Her (45 page)

Scared, I held back my tears the best I could.

“Am I going to have to go there, too?”

Dr. Pelchat leaned forward in his chair and unfolded his hands. He looked deeply into my eyes.

“Kristen, your condition is serious. However, I don’t believe that you need to go to a long-term inpatient facility. I do not think that it is so severe that I cannot help you now, or even after you are released from here. You will need long-term treatment, but the kind of treatment that I can provide for you once you are out of here will not require barred windows and padded walls.”

“What are you saying?” I couldn’t take it much longer.

“Your test results were very clear. You do have Borderline Personality Disorder.”

I don’t know why - it wasn’t as if I wasn’t expecting it but tears immediately shot out of my eyes. Soft sobs filled my chest. It was like finding out my favorite pet had died. I was realizing that I was losing my mind, and a doctor was confirming it. Everything I'd read in that book he had given me had hit too close to home for it not to be true.

“Kristen, this is not the end. This is not a definitive label. This is the beginning of your healing. This is getting what needs to be out in the open so that we can start your healing process. I want to help you during the time that you have left here and thereafter. Borderline Personality Disorder does not make you who you are. It is just a diagnosis. It’s what is causing you to behave the way you do and think the way you do. It’s not you. It’s a disorder. And we are going to work together to help you cope, deal, and eventually heal with medication, out-patient individual therapy, and even family group therapy. You will not suffer with this forever.”

“I know,” I told him through mumbles and tears. I grabbed a tissue from the Kleenex box on his desk and blew my nose. “I was just hoping that there was a chance that I didn’t have to suffer with this.”

“To be honest,” Dr. Pelchat began, “I’m relieved.”

“Why?”

“Because it could have been a lot worse. I’m glad that we took the time to get the test done and wait for the results before putting you on any other medications. I didn’t want to diagnose you with BPD without being completely sure, and you know that I’m not going to just give you any random medication based off a hunch. I didn’t agree to it when Dr. Cuvo first came to me with your case. That’s why I wanted to see you myself.”

“Was I that complicated?”

“Not complicated. We wanted to be sure,” he told me sincerely. “And now you and I are going to get you onto the path of healing, together. Not everyone with BPD suffers forever. It’s going to take a lot of work. I will do my part, and I know that you will do yours.”

“Sometimes I don’t feel that I’m even strong enough to do anything,” I told him.

“You were not strong when you tried to kill yourself. But you were strong enough to stick it out here in Bent Creek, and you were strong enough to start to open up in group therapy. You were even strong enough to take the test. It wasn’t just because you felt you had to, but because somewhere deep down inside, you wanted to know exactly what was going on with you. You want to know if you can heal. You want help. To sit there, listen to all of this, and take it in as well as you are doing, I have to say, makes you even stronger than I am giving you credit for. You are already healing. Kristen, give yourself some credit.”

“No,” I said through my last few tears. “I’m crying like a baby.”

“Crying is okay,” he said. “If you weren’t crying, and if you were just sitting there with no reaction, then I’d be worried about you. You are handling this very well. Tell me, do you feel that this diagnosis is accurate, based on what you read in the book I gave you, what you understand about BPD, and what you’ve noticed within yourself?”

I nodded my head in full honesty.

“Based on what you understand about Borderline Personality Disorder, can you tell me what you notice within yourself that makes you feel this is an accurate diagnosis for you?”

I took a deep breath and tried to pull myself together enough to talk about this. It was harder than it seemed. It wasn’t easy to pour myself out to Dr. Pelchat, but it was what he wanted from me. He was trying to be my doctor and help me.

“I don’t know how to explain it. The way I think about certain situations and the way I feel that I have to handle them, it doesn’t seem like it’s the right way, but I don’t know any other way. Today, my best friend came to see me, and she wanted to tell me about her engagement. All I could think about was how terrible I felt and how angry I was. She tried to be nice to me, and she had come all the way out here to see me. I was angry with her for not answering the phone on the night I had hurt myself. I blamed her for what I had done, but I knew that it wasn’t her fault. She didn’t know at the time I had called what I had done. I just kept thinking that if I kept pushing her buttons, I could make her upset and hurt her. I thought that if I hurt her I would feel better somehow. I thought that it would relieve my guilt and pain. It only made me feel worse, because now I know she hates me. I’m such a mess. Why do I do this? Every time! Why do I feel that I have to be like this? I push everyone away before anyone can hurt me or leave me. Why do I do this?”

“Kristen, you just said it.”

“There’s something rotten inside of me that makes me rotten,” I told him. “I’m rotten, and I can’t see it, like everyone else, but I know I am because of these thoughts and these feelings. They can see it. My mother, my father, Jack, John, and now Lexus--everyone. I was even afraid that Dr. Cuvo would see it.”

“What happens when they see it, Kristen?”

“They hate me. They try to get rid of me. They stop talking to me. They show me what a real burden I am. They all hate me.”

“Do you really think that your mother hates you?”

I stayed silent for a moment and kept my gaze on the snotty tissue in my hand. Did I really think that my mother hated me? She did make sure that I was brought to the hospital. She was there for me when I needed help. I did realize this even before Dr. Pelchat asked me that question. I threw the tissue in the wastebasket beside Dr. Pelchat’s desk. Then, I finally shook my head.

“She doesn’t hate me,” I said. “She just wants me to be away from her so that she won’t have to deal with me. She can’t wait for me to turn eighteen so that she can have a reason to make me leave. It’s because of that...”

“That rotten thing that is inside of you,” Dr. Pelchat said. He seemed to understand what I was trying to say.

“Right.” The sharp metal ball turned slowly in my chest. I held back my pathetic tears.

“Now you know what that rotten thing is, Kristen.”

“It is me.”

“It’s not you,” he said. “It’s the illness. It’s BPD. Now that you know what it is that is causing these thinking errors, you can do whatever it takes to get rid of this rotten disorder. It’s very important that you know this and accept that it is not you.
BPD is not you!
You are not rotten. I know that this is going to be hard for you to get right away, because you are so used to the way your mind is conditioned. Your mom, your family, and your friends do not hate you. They will not leave you. We are going to start getting rid of those thinking errors that cause you to feel otherwise. You are going to get into your mind the right way of thinking. We are going to start with the fact that BPD is a serious disorder, and you will not be ignored or abandoned. It’s time to re-shape your mind and get rid of these thoughts that are trying to destroy you.”

I thought back to Mena and what she’d said about how I should open my mind to the fact that there may be nothing wrong with me. That I may be smarter than Lexus, and how the doctors want to use medicine and mind-bending therapy to blind us. I didn’t know what to believe. I wanted to be rid of this Borderline Personality Disorder. I really did not want to feel the way I felt and think the way I thought. However, how was I to be sure that that’s what the problem was? How was I to be sure that I wasn’t the problem?

I was very scared. I was scared to think of what it would be like to be normal, like Lexus, and not have that rotten thing inside of me. I couldn’t see myself without seeing and knowing how terrible I was and I couldn’t see myself without Mr. Sharp. What would I be like without cutting? I’d be oblivious. I’d be blinded.

“You can survive this,” Dr. Pelchat said.

“I could be a survivor?” I asked.

“Yes, a survivor,” he assured me.

What would it take to survive BPD? It scared me to think about what that would mean. Suddenly I didn’t want to be in the room with Dr. Pelchat anymore, and I regretted speaking so openly and crying to him. I tried to tell myself that he’d take it as me making progress, and it would get me closer to getting out of Bent Creek. What then, when I got out? I tried not to think too much about it, because I didn’t want to make Dr. Pelchat think that I had begun to worry. I wiped my eyes and looked up at him. I noticed that he hadn’t written in my chart - not even once - since we had begun. He was staring at me, waiting to see if I was going to open up anymore.

I folded my arms across my chest the way I saw Mena do when she was in group meetings. It seemed to make the doctors back off of her, except for Dr. Bent. However, I had the feeling that Dr. Bent would not be pressing Mena’s buttons so hard anymore.

Dr. Pelchat took the hint, and decided to take the initiative to get conversation going again. “Now that we’ve got your diagnosis out there, it’s time we make plans on getting your treatment started.”

“I’m going have to take medication?”

“Yes,” he said. “I am going to get you back on anti-depressants, and eventually a mood stabilizer. I want to reach out to you with what is going to be most effective at this time. Right now I believe what we need to do is continue your individual therapy sessions with me, even after your discharge. I will see to it that you to continue to see me at the clinic in outpatient treatment, once a week. But before we begin your discharge, we must have your family session.”

“Dr. Pelchat, I don’t want to go through that again,” I said.

I thought back to that painful session with Mom and Dr. Pelchat.

Dr. Pelchat knew. He said, “This family session will be nothing like that last one. The last one served its purpose, and we were able to get everything out on the table. You won’t have to go through that again. I know that, with your brother and sister here this time, it will not be as it was when it was just us and your mother.”

The look on my face had to have matched everything I was feeling. I was almost angry, but was surprised and in disbelief at the same time.

“Did you say that my brother and sister are coming to this session?”

“It’s a family session. Everyone in the household should be there. Yes, your brother and your sister have to live with you, and it’s fair for them to get an understanding of what is going on with you. They know that you are in the hospital. I’m sure that they are very concerned. And they are going to need to know how they can cope and deal with this situation, because they are old enough to understand. So, yes, this Saturday we are having a family session with me, you, your mom, and your little brother and sister.”

He made it sound so definite, as if I had no choice or say in the matter. It was clear that I didn’t. He opened my chart after making his point, and I watched him write in capital letters on a yellow sheet:

FAMILY SESSION: SATURDAY AT 3:00PM.

There it was, set in stone. I was going to have to face all of them. I was going to have to face Mom again. What was even worse than facing Mom, I was going to have to face Nicholas. I hadn’t seen him since he’d found me on that horrible night. I hadn’t wanted him to be the one. I felt sad and angry inside again. Nevertheless, I wasn’t going to cry this time. I couldn’t let Dr. Pelchat see me upset about the family session. It was required to get out of Bent Creek.

CHAPTER 47

Morning came. It was Friday. There was only one more day until my family session. I tried not to think about it, but it was too hard. Every hour that passed by seemed to go by faster than a minute. The clock read 8:00am and we were at breakfast. Then it was time for Coping Skills with Dr. Bent, and it was already 2:00pm. I felt like I had just left the cafeteria for breakfast. Maybe I was getting it confused with lunch. I was almost like a zombie.

“Kristen!”

I looked up, startled at the tone of her voice when she called out to me. Dr. Bent and everyone in the room was looking at me and waiting for me to speak. I had been lost in my own thoughts and in my own space, not really paying any attention to my group. Group Therapy was important, especially with Dr. Bent. Nothing got past her. Mena was in our group. She was sitting next to me, looking at me, and right along with everyone else.

“Kristen? Are you all right?” Dr. Bent asked.

“Yes,” I assured her.

“It’s your turn,” she said.

I sat up straight in my seat and cleared my throat. I was halfway there before I had completely zoned out, so I knew the last person to speak was Tai. I didn’t want to ask Dr. Bent to fill me in on what we were talking about, so I assumed it was something related to what Tai was speaking of. She was talking about her family. She had mentioned that her father and stepmother were coming for a family visit the following Monday.