Bent But Not Broken (19 page)

After a few goes, I decided I'd up the stakes and try for the platforms. Yeah, always going too far for my own good! So out of character! There were two platforms, one higher than the other. Wisely, I decided for the lower one. I climbed the metal stairs, waiting for my turn. When I walked to the edge, I panicked. It was so high up! Much higher than it appeared from the pool. I was so scared. I didn't want to take that one step off the platform. But I couldn't go back down because there was a queue of kids all the way up the stairs. I was stuck! Couldn't jump. Couldn't not jump. I was looking down at you and Mum in the water, waiting for me. You looked so tiny from that height. Then Mum called out to me, 'You can do it, Abigail!' That gave me the confidence to pinch my nose and pin drop. It took years before I hit the water. I went down so deep it took all my strength to get to the surface. When I did come up, there was Mum, ready to help me. I felt like I had conquered the world! I had done something that terrified me, but done it anyway.

Being in here, I think about all sorts of stuff. I guess I have the time to remember the good things. Out there, it was so bad that I didn't have the space or energy to think about anything except how horrible my life was.

And of course, Doctor Harry doesn't let me get away with anything. He probes and pushes and prods and never backs off. Like picking at a scab. He just won't leave me alone. I am starting to think that there is method in his madness. He's forcing me to look at things differently. I know he's trying to convince me that it wasn't my fault. But it's hard to change what I believe when it's the only way I've ever been able to think about it. Maybe he's got some magic glasses that can change how I see things?

Love,

Abigail

 

 

CASE FILE #2794 ABIGAIL LEE MANUS D.O.B. 02/04/1998

ENTRY 45: 10/06/2014

I have to support Abigail into full disclosure. I know this will be very painful for her. But until she tells her full story, she will not be able to become whole. I cannot let her leave the facility in her current state of mind. It is essential that Abigail is secure in the understanding that she was not to blame for all that she has endured.

I opened our session with: 'We are going to do some really difficult work today, Abigail.'

'Oh great! Like digging a trench?' she asked. 'Moving furniture? Painting?' she challenged. 'It's all been so much fun, I can't wait!'

'Such cynicism in one so young,' I laughed.

That got the patented teenage eye roll.

'I want you to tell me how it started,' I said.

With this, Abigail scrunched herself back into her chair. She was making herself as small as she could. Her arms were crossed defensively over her chest. The sign that this was agonisingly difficult was that she also tucked her feet under her body. She glared at me.

'Why? So you can get off?' she shouted at me.

'You know why, Abigail. While it stays locked inside your head, it will fester like a wound. Once you get it out, we can start to heal it,' I calmly replied.

More glaring. Her mouth was clamped shut, lips disappearing into a thin line. Her eyes blazed anger. If I had been made of paper I would most certainly have been scorched to ash under her fiery stare.

I kept my gaze steadily on her eyes, ignoring the hatred emanating off her in waves. We sat that way for quite some time. Eventually she sighed. Her face relaxed, but remained wary. She had made her decision.

'It started a couple of weeks after they came back from their honeymoon,' she said in a whisper.

'I know it's hard, Abigail. But you need to get it out,' I prompted.

'He came into my room really late. He woke me up,' she said. Her eyes had glazed over. She was reliving the terrible memory.

'He didn't bother to be nice,' she whispered. 'He clamped his hand over my mouth and got on top of me.'

'That is terrible, Abigail.'

'My periods had started in Grade 6,' she said. 'I knew it was sex, of course. But I was a virgin up 'till then,' she said so miserably.

I waited.

'I was thirteen. I had kissed some boys, and let a couple have a feel of my tits – but that was as far as I had ever gone.' Her voice was filled with such sadness.

Clearly Abigail knew that this was a terrible loss of her innocence.

'What happened then?' I asked, already knowing the answer.

'When he got off me he told me he knew I was gagging for it!' she spat. 'As if! There was no way I was ready to go all the way! And never would I have done it with him!' she shouted.

'What did you do?' I asked softly.

'What could I do? Nothing is what I did!'

Her anger and rage poured out like a volcanic explosion.

'Did it cross your mind to tell your mother?' I asked.

'Stupid, but no. I dunno why. I just curled up into a little ball and cried myself to sleep,' she said, all anger gone.

Her words were subconsciously mirrored in her posture. She had again made herself as small as she could in her chair. She did not look at me. She kept her gaze on the floor, trapped in her memory of this terrible event.

'I know this is hard, Abigail. You have told me the worst. Now tell me the rest,' I urged.

'He came into my room whenever he felt like it, I suppose,' she said in the small and hurt voice that would come out when she was describing these terrible memories.

'Do you think that you were the cause of this abuse?' I asked.

'Yes!' came her emphatic answer.

'Why? You were an innocent child. How could you possibly be the cause?' I asked in genuine surprise.

'You don't get it!' she spat. 'Just like everybody else! You just don't get it!' she screamed.

That Abigail's moods can swing so quickly and extremely indicates that she is really struggling with talking about the sexual abuse that she has suffered. But how can she cling so stubbornly to the idea that she is to blame? What have I missed? What secret is so dark, so damming, that she feels forced to continue to guard it so tenaciously?

Dr. Harry Nightingale

 

 

 

Dear Crystal,

We can shower before breakfast, or after dinner. I usually go before breakfast, with Suzy. It's always two at a time because there are only two showers. I suppose it's also a staffing thing. The nurses watch us like hawks. I've told you that there are no doors on the toilets or the showers. But this morning I slept in, so I had to shower after dinner. Can you imagine how horrified I was to be paired with Mad Rachel! I was through that shower in record time! Because I had to wait, I took the opportunity to have a look at Mad Rachel's body. Not perving. I just wanted to know if I could tell that she was schizophrenic from the look of her.

Apart from being a bit skinny, her body was normal. So no clues there. A big red "S" would have been useful. You know – warning sign that she's completely nuts.

What I did see was awful! She had cuts and scars all over her arms and legs! She'd obviously been cutting for a long time. Years, I reckon. Now, cutting for a purpose I understand. That's what I did. But to keep slashing at yourself? How could you do that? What would make you do that? I wondered if the voices told her to do it. You know, part of being crazy. I was staring, deep in thought, when I realised that she was staring right back at me. That jolted me into reality! Would she attack me for looking? Would the nurse be quick enough to save me? I was scared. So I was totally unprepared for what she did.

'It's not pretty, is it?' she said.

I still couldn't speak. I was shocked and frightened at the same time. She must have read my face.

'I'm self-destructive when I'm sick,' she said quietly. 'I hate myself because I can't control what's going on in my head. The pain of cutting lets me know that I am real,' she added. 'It's the only way I can feel anything.'

Listening to her, hearing what it's like for her – it was the first time that I saw a girl instead of a crazy, dangerous animal.

'When did it start?' I asked. I was genuinely interested.

'I was diagnosed at sixteen, but I was mad long before that,' she said. 'I don't know exactly when it started. It was a gradual thing. I thought everyone had voices in their heads, so I didn't worry about it when I was young.'

We were both butt naked, and having a deep conversation about being insane. Weird, but loony bin normal.

'How did it become a problem?' I asked. 'I really do want to know. I don't understand the schizophrenic thing,' I added, to make sure that she didn't think I was winding her up.

'The voices started to be destructive,' she tried to help me to comprehend. But I wasn't getting it.

'Everyone has voices in their heads,' she stated. 'Like when you meet someone who creeps you out. There's a voice warning you,' she said.

'Yeah, I know what you mean,' I answered, thinking about some boys I've known. 'You don't know what's wrong – but it's like someone is putting an idea in your head,' I responded.

'It became a problem when the voices started to warn me about everybody. My friends. My boyfriend – who was great, by the way. My sisters. And especially about my parents,' she explained.

'Warn you?'

'They kept saying horrible things about the people I cared about. It got so bad they were babbling paranoid shit all the time. I guess that qualifies as mad,' she said with resignation.

'All the time? I'd go out of my brain!' I said, without thinking. She smiled.

'Now you get it?' she asked.

'It sounds really terrible!' I said. For the first time I started to see her as a person with a problem. Okay, a huge problem. But one I most certainly wouldn't wish on anybody!

'So why are you here?' I asked, point blank. Like I say, there's no need to twat about in here. We're all damaged goods.

'They keep trying different meds and doses, but nothing works for long. So I flip my wig and end up somewhere that I don't want to be,' she with such bitterness. 'You'd think I'd be used to it by now, it happens so often. But it's a shit life!' she said vehemently.

'Can you get better?' I asked.

'Only if they can get the balance right. Each time I hope, but I've been on this merry-go-round for nearly three years. I'm over it!' she said angrily.

'I'm sorry,' I said – and meant it.

She stared at me hard, and seemed to come to a decision.

'Yeah, well, thanks for that,' she said after an age.

We got dressed for bed. I filled Suzy in when we were alone in our room. She thought about what I'd told her, her brow frowning as she tried to get her head around it. Finally she said, 'I'm glad it's not me!'

I agreed with her. I know I've got some shit to work out, Crystal. I still have to take anti-depressants, though Doctor Harry has stopped the anti-anxiety stuff. At least I know that eventually I will get out of here. I'm not sure that Mad Rachel can be confident of ever being free.

Love,

Abigail

 

 

CASE FILE #2794 ABIGAIL LEE MANUS D.O.B. 02/04/1998

ENTRY 46: 11/06/2014

I am still confused. It seems that Abigail has told her story. That she has relived it in memory is clear. But she still has extremely volatile mood swings. This indicates that there is more to tell. She attempted suicide twice rather than allow this secret to be exposed. I must get it out of her before she leaves the facility. Time is pressing, and so must I.

'You tell me I don't get it, Abigail. Just like everyone else, you say. You shout this at me. So make me understand. What is it that I don't get?' I demanded.

Abigail glared at me. Hatred rolled over me in waves. 'Good thing I'm wearing my flame proof underwear,' I thought while I waited her out. It took longer than ever before.

'There is one more thing, Abigail,' I prompted after a very long silence. 'I have not run away from you in horror at anything you have said to me so far, have I?' I asked.

She sneered at me. Well, a change from the glare.

'I told you at the start that there is nothing you can say that will shock me,' I added.

That hit the nerve. She looked down at her hands, her fingers again entwining like snakes. Now she was radiating anxiety. I waited. And waited some more. Finally she slumped into the back of her chair. All her defences were gone.

'I don't want to,' she whispered.

'I know it is something really big, Abigail. But you have carried it for long enough. How about you give it over to me?' I prompted.

'I can't,' was all she said.

There was no fight left in her. She was exhausted.

'Would it be easier if you wrote it down?' I suggested.

'Dunno.'

I handed her a blank sheet of paper and a pencil. She stared at it like it was a foreign object.

'I can't write it! It's too horrible!' she exclaimed.

'Okay, then you will have to say it,' I responded firmly.

She continued to stare down at the paper. She started to cry. Soon the paper was balled in a soggy mess in her hands.

'You can say it, Abigail.'

'I didn't tell you the truth,' she said in a whisper.

'That's fine. You can tell me now,' I said kindly.

'The first time, you know. With George. He said something,' she whispered.

I waited. This was the deepest, darkest secret that Abigail had kept for so long. Its weight was too great. She had to give it up.

'He said if I didn't let him do it to me, he would do it to Crystal!' she cried.

And with that Abigail was truly spent. She had finally told the whole story. She remained huddled in her chair, sobbing and sobbing.

When she had run out of tears, she took risk of glancing up to my face.

'I am still here with you, Abigail. The world has not ended. In fact, your new world is about to begin!' I said with emphasis.

She looked at me skeptically.

'Now that the very worst thing is out of your head, you can be free,' I said with honest conviction.

'Do you see now?' she asked. 'It was my fault! I let him!'

'No, Abigail. You did what you could to protect your little sister from a terrible fate. I think you are awesome!' I said honestly.