Thief of Mind

by Ben Thomas

  Dad suddenly stood up. “I know you’re upset, son, but I think you need to show some respect to your mother.” Dad looked ready for a fight. Well, so was I.

  “Respect? What like the respect that you showed Mum when you were shagging around? You were even doing it when she was pregnant, weren’t you? You should be ashamed of yourself. You never gave a shit about Mum. You never gave a shit about me. You clearly didn’t have a clue that I was struggling. Well, I’m glad I didn’t waste my time talking to you; you probably would have just taken the piss out of me anyway! You were only bothered about my rugby. You weren’t actually interested in me. You’re a shambles of a Dad and a shambles of a man.”

  WHACK! The impact forced me to take half a step back and my face burned from the impact. “Do not talk to my husband like that!” My assailant was Mum, not Dad. I collapsed in on myself, head bowed. I rubbed the side of my face, my legs were jelly. Anger, humiliation and shame battled to dictate my response. I was breathing deeply. I looked up to see Mum already in tears and Dad just staring at Mum. I tried speaking but no words formed. I wanted to say sorry, but I couldn’t. I turned, and despair escorted me back to my room.

  25

  I retreated to my bed. Yes, I felt guilty; but at the same time I tried convincing myself that I was justified in charging my parents with being asleep on the job. Like I said to them, how could they not notice what had been going on with me. Surely my behaviour wasn’t that inconspicuous. Why did they never ask me how I was doing? Maybe they did, and I just couldn’t remember. If they had noticed, and if they’d had done something about it, maybe I wouldn’t be where I am today. Maybe I could have made more of my life.

  The guilt was needling me though. You don’t speak to your parents like I just had. You don’t speak to anyone like I just had. They’re my parents and I knew they loved me, and I loved them, and ultimately I knew my life was my responsibility. And why, oh why, did I leave my writings for them to read? Talk about humiliation. I picked up my pillow and covered my face to hide my embarrassment. Should I go down and apologise? Should I go and retrieve my writings? Or should I just continue to bury my head in my pillow and choose not to confront my issues as per. For the time being I would wallow; it was the easiest option. I returned the pillow to under my head, let out a big sigh and closed my eyes.

  I was awoken by a knock on my door, no creaks had warned me this time. I didn’t know how long I’d been asleep for. Before I could answer, the door opened slightly and a pan handle poked through the gap. I rubbed my eyes and hauled myself up slightly. The pan handle was followed into my room by the rest of the pan, which adorned the head of Dad.

  “Is it safe to come in, son?” he said.

  “I guess so.”

  “Okay, love, in you come,” Dad ushered a tentative Mum in, complete with her own pan on top of her head.

  “Right, so why have you come as Daleks?”

  “What?” said Dad. I directed my eyes to his headwear. “Oh, the tin hats? Well, we just thought it best to take precautions, you know, just in case your aim’s improved.”

  “Ha ha, Dad, you are so funny.”

  “Oh Mike, can we take these off now? We look ridiculous.” Mum didn’t wait for Dad’s permission as she placed her pan on top of my desk. “Toby, do you feel that you would like to talk?”

  “S’pose so.”

  “Can we sit down?” she asked. I nodded. Mum took the chair from under my desk and turned it around to face me. Dad looked hesitantly round the room. Mum had taken the only chair. He looked at me but decided against trying to sit on the bed next to me. “Mike, just sit down.”

  “Where?” he cried.

  “Just sit there.” Mum pointed to the bean bag in the corner.

  “You’re joking?” Mum and I both stared at him and that was enough to convince him that he had no choice. He tried to sit down but was clearly used to more sturdy seating arrangements. Watching him struggle was almost enough to force the surliness away from my face.

  “Right, so we’ve read your journals.” My eyes widened and Mum saw my horror. “You did want us to, didn’t you? We wouldn’t have done so if you hadn’t said to.”

  “No, no it’s fine. No point hiding anything now, is there? We might as well all be honest, eh?” I didn’t know how I felt about them reading my innermost thoughts, but I had said they could and it was time for honesty on both sides.

  “Toby, I don’t think we need to say this, but your Dad and I both love you with all our hearts, and it grieves us to see you struggle so much, and it grieves us to know that, yes, we let you down. We have made mistakes, and if we could go back in time and change things, we would, and…MIKE, WILL YOU JUST SIT STILL?”

  “What? I can’t help it. It’s like sitting in quick sand,” said Dad flailing around.

  “Just sit next to me, Dad.”

  “Cheers, son. Erm, do me a favour, Toby? Help me up, would you?” I sighed and gave a little shake of the head, but got up and took Dad’s hand to pull him out of his misery.

  Mum gave Dad a stern look as he sat down next to me on the bed. “Is it okay if we carry on now? Okay. It was hard for us to read what we have just read, but we realise that it would have been nowhere near as hard for us as it was for you to write it. We are so sorry for the pain you were going through, and the pain our actions caused you. It was never our intention to hurt you. If we had known and realised at the time, we would have done something about it. We would have taken steps to help you and we would have taken a hard look at our behaviour.”

  “Yes, son, it’s fair to say we didn’t cover ourselves in glory.”

  I stayed silent.

  “We can’t go back in time, but we can learn from the mistakes of the past and make sure we do our best for you in the here and now. I think it’s only fair that we explain a bit about what was going on with us around the time you were thirteen.”

  I tightened up. I didn’t know if I truly wanted to hear what they had to reveal. I didn’t know if I was ready for it. “Mum, Dad, look you don’t have to say anything. Like you said, the past is the past. You don’t need to go over it. I shouldn’t have spoken to you the way I did. I was just feeling a bit emotional and wanted to lash out, and you two just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. I didn’t mean what I said and I’m sorry.”

  “No, son, we are the ones who are sorry, and we do owe you an explanation,” said Dad patting my knee. Dad then broke into an incongruous smile, “Well, the good news is your Dad’s not a philanderer.”

  “Mike!”

  “Sorry, love. Okay, I understand now why you thought I was and, erm, to be honest the way I was acting back then was unforgivable, but I wasn’t unfaithful to your mother.”

  I glanced at Mum. “It’s true, Toby.”

  I turned back to Dad. “So, who was the ‘stupid bitch’?”

  “Right, well that was someone I worked with, my boss at the time. Basically, I was being a bit of a shambles of a husband, as you so eloquently put it. Jess was a surprise. At the time I didn’t want to have another child. I felt I was too old. I didn’t want to have to go through the sleepless nights and changing of nappies again. Unfortunately, I made it pretty obvious to your Mum how I felt.” Dad looked down at his feet and rubbed the back of his head. “I was selfish. I didn’t give her the support that she deserved and needed. I tried avoiding the situation and, unforgivably, that meant avoiding your Mum. I threw myself into my work. I was never home. With working so much I was obviously spending a lot of time with the, erm, ‘stupid bitch’, but there was never any hint of anything going on. I was simply hiding from my responsibilities. I was always working late, and the few times I wasn’t working I was either at the gym or out with my mates. Meanwhile your Mum was struggling seriously with the morning sickness and she was obviously trying to come to terms with being an expectant mother again. There was never any doub
t in your Mum’s mind that she wanted Jess.” He rubbed the corner of his eyes. “I really let your Mum down. I just abandoned her to deal with everything on her own. It was all my fault.”

  “Dad, you don’t have to.”

  “I do. You shouldn’t have had to hear our arguing as you did at the time, but your Mum needed to tell me where I was going wrong. I just wish I’d listened to her sooner.”

  “But Dad, you clearly adore Jess.”

  “Yes, yes I do, and that’s another reason why my behaviour was so appalling. Jess, just like you, has brought your Mum and I so much joy. As soon as Jess was born I felt overwhelming love for her, and I knew straight away how special she was, and I realised I had a lot of making up to do.”

  “I didn’t make it easy for him, but your Father has made up for it.” Mum gave Dad a warm smile to which Dad gave an appreciative, and probably relieved, nod. “I had a difficult pregnancy and I would have struggled regardless of your Dad’s issues. And I found it hard, Toby. So, so hard. And this isn’t an excuse for neglecting you, but I was struggling so much and I didn’t have anyone to turn to myself. So you see, in a way I can understand what it was like for you with not feeling you had any one you could talk to. I know what it’s like to bottle everything up inside, and I know how difficult it is, and how frustrating it is, to try and find a way through it on your own.

  “I guess I was depressed during my pregnancy, but Jess being born and her complications sort of forced me to get better. Jess needed our help so much at the time. She nearly didn’t make it; I had to be strong for her. And yes, you needed our help just as much, just in a different kind of way. It was obvious Jess needed help, it was so clear: she was just so small and so fragile. But Toby, with you it wasn’t as easy to know. We couldn’t see it, we were so wrapped up with our own problems and then helping Jess get better. We should have sensed it, though, and we should have taken more time to ask how you were and then we might have known sooner and got you the help sooner.” Mum stood up off her chair and knelt in front of me and took both of my hands. “Toby, we are sorry. We did let you down, but we will do everything we can to help you now. We are here for you, and you getting better is our number one priority.”

  “That’s right, son. Obviously you see me as a super hero, or at least you did before today, but me and your Mum are only human. We, like everyone, have our foibles that we have had to deal with and will continue to deal with.” Dad wrapped his arm around me. “We love you and we want to help you be the person you want to be. And just to make it clear, you are an amazing man and we are proud of you.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  “So how do you feel?” asked Mum.

  “To be honest, right now I feel a bit ashamed, you know? For the way I spoke to you and attacked you, and for being so selfish not to understand you may have been having issues of your own. I also feel ashamed for not being able to beat it back then, you know, before it really got started.”

  “Come on, Toby. You were too young to understand what was going on with either us or yourself at the time.” Mum still had my hands in hers and was rubbing them.

  “I know, yeah, I know.”

  “And what happened downstairs is already forgotten about.”

  “Thank you. I am going to beat this, you know. No matter what, I am going to beat it.” I meant it, with Mum and Dad on my side I felt stronger and braver.

  Dad ruffled my hair, “That’s the spirit, son.”

  “Now, what do you want for tea?” asked Mum.

  “This might sound like a strange request, but it seemed to snap me out of a bit a funk with Granny: I was thinking maybe we could go out for pizza and then the cinema.”

  26

  “There must be another way,” I said imploringly to Susannah. “I can’t do that.” I shook my head and my hands moved instinctively to the edge of her desk to push my chair backwards in preparation for fleeing.

  She studied me for a moment before saying, “Why?”

  Susannah was the chosen one. She was the psychologist Jez had found for me. She was in her early forties, I would say, with mousy bobbed hair and a stern face. She looked a little like a headmistress, not someone it was easy to stand up to, but I felt compelled to do so after what she had asked of me. I held her stare for a moment before looking away and surveying her office. It was a typical office not unlike Rory’s office of old: computer, check; desk, check; shelves full of books, check. I didn’t know if I was relieved or disappointed to see that there was no couch on which I could lie back and list all my issues.

  “Why, Toby?” Her eyes had not strayed from me.

  I looked back at her. “You know why. It’s what we spent an hour talking about.”

  The session had begun with me recounting my issues to Susannah. She had listened attentively and without betraying any surprise. I then filled in another questionnaire, similar to the one at the doctor’s. They’re funny, these questionnaires – not funny ‘ha ha’, but funny in the sense that they’re hard to fill in. On the one hand, you don’t want to be too ill; but then again, you don’t want to show you’re too well either as you don’t want to waste anyone’s time or have them think you’re just a hypochondriac. Anyway, she took a little time to consider the answers as I went back to the waiting room where my usual chaperone, Dad, had been augmented by Mum. After yesterday’s events they were determined that I would be delivered safely to my first psychologist appointment. Having called me back into her office, Susannah spent some time explaining what OCD really was and now she was attempting to coax me into adopting an outlandish approach to helping me recover.

  “Toby, many, many people have made huge strides in overcoming their OCD by using the ‘exposure and response prevention’ method. You really do need to expose yourself to your fears without responding to them the way you have been doing. We often use the acronym FEAR. This stands for False Evidence Appearing Real. You have to prove to yourself that you have been trapped by a lie. Have you ever really tested your assumptions to see whether or not they are false?”

  I turned to look out of the window; I found it hard to meet her eye. “I don’t know…possibly not. Look, I really don’t think I can risk it.”

  “Remember, your mind gets caught in a vicious circle,” Susannah stood up and walked over to the flip chart next to the window, where earlier she had made some bullet points about the features of my OCD and had drawn my own personal vicious circle, “and to forestall what you perceive to be harmful thoughts you perform certain responses. As you said, in your case they include checking, chanting, repeating and ruminating. And why do you do this?” I shrugged my shoulders in case this wasn’t a rhetorical question. “You do this in the mistaken belief that it is the only thing you can do that can help. But the responses, whatever form they take, actually feed the OCD and the cycle continues.” I nodded, trying to take everything in. “Listen, Toby, I appreciate you don’t like hearing this right now, but it is so important that you understand and accept that one of the key tenets to overcoming OCD is response prevention. For example, when you find yourself thinking the door might be unlocked or that the gas has been left on you must prevent yourself from going back to check.”

  I did meet her eyes this time and displayed my best look of bewilderment. “I told you, I have to check. I don’t have a choice.”

  “Toby, you always have a choice. You’ve already told me that when you go back and check, it’s not good enough; that it doesn’t reassure you. In fact, your checking makes it worse; it’s more food for your monster. It’s the same with the harmful thoughts and words that you try to neutralise with positive responses. This is what OCD thrives on. Your aim must be not just to reduce your responses, but to stop them. This, Toby, will disrupt that vicious circle and cut off the food chain. Do you see?”

  I sighed and threw my head back. “Yes, but if it was that easy, I would have stopped a long time ago.
I know normal people check things, and I know they only have a need to check once or twice, so okay, that’s perhaps easier for me to comprehend, but…” I bit my lip and looked down, “the thoughts I have, the horrible, horrible, catastrophic thoughts…that’s not normal. How can you know that me stopping my responses will be safe?” I looked up at Susannah begging her to give me a satisfactory answer.

  “I understand what you’re saying, Toby. Really I do.” She sat back down, but not behind her desk; instead she pulled up a chair next to me. “I have treated many people in a similar position to you, who have had huge struggles with catastrophic thoughts, but they have found that when they do the exposure and response prevention, they make massive progress in their recoveries and their catastrophic thoughts start to reduce.” Yes, other people might have similar OCD to me, but they weren’t me. My thoughts were unique to me and there was no logic to them. How could I take the risk of not neutralising them? Maybe coming to see Susannah wasn’t such a good idea. What was the point of coming here to hear that the answer to stop having OCD was to simply stop having OCD. “I can see you’re unconvinced but you’ve just admitted that you have never truly tried to stop your responses. You have so far just tried to stop the fearful thoughts coming into your head and tried combatting them with more checking and chanting to reassure yourself. I know it sounds counterintuitive, but if you stop your responses you will see that your assumptions are false. Does that make sense, Toby?”

  “Sort of…I suppose.”

  “To begin with, would you be prepared to at least try response prevention and see for yourself if it helps you get better?”

  “I don’t know.” She fixed me with that headmistress look again. “Okay, okay, I guess I could give it a go,” a reply that probably didn’t convince Susannah; it certainly didn’t convince me.