do not tolerate outbursts such as that. What happened?”

  “I need my mom,” you whimper.

  “She’ll be here at six,” Dr. Winthrop says.

  “No, you don’t understand. I got placed here wrongly. I don’t belong here.”

  She looks at you like she’s heard this all too many times before, and she probably has, but you’re certain they made a mistake with you. You have an eating disorder. You are not suicidal. You explain this to her.

  Dr. Winthrop opens a file on her desk. “I understand you’re upset. And what has happened with Malik is devastating. I’m sorry this has upset you so much. This is a tragic event.”

  You sniffle and nod, and she hands you a box of tissues.

  “But the fact remains that you’re here for your own safety.”

  You can’t help but think of what just occurred and how he wasn’t safe. “What about Malik?” you ask.

  “That’s different,” Dr. Winthrop says.

  “How so? If you think I’m suicidal, how are you going to keep me safe?” you ask.

  “Well, you said so yourself, that we have it wrong, and you’re not a suicide risk, right?” Dr. Winthrop lifts her eyebrows. Point for Dr. Winthrop, you think.

  “But if I don’t want to kill myself, why are you keeping me here?” You think you’ve got her now and she’ll have to let you go home.

  She flips through your file. “You told Ms. Reynolds that you don’t want to kill yourself ‘yet.’ That’s a red flag, a very big warning sign. Also, a direct quote from your conversation with her: ‘If you ask me if I want to live with this monster for the rest of my life, the answer is no … If that’s the choice I have, to have this monster in me for the rest of my life, then I don’t want to live any longer.’”

  You don’t say anything and she takes out another piece of paper. You recognize your handwriting. It’s from your English class. It’s your six-word memoir. Dr. Winthrop reads it aloud: “The monster inside wants me dead.”

  She shuts the file folder and looks for your reaction. You feel emotions but try so hard not to react. You look at your scratched fingernails, and at the cuts and scrapes along your wrists, fingers, and palms.

  “Do you see that we only have the best intentions here? And that we are only trying to help, to keep you safe? We’re trying to help. We really are. Whether or not you believe it, you need to be here, for your mental stability. That episode out there further proves it.”

  You shake your head back and forth, still looking down at your hands, and the tears fall. You don’t make any noise at all. You feel defeated, like you have no chance of getting out, like you’ve just gotten a life sentence. You don’t see how they can possibly help you, how they can get rid of the monster, how they can keep you safe when a kid just took his own life practically right in front of you.

  “So we’re good? You’re ready to cooperate and make this work for you?”

  You’re not ready, and you’re not good, but you don’t know what else to do. You feel trapped, confused, stuck. You hope you can convince your mom and dad to get you out of this place tonight. Maybe you’ll promise them you’ll eat anything and everything they put in front of you, if only they’ll take you out of this place. Because nothing in your entire life has felt as horrible as what you’ve experienced since you’ve been in the Crazy House.

  And you don’t think you can take any more of it.

  You nod, but before Dr. Winthrop excuses you from her office, she has one more thing to say to you.

  “And to be clear, one more episode like what you pulled out there, and there will be consequences.”

  48

  Since you had your breakdown during morning therapy, you meet up with the others at lunch. You’re shaken up and upset but you have to play by the rules if you want to get out of here. Savara pats the seat next to hers in the dining area after you’ve gotten your designated meal of a turkey sandwich, some sort of pasta salad, a Jell-O, and milk. The turkey sandwich makes you think of Ben and the picnic that you shared only a few days ago.

  You miss him so much you sigh out loud.

  The others mistake it for a reaction to what happened with Malik, which isn’t altogether incorrect.

  Starling can barely look at her food. “They made me come to lunch. I wanted to stay in my room, but they said I had to come eat,” she says.

  A kid you haven’t met yet is sitting at the table. He’s a bit overweight with black-rimmed glasses and an unfortunate complexion. He pushes his glasses up on the bridge of his nose and says, “I’m the one who found him. Malik was my roommate.”

  “Ken. Don’t.” Chad looks up from his plate, shaking his head. “Just don’t.”

  Ken wipes the back of his hand across his nose and smirks at Chad.

  “I woke up and he was in bed and I thought he was asleep. So I go, ‘Hey, Malik, get up,’ and when he didn’t answer I went over there and his face was gray. I think he took a bunch of pills.”

  “Shut up!” Chad slams his fists on the table and stands up quickly and one of the kitchen staff comes over.

  “Is everything okay here?”

  Starling begins to cry and you start shaking. Savara whispers to Starling to try to get her to calm down.

  “No,” Chad says. “Ken’s talking shit about Malik. And he’s upsetting the girls.”

  “Ken.” The staffer nods for him to get up. He moves Ken to an isolated table and watches over him while he finishes his lunch.

  “Thank you,” you say to Chad.

  “That’s just wrong,” he says. Starling stops crying, takes a sip of her milk. “Malik was such a nice kid.”

  Chad nods.

  You wish a place like this didn’t exist.

  You wonder if Malik is happy being dead.

  * * *

  After lunch it’s recreation time but the mood is extremely solemn. Of course, since it’s your second day at the Crazy House, you have no idea if recreation time is otherwise exciting, but you follow the others outside for fresh air and activity.

  You’re supposed to play badminton. Instead of a real game, you bat the little birdie thingy back and forth to one another while staff watch from the outskirts of the building. Sometimes someone gets angry and smashes the birdie at another kid, but for the most part, everyone is pretty melancholy.

  “Why do you think he did it?” some boy you don’t
know asks. It’s on everybody’s mind.

  Starling speaks first, after she sends the birdie across the net to you. “His mother sent him and his little sister to live with his grandmother—he said his mom couldn’t afford to take care of them. And his grandmother was struggling. He felt like no one wanted him.”

  You think about this. Everyone in your life wants you in his or her life. Your mom, your dad, even your stupid-ass brother. As much as he is a stupid ass, you think he’d be devastated if you weren’t around. Jae would die if you weren’t here. And Ben, and the little bit you know about his family. They all want you around. You’ve got so much to be happy about.

  Why aren’t you happy? Why can’t you be happy? Because of food? Because of the monster? Because of what happened with Alex last year? Because of rumors that aren’t going to matter when you’re done with high school?

  How can you turn all of this around? How can you make the changes you need to make in your life and start being happy with yourself? With the gifts you’ve been given? With the things you have in your life?

  These are some of the questions you’re going to need to answer. If you want to get rid of the monster, and if you want to get out of the Crazy House and start living the life you deserve to live.

  You’ve got to start digging deep. You know you don’t belong in the psych ward. Starling, Savara, and Chad seem like good people, but you’re pretty sure they’ve been damaged by circumstances beyond their control, and they need more help than you do. You want to get home to the people who are waiting for you, waiting to help you.

  There’s Ben too. And you need him.

  49

  Sleep comes easily that afternoon during break, and then there’s a group session where a new therapist talks to you and the others about feelings and overcoming obstacles. She also talks about being mindful and in the moment and what it means to be present.

  You wish you weren’t present. You wish all of this were in your past.

  After dinner, which you don’t eat because it’s chicken, you go into the lounge and sit at one of the benches at the long tables. Some of the younger kids have been here earlier and they’ve left coloring pages and crayons.

  You pick up a crayon. It’s the carnation-pink one. You smell it. It brings you right back to preschool and the feelings you had when you were little. When things were simple and easy. When your biggest worry was whether you wanted to color with the carnation-pink or the lavender crayon from your big box of Crayolas. When you hated to peel the paper off the crayon because the pointy crayon was turning into a nub and it was time to stick it in the back of the box and twist it in the sharpener.

  Savara joins you, and she picks up a green crayon and reaches for a coloring page. She chooses a picture of Spider-Man.

  You’re coloring a Barbie page—she’s in her convertible on a road to nowhere. It feels oddly like your life, except you’re not perfect Barbie and you’re not in a convertible, you just feel like you’re going nowhere. You search for a yellow crayon and find canary and color the long strokes of Barbie’s hair.

  “You okay?” Savara finally asks.

  You shrug.

  “Today totally sucked,” Savara says.

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m leaving on Friday,” she says. It’s Wednesday night.

  “Why’re you here anyway?”

  “I’m bipolar. I’m getting my meds adjusted. This is my third time here.”

  You both keep coloring. It’s therapeutic. You feel your heart rate slow. This is the calmest you have felt since you got here.

  “I’m sorry,” you say.

  “Well, hopefully they got my meds right this time,” Savara says.

  “Have you ever…” You don’t want to finish the sentence but Savara knows what you’re asking.

  “I think about it. A lot. But no.”

  “Do you want to get better?” you ask.

  “I do. I really do. It’s just so fucking hard, you know?”

  “I know.”

  You both continue to color and then it’s six o’clock and the parents who have been waiting outside are allowed to come in. Savara’s parents are here. Your parents are here. You get up and hug them, and your mom immediately bursts into tears so you do too.

  Your dad wraps his arms around the both of you. “Don’t cry, Pea, honey, it’s okay.”

  You and your mom cling to each other for a while longer, and then she pulls away and wipes tears from your eyes.

  The first thing you ask your parents is if Ben called the house. It’s the most important thing you want to know.

  “He did. Late last night,” your dad says.

  “You talked to him? What did you say? What did he say? Tell me!”

  “I told him that you were here and we weren’t sure when you’d be home but you’re getting the help you need.”

  You don’t exactly agree with this but you don’t say anything about it.

  “Did you call Shayna?” you ask next. “Does she know where I am?”

  “Yes, she knows where you are. We’ve got her plugged into the situation.” Your dad says this like he’s reporting football scores. You want to smack him.

  “Are you okay?” your mom asks. She brushes a piece of your hair away from your face.

  “It’s awful.” You tell your parents how horrible your physical exam was.

  “And I wanted to call you this morning but they wouldn’t let me,” you add.

  It’s as if neither of your parents knows how to respond. You keep talking.

  “They don’t even care that I have an eating disorder.”

  You have moved over to a quiet spot in the lounge, near the window, and you and your parents sit on three of the Lego chairs.

  Your parents look at each other. You hope they are rethinking sending you here.

  “I call these the Lego chairs,” you say. “You can’t move them. So no one can throw them if they get pissed.”

  Your mom looks shocked.

  “Mom,” you say, “don’t worry about that. The only good thing is that the kids are nice.” Then you tell them about Malik. They say they already knew. Dr. Winthrop came out and explained the situation to all the visitors before they were let in.

  “It’s so sad, Mom,” you say. “He seemed like such a nice kid, but at dinner last night … God, it was only last night that he was alive … he said he’d tried to kill himself three times.”

  “Oh dear God,” your father says. You wonder if your parents are beginning to see how crazy it is that they’ve sent you here, and that you don’t need to be at the Crazy House. So you try to use it to your advantage.

  “I shouldn’t be here. No one cares that I have ARFID. They’re not making sure I’m eating the right stuff or helping me get better. No one cares if I eat. You have to get me out of here.”

  Your parents exchange worried looks.

  “Can’t you call Shayna again, Mom? Can she do anything to get me out sooner? I want to go back to Healthy Foundations. I was trying hard, I really was. Shayna told me to expect ups and downs with therapy. Maybe the cutting was just part of the downs. I didn’t mean to do it. Can you get Shayna to come here and talk to them?”

  “Maybe,” your mom says, but you’re not entirely sure your mom believes you. Maybe your mom wants you to stay.

  Your dad speaks then. “Pea, we are really scared that you’re going to hurt yourself. We feel that you’re safe here, despite what happened to Malik. We understand he was severely troubled. But you need to learn some skills and some ways to lower your anxiety. You haven’t been yourself, and then that anonymous tip came in to school. We’re concerned for your well-being.”

  “Dad!” Your voice has risen and the guard turns to see if there is a problem.

  “What about the cutting though?” Your dad moves his body closer to yours and touches your hands and you instinctively pull away. “Clearly you’re hurting yourself. You must have thoughts about hurting yourself?”

  “I don�
�t know,” you admit.

  “Why did you do it?” your mom asks.

  “Mom. I don’t know. It was stupid. I’m not going to do it anymore. I promise. It just … it just … it felt like it soothed me for the moment. I don’t know. Maybe like how a glass of wine soothes you?”

  You didn’t want the words to sting her but you suspect they might. “I don’t mean it in a mean way. And I know I shouldn’t compare the two, but it calmed me down when I was feeling tense. And I know I need to find a better way to cope. I know that now. And I’m ready to figure that out. But this is not the place.”

  Your parents glance at each other again.

  “Really, Mom, Dad. I don’t need to be here.”

  You can tell your parents are considering your words.

  “We all have a meeting with Ms. Reynolds and Dr. Winthrop on Friday. I’ll see if it makes sense to have Shayna come,” your mom says. “But until then, do whatever they say you need to do, okay?”

  “Yes,” your dad agrees. “Dr. Winthrop told us about your fit this morning. If you behave like that, they’ll just have reason to tell us that you need to stay. Got it?”

  “Dr. Winthrop is crazy,” you say. “I just want to go home.”

  “You know we want you home too. More than anything,” your mom says.

  This makes you want to cry, but you hold it in. Your mom hands you the duffel bag she brought with clean clothes, your pillow, and the toiletries you are allowed to have. You cannot wait to take a shower and shampoo your hair.

  As visiting hour ends, your parents tell you they won’t be by tomorrow night since they’ll be here Friday for your assessment meeting. They hug you hard, tell you they love you, then they leave.

  50

  After your parents leave, you get in line for the phones but it seems as if everyone wants to make a call tonight. You wait and you wait, and there are still six kids in line at eight o’clock when phone time is over. You’ve missed your chance to call Ben.

  “For those of you who didn’t get to make a call tonight, you’ll definitely get to call tomorrow night,” the night nurse says. You’re really bummed and feel like crying. You need to talk to Ben.