Chapter 11
I sat in the lounge watching a girl across from me twiddle her hair in her fingers as she sat there jittery, her feet shaking beneath her. She was curious to me—the way her eyes never left the spot she was staring at, which appeared to be a blank spot on the wall. And how she shivered every time another patient walked by. I had been watching her for about fifteen minutes when my nurse, Jonathan, motioned at me to come see him in the hallway.
I stood in front of him as I waited for him to speak, not saying anything myself. I let my distrust of him show in my eyes as they narrowed at him. He was the same nurse involved in giving me that shot that knocked me out just before they dragged me off to seclusion when I had first come here.
"Annalyn, you have some visitors."
"Oh." I let out the breath I just realized I had been holding in. I nodded and looked down the hall to where my parents and Lydia stood. I walked towards them, glad to see my parents, but feeling a twinge of nerves at seeing Lydia. They all smiled when they saw me and suddenly, Lydia’s arms fell loosely around my shoulders in a weak hug.
"It’s nice to see you, Annalyn," she said in a sincere and warm voice. I looked at her and a hesitant smile crept up my face.
"Yes, it is," I replied and then turned to my parents.
Mom hugged me tightly and whispered "I love you sweetie" in my ear. She held my head in her warm silky hands for a moment and then kissed my forehead before letting my father have his turn to say hello.
"Annalyn, how are you holding up?" he asked me in a voice that masked all emotions as he put his hand firmly on my shoulder and nodded once to me.
"Okay, I guess." I glanced down the hallway to see Jonathan standing in the nurse’s station, looking at us through the window. I glared at him and then turned and smiled at my family. "Let’s go to my room."
"Oh, sweetie, I brought you some things. The nurse went through them and said they were okay. It’s just some underwear, magazines and books, a few pictures of the family…oh and your bear," mom said as she handed me a canvas bag full of the stuff.
I noticed the furry polar bear stuffy on the top and let my fingers graze over his creamy fur with a nostalgic smile. He was getting rough looking with age; his fur was lumped together in little mattes and his colour was becoming more of a yellow cream than white. My mom got him for me when she went on an Alaskan cruise with my dad several years earlier. ‘Bear’ had found a permanent place on my bed at home.
"Thanks mom."
"Are you getting along here okay?" she asked, taking my hand and caressing it with her own hands.
I gave her a grim-looking smile and shrugged. I sat down on my bed and Lydia came and sat next to me as she looked around the room. She was sitting so close that I could feel her thighs next to mine. Suddenly, her arm was loosely placed over my shoulders.
"I think this place will look better with the pictures we brought. Maybe the nurse can give you some tape and you can put them up," Lydia said.
"Sure," I nodded as my skin felt like it was crawling beneath her touch. I wanted to smile, but a part of me was hesitant… scared even.
"Well, maybe you’d like to spend some time with your sister. How about your dad and I go to the cafeteria and get you something good to eat. They have a Tim Horton’s. I could get you a donut and an iced cappuccino,” mom suggested.
My stomach fluttered at the idea of them leaving. “Sure.”
“Okay, we’ll see you in a bit,” she said, and her eyes glistened a little in the light as she turned and left.
I watched as they slipped out the door. I felt my heart beat a little faster.
“So...” Lydia started. “What’s this place like anyways?”
“It sucks.”
“I bet. Food probably sucks too, eh?”
“Yeah, it does. But I don’t feel like eating much anyways.”
She looked me up and down. “Yeah, you look a bit thinner. Maybe mom and dad can bring you some food every day. Good stuff. I could bring by some stuff a few days a week. How about that?”
“I guess, but I’m really not that hungry.”
“You’ll be hungry when you see real food again. It’s the hospital crap that’s taking away your appetite.” I nodded, feeling a bit defeated. “So, what do you do here?”
“Sometimes I go to the art room and draw or paint... well, I did that once.” I took in a breath and sat down on my bed. “There’s a lounge and I can listen to the radio there…things suck slightly less when the music is playing.” I sighed. “Most of the time I just lie in bed though. Never really feels like there’s a reason to get up.”
Lydia looked down for a moment, as she stood in front of me. I could see a rush of sadness come over her face. Her eyes drooped and then her mouth frowned slightly. She let out a little breath. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Did they say anything about when I’ll be getting out?” I said with a hunger for information. “No one ever gives me a straight answer around here.”
“Sorry, Annalyn. They really don’t know. Said you’re doing better though.”
“It’s been two weeks since I came to the hospital. I mean it’s getting ridiculous. Let me go already!” I found myself yelling as my arms flailed outward. She sighed and gave me a sympathetic look. I took a deep breath and let it out. “How’s it going on the outside?” She hesitated as her eyes drooped again.
“That bad?” I said, cringing.
“Well, I don’t know. Things just aren’t good. Everyone is fighting about what’s best for you. Dad still doesn’t want you here. Mom does. That’s not to say she doesn’t love you, Annalyn. She just wants you to get better.”
“I know. I don’t need to be here though.” She looked away and let out a breath. “What about Janey?” I asked.
“She’s a mess.” Lydia’s eyes glistened a little. “She’s so angry and upset all the time. She hardly talks to anyone unless she’s screaming at them. She’s become so touchy. I mean she’s just turning thirteen and it’s so much for her to handle. Janey always looked up to you. Everyone knows how much she loves you. I think she just doesn’t know how to process all this.”
My chest caved in as my heart fell inside it and dropped to the ground. Smash and splatter. I felt an intense ache inside. “I want to tell her I’m sorry but mom says she doesn’t want to talk to me.” I sniffled as my eyes watered.
“I know. But hey, she’ll come around. She just needs time to adjust, right?”
I heaved a breath as the lump in my throat grew. “Does mom cry a lot?”
“I haven’t caught her crying actually. But sometimes I find her just sitting there staring off into space with her face looking grim. It’s kind of unnerving actually.”
“Oh.” I said. “Dad said she stood up to him, even threatened to leave.”
“Yeah.” She nodded. “They had a huge fight that night after they first came to visit you. I was there too but I mostly stayed out of it. It was frightening though. I had never seen her stand up to him in my life. I was so afraid he’d snap. His eyes were so passionate. I don’t think he was angry so much as he was afraid for you. I don’t know why, but he seems terrified of you being in here. But mom is the opposite. She says you need to be here. I guess…” she hesitated, “I guess after what you did to your wrist, well, it really scared her. Scared everyone. We all have different opinions on what to do, I guess. But mom is standing her ground on this one. It’s just scary when they fight. There’s so much more at stake this time.” A single tear slid down her face and she quickly wiped it away and let out a sigh. She sat down on the bed next to me.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t want this to happen.”
I swallowed past the lump in my throat as a few tears fell to my lap. I watched them form a dotted pattern on the beige hospital pants. Lydia looked at me, not smiling or frowning but just looking sincere. She took my hand in her own and squeezed gently.
“Do you remember tha
t train?” I asked her, looking into her eyes as they grew shocked. We had never spoken of that moment since it happened.
“How can I forget?” she said in a quiet whisper as she looked down to the ground.
“She was so afraid of him. It’s weird to think that she is actually standing up to him. Twelve years later. Never have I seen her stand up to him in that time. Sometimes,” I choked a little on the sorrow building inside my throat. “Sometimes I would think maybe she cared more about what he thought than about us.” Lydia glanced at me and I could tell she thought the same thing. “But all this” my voice turned to a whisper. “I don’t know. It makes me think, I guess.”
“Yeah,” she said in a breathy whisper as the tears floated down her face. Our hands squeezed together, palms squished into one another.
After a few minutes, Lydia stood up, still holding onto my hand for a moment before dropping it, and then went to the dresser where the bag of stuff mom brought for me sat waiting for me to discover it. She dug through the bag, putting aside Bear and the magazines, scattering a mess over the top of the dresser until she finally got to what she was looking for.
"Found ‘em." She smiled holding up an envelope of pictures. Lydia tossed them over to me. “Need some tape. Mind if I ask the nurses for some.”
I nodded as I opened the envelope with a feeling of mystery and nostalgia. I felt the presence of my sister disappear from the room as I lost myself in that envelope. I took out the 4x6 pictures, my heart fluttering.
A family picture. It was from last year when we went to a photographer and all five of us sat down in front of the sky blue and cloud background and put on our posing smiles. I stood behind Janey who was seated on a tall stool. My arms were draped around her. Lydia was on the other side of me and our parents stood behind us, their hands resting on our shoulders. It was a deceivingly happy family portrait but I remembered that day. The nitpicking over hair and clothes. Nothing any of us girls wore was good enough for either of our parents. They wanted bright colours, happy floral dresses with sweet innocent faces to go with them. Mom wanted our hair in matching French braids but we all fought that one and our hair ended up down naturally. In the end, the three of us stood there in muted colours having won the battle. Dad’s face was grimaced and Mom’s frowning right up until the photography yelled “smile!” There’s an 8x10 of this hanging in the dining room.
The next picture I got to was of Lexie and me right before our grad dance. We both wore heavy makeup and our hair was both sculpted fancifully in curls. I wore a dainty tiara on top the curls that hung down the side of my face and dangled into the slight cleavage of my strapless plum-coloured satin dress. Lexie’s violet dress sparkled with beading over the bodice. We were arm in arm in the picture, the sides of our heads leaning against each other as we smiled genuinely. Our dates were lame though and hated dancing and all the frills of the night. We ended up ditching them and eventually went to the dry after-grad where there were games and prizes, people having fun and no stupid drunkenness. I got back to Lexie’s house at 3am and crashed on her couch till 2pm the next day, my face smudged with mascara and my hair a tangled mess. A smile graced my face as I thought of it.
I flipped to the next picture and saw myself standing proud in the blue graduation gown and red sash. My heart sank. I grazed my finger over my smiling face and felt the promise of that girl and her future, felt it and knew it was crushed. I quickly turned to the next picture as Lydia walked back into the room with a roll of tape.
“We gotta make sure we give it back to them when we finish,” she said. “I think we should scatter them across this wall opposite your bed. Then you can stare at them when you can’t find a reason to get up. Better than staring at a wall, I’d say.”
She grabbed the pile of pictures from my hand and started to tape them up randomly on the wall. I watched her from the bed, my eyes heavy as I looked at the memories being splashed across the plain white. As she stepped back and her shadow moved away, the light from the window made their glossy finish shine and I could no longer see the memories. I lightened my face and sighed a relief.
“Looks much better, eh?” Lydia said, leaning against the wall. I nodded grievously.
“Oh, I like that!” Mom said as she walked into the room carrying a brown paper bag with the Tim Horton’s logo on it. She placed it next to me on the bed and handed me the an icy cold drink with a straw. I took a sip of the Iced Capp and let the cool milky brown sweetness melt on my tongue.
“Thanks Mom.” I said.
“Dad, looks great eh?” Lydia said as she pointed to the wall. He nodded preoccupied. I looked at him wondering what he was thinking about.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but we’ve got to cut this visit short. Your Dad’s got some work to do.”
“But its Saturday, Mom,” I said as the pit of my stomach stewed.
“One day you’ll learn that the work never stops, Annalyn,” he said.
“If I get that far—”
“Don’t talk like that!” Mom snapped loudly, her eyes shocked. I saw the rest of their faces droop.
“Sorry. Just not sure what the future holds for me anymore.”
“It holds hope. It holds a life that you have yet to experience. This is just some bump in the road and everyone has a bump here and there,” Mom said with edginess in her voice. A tear crawled into the corner of her eye. She took my hand and caressed it with sincerity in her smile.
I let my gaze move from her genuine eyes to my father’s crinkled gloomy face. I didn’t know if the words mom spoke were true. But he had a life. He worked and lived, had a house and a family. But at what cost to the rest of us? His misery never ended and only seeped into the rest of our hearts as we struggled to live past his moodiness. I wondered if he was the cause of my own unhappiness. Was his misery my entrapment? Was I forever doomed to follow in the footsteps of his moodiness, his temper and anguish? Would I be him? Or was I already him?
No! I screamed inside my head. My heart felt like it was crumbling inside of me and each touch from my mom in that moment, each caress of my hand and face with her silken wrinkled hands, tortured me as I wondered what evil had become me. I didn’t want to face it before. Deny, deny, deny! But here they were to love me, yet their faces were wretched with fear and hurt because of me.
“You should go. You’re busy and all. I’ll see you later,” I said in a hasty voice. I walked them out into the hallway as mom leaned in for a hug and kiss. I pushed her away gently and whispered a lie into her ear “They are watching, I’d feel better if we didn’t.”
“Oh,” she said quietly as her hurt and shocked eyes wrote a story of fear for me.
I realized I probably was making myself sound delusional with paranoia. The nurses and doctors already thought that and I was sure I was only playing into that now. But her touch, that love and emotion, was like knives into me in that moment and I had to get as far away from these people as I could. I waved goodbye to them and rushed back to my room, not even watching as the nurse let them out.
Later that night, when the sun had disappeared in the sky and the moon was absent, the pictures on my wall could clearly be seen from my bed. I had the light on as I lay there. As much as I didn’t want the pictures, the memories, to stare out at me, I also didn’t want to lay there in the dark. It was only 9pm, too early for bed, though the nurses had already gone around with the night time medications. I had taken my cocktail of pills cooperatively and now I lay there waiting, but for what, I wasn’t sure.
Janey was staring out at me from the third picture from the top right and the bottom two pictures on the left— three pictures of her smiling and full of life. One was recent. It was a picture of her and me in my new apartment when I had just moved in. She had a sincere longing for me in that picture, the knowledge that I was gone from home, and had hugged me tightly as if we would be separated forever. Nonetheless, she smiled with genuine love. We smiled. The other two were younger pict
ures of her. Playful smiles of a growing child, a princess tea party in one and the two of us on swings in the next. There was always a smile on both our faces.
Seeing Janey’s smile felt like it was invading my body, my heart, with an ache. I longed for the days of summer at the cabin. The days of swinging so high we thought we’d soar across the sky. The days of tea parties with the little girl that looked up to you and always thought she was drinking real tea. I felt the clench in my chest as I looked at her smile and closed my eyes, seeing it again in my mind.
I had failed my sister. There was no other truth than that. Whatever happened that brought me to this circumstance caused me to betray her, somehow, in some way. Though I never meant her any harm, it was there. Though I couldn’t see her and she refused to speak to me anymore, I felt her pain from a distance, knew it was there. It echoed the pain in my own heart and I knew that somehow there was a connection between us that would never be broken no matter how much she claimed to hate me. We knew each other inside and out. We shared so much together. I could swear we had some sort of psychic link to each other, feeling the same things, thinking what each other thought, knowing how each other was. But I had betrayed her. Failed her. Left her behind somehow even if it meant I was diving into my own insanity alone and leaving her in normalcy. She wouldn’t forgive me for it. I needed her forgiveness. I needed to move beyond these walls and make amends, find my sanity again though I wondered if it had actually been lost or it was all lies.
Whatever was the situation, I knew there was only one way out of that place. To be well, at least in appearance. To cooperate. To be sane and good and peachy and all the things they wanted you to be. And so that was my plan. As I lay there, I knew, that was what needed to be done.
“Annalyn, how would you rate your mood on a scale of one to ten?” Dr. Sewick asked in his steady voice, eyes on his notes.
“Seven,” I said in a pleasant voice.
“Is that a good mood, a normal mood, would you say?”
“It’s normal.”
“I have to say, I think you’ve made a lot of progress in the last three weeks, especially this last week.” He looked at me, taking his glasses off, and had a pleased look in his eyes, though the rest of his face read neutral.
“I have been trying. I see now that I was ill with this thing you called Bipolar Disorder. Manic Depression as they used to call it. My mom has brought me some books on it and I have done my research. I understand now how things are,” I explained.
“And how are things, in your opinion?”
“I am on a steady process to recovery. I know that I need to take my medication everyday without fail. I should keep that mood diary the nurse taught me about. I must watch for signs of depression or mania, which I have learned about. The books recommended keeping a regular sleep pattern, and avoiding things that might trigger an episode. See, I am quite aware of the situation.” My voice was calm and matter of fact despite the bullshit that spilled out of it.
“That is good. It does seem like you have gained a fair bit of insight on your condition. Last time we spoke, we discussed the possibility of discharge. You felt you were ready to go back home and I thought it was a goal we could work towards.”
“I feel ready, Sir. I really do. I want to get my life back together.” The life you stole from me, the life you ruined. “I think I have been doing well the last week. I have not felt depressed or suicidal. Nor have I felt suspicious towards you or the nurses. I see now that I was being paranoid before, delusional even.
But that has passed. The medication has worked well and I will continue to take it.” I wasn’t sure about the medication. I wasn’t sure about anything. I was only sure about the lies that had to be told, the facade that had to be put on.
He jotted down some notes. “What are your plans after discharge? What will your living arrangements be? How will you support yourself financially?”
“I will live at home with my parents. My father has a good income and has promised to support me until I get back on my feet. In January, I plan to re-enroll in university and continue my studies. I plan to live at home with my parents this time around so I do not become so overwhelmed,” I explained in a rational voice.
“Your parents have met with me today to discuss the possibility of discharge. I think having your family’s support is essential. I wanted to ensure that the situation I am discharging you to will be a positive one where you can continue to make progress in. I don’t want you to think this is all over. You have to keep working hard to recover. Keep taking your medication and taking care of your mental well-being. Bipolar Disorder can resurface and you need to be on top of things to prevent relapse.”
“I understand completely.” I nodded to him.
“I have referred you to a community mental health agency and a psychiatrist there will follow up with you after discharge. I will have your nurse give you the information, along with a prescription when you leave. Good luck to you, Annalyn.”
He held out his hand and I shook it firmly with a nod. I gave him a wide smile, both of deception and happiness.
“Thank you, doctor.”
The minute I walked out of that room, I had the urge to jump up and holler out my success. I restrained myself however as I didn’t want them to think I was becoming manic. The nurse walked me back to my room.
“I will get your discharge paperwork done, Annalyn. You should be able to leave soon. You might want to call your parents and make arrangements for them to pick you up,” the nurse, who I didn’t know well, said with a smile as she patted me on the shoulder. “I’ll unlock your cupboard so you can gather your belongings.”
“Yes. Of course.”
As soon as she left the room, I let my devious smile break out and whispered a loud and excited “Yes!” I had done it. I had succeeded in getting myself discharged from this hell. When I called my mom a few minutes later, she cried with excitement. She said she was proud of my progress. They were on their way to pick me up. I finally felt hope in my heart again. There were no tears. No need for tears. Soon I would taste the air of freedom in my mouth, feel it seep into my lungs.
I stepped onto the threshold of our house, bags in my dad’s hands, as mom unlocked the door. My heart jumped as I stepped inside and slipped my shoes off. I walked into the living room and felt the warmth of carpet on my feet once again. I walked over to the fireplace and slid my finger across the mantle. Pictures of me and my family adorned the top of it. There was a brass clock that I remembered well from my childhood. It always stood on top of our fireplace, keeping time of our lives. I smiled and bent down to turn the gas fireplace on. The flames grew to a warm orange as they flickered in my eyes.
“I’m glad to be home.” I turned to my parents and smiled.
“We’re happy too, sweetie,” mom said, her eyes glinting with sincere gaiety.
“We should go out for dinner tonight. A celebration. Maybe pizza and the arcade?” Dad said with a hinting smile.
“Sure.” I let the feeling of peace and calm, the warmth of family and the fireplace of home seep into my bones.
“I’ll call Lydia and ask her if she wants to come. Why don’t you go up and say hi to Janey?” Mom said.
“Oh, I don’t know. I’m not sure she wants to see me, Mom.”
“Don’t be silly. Of course she does. Whatever has happened is in the past. Time to move on.” Dad’s words were stern but proud.
I nodded and walked up the stairs, each step ascending into the depth of pain I knew my sister and I were feeling. I was supremely happy to be home but I wasn’t sure if the damage could ever be repaired. I took each step knowing what had happened might never be undone. As I came to her room, I saw her sitting at her computer on instant messenger. I watched her for a minute as my heart ached for her. Suddenly she turned around and I saw the fear in her eyes. The pain, the sorrow. Betrayal. A story was written on her face of the hurt I had caused her.
; “I’m home.” I said at a loss for words.
“Oh.” Her quiet voice had shaken my ears as if it were thunder. She turned back to the computer screen.
“Can I come in?” I asked her hesitantly in an innocent voice.
“No.” She didn’t turn around.
“But—”
“Things aren’t the same, Annalyn. You can’t come home and walk in here like nothing has changed.” Her voice was harsh and condescending as her eyes turned to me and pierced into my heart.
“I know things have changed, but why can’t we go back to the way we were?”
“Because I don’t know how. Because I can’t trust you. Because you aren’t the same person anymore!” She screamed at me as she came up to me and pushed me out of her room, slamming the door in my face. The fiery anger in her eyes frightened me. I wasn’t afraid of her, though, but for her, for us.
I knocked on the door loudly. “Janey! You can’t just shut me out of your life!”
She opened the door and gave me a harsh glare. “You don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t do. You gave up that right when you tried to kill yourself, when you tried to abandon me, us, everything, and just gave up. I can never forgive your betrayal. Never!” She screamed.
“Stop!” I said, grabbing her arm as she turned to leave.
“Don’t touch me!”
“No. Stop this. Just let go. I’m sorry. You don’t know how sorry I am. Let me be sorry. Let me have a chance for forgiveness. How can you just give up on us? We are sisters. Nothing can change that.”
“You changed that when you let the blood run out from your wrist. You are the one who changed that. Don’t tell me not to give up on us. There is no more us. You are the one that ruined us. There’s nothing to give up on. ‘We’ don’t exist anymore.”
Her words jabbed into me like a knife. I cried, “Please.”
“Just leave me the hell alone! Can’t people just figure out that I don’t want them around me? I hate you people! I hate life and it’s your entire fault. You know, we weren’t that unhappy until you moved out.”
“Yes, we were! We were all unhappy and you were just too damn naive to see it. You were a little kid and now that you are starting to grow up, you are finally seeing what I’ve known and felt all these years. Only I never blamed it on you. You know, I was pretty happy as a little girl. Maybe our parent’s couldn’t handle a third child. How do you know it wasn’t you who changed everything?” Her mouth dropped open as she shoved me away from her door and slammed it shut.
“Annalyn Johanssen, I hate your guts! Never speak to me again!” I heard her scream in a shrill voice through the door. I sighed.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it was your fault. But that’s how I feel when you blame me for everything that is wrong. It isn’t my fault. We both know whose fault it is. You are just afraid to say it.”
The door creaked open a slit and her raging eye looked through. In a whisper, she said “don’t blame this on Dad. He may be a jerk at times, but he never forced you to slit your wrist with our mother’s sewing blade. You did that all by your freaking stupid self. I hope you go to hell when you die because that’s what you deserve.”
I swallowed hard beyond the lump in my throat. Tried to speak and choked on my words. Finally I spoke, gently pushing the door open as she tried to force it shut. “I did something stupid. I admit that and I will be sorry about it for the rest of my life,” I cried, “but that doesn’t mean I don’t deserve forgiveness. That doesn’t mean I deserve to lose the person I love most.”
“I didn’t deserve to lose the person I loved most, the person I looked up to, wanted to be. I didn’t deserve that and yet you almost took that away from me. In fact, you did take that away from me because now I can never look at you the same way again. You are not the sister I love. You are just a vessel of my sister, her body, alive but soul-less. You are the evil zombie of a girl I used to love.” Tears were streaming down her red face as she spoke. Her voice wasn’t loud but raspy, slowly letting the pain in her words cut me open.
“Please. You are my little sister and I love you,” I whimpered in a low breathy voice.
“No. Now please, just leave me alone,” she whimpered as she clicked the door shut.
I let out a long slow breath as I lay my forehead against her door. Tears slid down my face and down to my breasts, making dots all over my sky blue shirt. I sobbed more, choking down the spit in my mouth as I tried to swallow past the large lump in my throat. My heart beat wild and fast and ached with each thud. I felt my lungs suffocating as they struggled for oxygen. It was as if the air around me was devoid of it. Each breath struggled into my lungs like a knife. Pain in my guts, my face, my head, my heart.
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