Shayna speaks. “She’s working very hard in therapy through Healthy Foundations, and she’s on target with other girls in her group in terms of participation and determination.”
Thank you, Shayna.
Again, Ms. Reynolds jots something down.
Damian says, “From everything I’ve seen while on duty, she’s an exemplary patient.”
Thank you, Damian.
Dr. Winthrop turns her attention to Janet. “And how is she doing with her medication?”
“Well, she was on Zoloft but she stopped taking it before she was admitted,” Janet replies.
Everyone looks from Janet to you.
“I stopped taking my pills about four weeks ago. I told Janet that,” you say. You want to be as agreeable as possible so they’ll let you go home.
“I’ve called her primary doctor and left two messages, which have not been returned. I need to confirm with him how many milligrams before we put her back on Zoloft,” Janet says.
Dr. Winthrop addresses your parents: “Do you think your daughter needs to be on an antidepressant and were you aware she stopped taking her meds?”
Your mom speaks. “I recently found out she stopped taking her pills, but I thought you put her back on Zoloft once she was admitted. She was on one hundred milligrams and seemed to be doing well on that. I thought so anyway. Lately, she’s been so unhappy.”
“Well, yes,” Dr. Winthrop says. “The cutting could have been because she went off her meds.” She writes something down and then looks at Janet. “You should have told me immediately that you couldn’t get in touch with her primary. I can prescribe her one hundred milligrams of Zoloft. She should have started the medication the day she arrived.”
You’re hoping the next thing she says will be that she’ll let you go home with your parents after she writes you up a new prescription.
But that’s not what Dr. Winthrop says.
“Very well. We’ve scheduled discharge in four days, so we’ll shoot for Tuesday afternoon. Since it’s Friday, things are a little slow over the weekend with therapists’ availability. She’ll get limited therapy sessions over the weekend, but we think therapy on Monday and Tuesday will be beneficial. We want to make certain she’s ready to go home.”
You feel the tears come and you can’t control them. You wonder if anyone understands that you’ve got an eating disorder, that you don’t belong here, and you’re not in danger of killing yourself. You look around the room and you see that there might be two people who do understand that you being here is a huge mistake—Damian and Shayna. The two of them look shocked to hear that you’ll be staying another four days.
“Are you sure that’s necessary? Another four days?” Shayna asks. “She’s getting all the therapy she needs at Healthy Foundations.”
Dr. Winthrop nods curtly. “We’re sure, we’re very sure. It’s best that she stays here under our supervision. The good news is we have a flexible visitors’ schedule over the weekend. You’ll be able to spend more time with your parents than just an hour each night.”
You turn to your mom and dad, tears streaming down your face. “Mom, Dad? Do I have to stay?”
Your mom and dad look at each other and then your mom says, “We were hoping you could come home too, but if Dr. Winthrop thinks you should stay for a few more days then you probably should.”
You have never felt so defeated in all your life.
55
After the meeting, Dr. Winthrop suggests you go to your room until therapy so that you can calm down. She feels a rest will do you some good.
In your room, you slide your hand under the thin mattress where you put Ben’s letter. You want to read his words; they’ll reassure you someone cares for you, that someone wants you. But when you reach for the letter, you can’t feel it. You thought you had shoved it up high, but maybe it’s farther down, so you move your hands lower. When you can’t feel the crisp paper, you get on your knees on the hard floor and lift the mattress, getting a bit frenzied.
It’s not there.
You lie flat on the floor and scan under the bed.
Nothing.
Your heart is pumping wildly and you begin to tear the room apart, pulling your pillowcase off the pillow, removing the sheets, yanking the scratchy blanket all the way down to the floor. You’re crying and yelling, “It’s not here! It’s not here!”
You’re hysterical.
It’s all you have of Ben.
You open the dresser drawers, then bang them shut, and then tear the other bed apart—Savara’s bed—knowing your letter is not going to be there either, because you know, you know, the letter was under your mattress and now it’s not in your room.
Minutes later you sense a presence in the doorway.
Ken.
You know then that he’s taken your letter.
“You looking for something?” he sneers.
You wipe your nose and push your hair away from your splotchy face.
“You give it back, you asshole.”
He turns from the doorway and begins to walk away. Before you know what you’re doing, you slam your body into his and beat your fists into his back. You scream at him, “Give it back! Give it back!” and, “You’re an asshole and a thief! You thief!” You pound at his flesh and he turns toward you like he’s going to hit you and the next thing you know you’ve knocked Ken’s glasses from his face and you scratch at him with all the energy you have. Your fingernails slide against his cheek and he lets out a howl.
Two guards come and grab your arms to pull you away from Ken.
“The chick’s crazy,” Ken yells, grabbing his face. “She freaking attacked me!”
“He’s a thief! He stole my letter! He went into my room and went through my things!” you yell.
Dr. Winthrop and Damian come around the corner to see what all the commotion is and when Dr. Winthrop sees your room has been ransacked, she asks, “What’s going on?” She looks at you and Ken, and sees that Ken has a bloody scratch on his face.
“She attacked me!” Ken accuses.
“He went through my room!” you say.
“Did you do that to her room?” Dr. Winthrop asks Ken.
“No, I just stopped by to see if she wanted to play cards or checkers. I was bored. And she freaked out on me!”
“You’re a liar!” you yell.
“Who did this to your room?” Dr. Winthrop asks you.
You’re silent.
“Who did it?” she asks again.
“I did,” you say. “I was looking for a letter of mine.”
“Did you do that to his face?” Dr. Winthrop asks you.
You’re silent.
“Are you not going to speak?” she asks.
You remain silent. Ken smirks from the hallway.
Dr. Winthrop is fuming. “I warned you last time, did I not? And violence? We do not tolerate violence in here. Damian, take Ken to Janet to have those scratches looked at.”
Then Dr. Winthrop stares at you with hate in her eyes.
“You. Come with me.”
* * *
You’re in a room alone, with just a bed and a toilet in the far corner. Dr. Winthrop put you here so you can think about whether or not you want to tell her why you felt compelled to become so violent, when she has been “so very good to you. And you were so close to being discharged.”
The walls are white, the bedsheet is white. Besides the bed and the toilet there is nothing else in the room. You wonder if Winthrop will keep you here for the next four days. Or longer now? Your parents will kill Winthrop if they find out what she’s doing to you, because being locked up like this isn’t therapy, this is abuse. You’re emotionally exhausted and you can’t believe this is happening.
This is your fucked-up life.
And it all began because you can’t eat some foods.
All because of a stupid-ass monster who lives inside you.
All because someone sent an anonymous e-mail and you got sent to the
Crazy House.
You have no idea what time it is but Winthrop locked you up around three-thirty. Someone brought you a snack but of course you don’t eat it because you have an eating disorder but they don’t get that because they think you are suicidal.
You’re on the bed staring at the ceiling when there is a quick tap on the door and it opens. It’s Winthrop. She enters the room and stares down at you.
“Well?” she asks.
When you don’t say anything, she continues. “I just spoke to Ken at dinner and he says that he did nothing to provoke you.”
“He’s at dinner? He’s not locked up? Why am I in here but he’s not in trouble?”
“You were the violent one. Did you see what you did to his face?”
“He’s a thief! He’s not in any trouble? He went through my room. He stole from me!”
“What did he take?”
“A letter from my boyfriend.”
“And that’s a reason to scratch his face up? Do you see now why we think you need to stay here? You have severe anger issues, you’re dangerous not only to yourself but to others as well. We were right to suggest you stay longer.”
You have no fight left in you so you close your eyes, signifying that you’re done with the conversation. She’s not going to listen to anything you have to say anyway. She’s been against you since you arrived and nothing’s going to change her mind.
“I came here to give you a chance to come to dinner, but you’re not cooperating. I believe this conversation is over.” And she leaves.
A while later a horrible plate of food is delivered. You eat the roll and drink the warm carton of milk and your gag reflex hits and you almost throw up. You try to keep down the bread and the milk but the thought of curdled milk being churned in your stomach is unsettling and you throw up anyway. You don’t make it to the toilet and the vomit hits the linoleum floor with an unsavory splat. Since the only thing you could clean it up with would be the bedsheet, you leave the mess on the floor. The smell is horrendous and it saturates the room.
You crawl back onto the bed and get as close to the wall as you can, curl into the fetal position and pull the cold sheet over your body. That’s all there is, one cold white starched sheet. Not even a blanket to keep you warm.
You cry.
And you cry. And you cry. Harder than you’ve ever cried in your life.
Fuck this monster. You’ve never hated anything more. You hate what’s happening to you. You need to fix this. You thought you were on your way. Dr. Winthrop is crazy. You don’t know what you’re going to do. You’re trapped. It’s no wonder Malik killed himself. It was his only way out. His only way out of this Crazy House.
There is no hope at all.
You close your eyes and wish for death. This is the only way you think you’ll get out of this place.
Then because there is nothing else to do, you start screaming.
You scream and scream and scream until everything goes black.
* * *
Your hair is matted to your face and your throat feels like razors slashed every part of it from all the screaming. No one came for you, and as far as you know, no one checked on you during the night. Now though, you hear commotion from the other side of the door, and it’s getting louder.
“What’s that horrible smell?” You hear angry voices, and then the door opens and your parents rush in. “Christ! Get my daughter out of here!” your dad demands. “This is bullshit!”
Your mom comes over to the bed and pulls you to her. She hugs you tight and you start crying all over again.
“Honey, it’s okay, it’s okay. We’re so sorry, I’m so sorry. You’re coming home. Right now. Right now, baby. We’re taking you home.”
* * *
When you get into your parents’ car, the first thing you do is ask your mom for your phone back. You text Ben to tell him that you’ll be home in about an hour. The next thing you do is leave a message for Shayna to let her know that your parents have taken you out of the hospital and hopefully you will see her at Healthy Foundations this week.
Then your mom tells you how they discovered you.
“We decided to take advantage of the Saturday-morning visiting hours.”
She turns to face you in the backseat. “We felt awful about how we left you yesterday,” your mom says. “We knew how upset you were and we felt so bad.”
“When we arrived,” your dad continues, “Dr. Winthrop wasn’t there. When no one could tell us where you were, when you weren’t in your room, then I knew for sure something was wrong.”
You sink back into the seat with such relief to be going home. The only regret you have is you left the Crazy House so quickly you didn’t get to say goodbye to Chad or Damian. You feel like they were both looking out for you, that they genuinely cared about you, and now you’ll never see them again.
You are so glad to be out of there you want to cry again, but good tears. You can’t believe the types of emotions you have experienced in the past four days. And when you pull up to your house, there’s another emotion you get to experience because Ben is standing in your driveway with a bunch of white carnations in his hands and a huge smile on his face.
Waiting for you.
Just as he said he would be.
56
Before the car comes to a complete stop you open the door, stumble out, and you’re in Ben’s arms, hugging him. You smell him and he kisses your hair and inhales you. You hope he can’t smell the stale milk and vomit on you, then you realize he doesn’t care, he only cares about you. About being with you.
You smell flowers and Ben. You inhale deeply, wanting to commit the smell to memory. It’s wonderful. It’s hopeful. You’re home.
“Ben, you’re here?” your mom asks as she gets out of the car, and you think she’s being rude. Your dad is by the trunk gathering your things.
“I wanted to come over right away.” He’s looking down at you, into your eyes, and he pushes your unwashed hair away from your face. You want to look at him forever.
“Well, she’s going to need a shower and probably a long nap. Maybe it would be better if you came back tomorrow, don’t you think?” your mother asks.
“Mom!” you croak. Your throat still aches from the screaming. “I haven’t seen him in almost a week. Let him stay. I’ll shower really quick, and then we’ll go get something to eat. I promise I’ll go eat something healthy. I’ll eat a salad. I will!” You’re begging your mother for this.
“Ben,” your dad interrupts. “We think Pea needs some rest. So why don’t you head back home and she’ll call you when she’s had a bit of a rest. How ’bout it, buddy?”
Ben’s face falls, but he’s not one to argue with adults—he’s respectful and kind—you know that, and that’s just one of the many reasons you love him. But you can’t believe your parents are going to send him away, after all you’ve been through.
“You can’t make him leave!” you yell. “Don’t you guys know what I’ve just been through? This is crap!”
“Pea.” Your dad sounds threatening.
“Hey,” Ben says quietly to you. “I’ll call you later, okay?” He pushes the hair away from your ear and whispers, “I love you.” Then to your parents he says, “See you later, Mr. Richards, Mrs. Richards.”
He hands you the bouquet of carnations, gets into his car, and gives you a slow wave goodbye.
You turn to your parents and say, “I don’t know why you’re doing this. Why did you make him leave—why can’t I see him?”
“We just think you need to slow things down a bit,” your mom says. “You need to rest. You must be exhausted and it’s been a horrible week for you.”
You’re fuming, but Ben’s already gone so there’s no point in arguing. You turn and storm into the house and wonder if you just went from one Crazy House to another Crazy House.
* * *
After you take a shower, you get into bed and do a quick scroll through Twitter and Instagram. There�
��s no way you’re going downstairs to talk to your parents. You can’t believe they sent Ben home. You send Jae a text and she texts you back immediately.
I’m home.
OMG I FREAKED WHEN YOUR MOM TOLD ME EVERYTHING. I’M COMING OVER!
I don’t know if you can. My parents sent Ben home.
WTF?
ikr
Well, I’m coming over in a little while!
k
* * *
You take a long nap and it feels luxurious. When there’s a knock on the door later, you figure it’s your mom checking on you.
“What?”
The knob turns and Jae bounces in and plops onto your bed, flopping into you, giving you a half hug. “I missed you!”
“Missed you too.” You hug her back. “You got past the wardens?”
“They didn’t even search me,” Jae says, laughing. “Your voice! It’s wrecked!”
“Yeah, I did a little screaming while I was there.”
“Oh my God!” Jae says, and then, “Can I see your wrists?”
You show them to her and say, “See, it’s not even a big deal.”
Jae holds your wrists and looks at your skin, turns your palms over.
“It’s not that bad. But, you weren’t, I mean, I know you, you wouldn’t … Are you really okay?” Jae squeezes your hands tightly and you squeeze back.
“Jae. I wouldn’t do anything like that. Ever. Things have been tough, but the intention was never there.”
Jae lets go of your hands, hugs you quickly one more time, and then releases you.
“Why aren’t they letting you see Ben?” she asks.
“I have no fricking clue. He didn’t do anything wrong. They’re pissing me off so much.”
“So what was it like, was it awful?”
“Pretty much.” You pull yourself up on the bed, then flip over and put your legs up the side of the wall. “Actually the only good thing was the other kids there, and one of the staff members, Damian.”
You tell Jae about your mortifying exam from the nurse and then you tell her how cool Damian was, how he brought you your love letter from Ben, and then how asshole Ken stole it, and how after you scratched up his face, you got thrown into solitary confinement, where you spent all last night screaming.
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