The Unbalancing Act (19 page)

“Well, Mrs. Bower, how are you today?” asks Ms. Peters.

“I am just lovely,” I say, even though I’m covered in stitches and just got my ass kicked by a woman twice my size.

“We are all here as you know to evaluate both your progress thus far and to determine your needs for future care. We understand that this may have been a difficult week here at New Outlook for you, and we want you to know that your well-being is our number one concern.”

“Thanks.” I’m trying to control my anxiety, but I feel like a spider has been turned loose in my underwear and I want to run out screaming. “So what is the verdict?”

Dr. Lipton immediately chimes in, “Vada, I feel that there has been some progress made in the last week. You have shared with me many of your experiences and I think you have been able to identify triggers and hopefully have learned how to cope when things begin to weigh you down. I see some positives.”

“Well, that’s just wonderful.” Okay, maybe this isn’t going to be so bad after all.

“I would also like to stress to you the importance of taking care of yourself and as we have discussed, making time for yourself.”

“Yes, I know I need to do that. I’m going to start bowling or something.” This is total bullshit because I hate bowling and I would never wear rented shoes. Can you imagine the amount of fecal matter inside of the bowling ball holes? Bowling alleys are disgusting!

Dr. Lipton looks over at Rita. She seems to want to take it from here and I fear this could be a shit show.

“Okay, from my personal experience with you Vada, I still see a lot of denial. You have lost weight since you have been here. I’ve on several occasions found evidence of purging. I feel that you are still at a high-risk level and that you have a way to go. On a positive note, I do think that you have made many personal relationships during your stay which tells me you have probably found ways to relate to others in recovery. That is crucial.”

“May I just say one thing?” I ask. “I am not trying to interrupt but I am not really bulimic. I have tried to tell you that. I made it up okay? It was all BS. I tried to puke one time at my house. It didn’t even work. I’ve only lost weight because I have been on so much medication...”

They are all staring at me. Their eyes are glued to my face. It almost hurts. I wish they would stop staring at me. Oh yes, and then they do. Just long enough to exchange worrisome glances and jot down some notes.

“We know that, Vada.” says Dr. Lipton. He glances at Dr. Ames and nods.

“You do?” I ask.

Dr. Ames pulls out a tape recorder. What is that for?  What the hell is he going to do with it? He pops in a tape and places his hand over it almost like he is afraid I’m going to snatch it and throw it against the wall. He’s probably smart to think so.

“Given your diagnosis Vada...” says Dr. Lipton.

“And what is that exactly?” I ask. “No one has ever even mentioned to me what the hell I am diagnosed with!  So you tell me Dr. Lipton, what is it that Vada Bower has, huh? I know it’s not an eating disorder. Do you know how I know that?  Because I love fried chicken. I love pizza and chocolate and beer. I love corndogs and milkshakes. I also love digesting these things and then having a nice relaxing crap. So go on, spill it. I think I should know my diagnosis, don’t you?”

“As I told you, we know aren’t buimic Vada, that’s why your diagnosis is complicated.”

“Uh..umm...” Dr. Ames clears his throat. “I think that it is time you took a listen to your hypnosis sessions, Vada. I thought you would have recalled this information by now, but seeing as though you haven’t, I do think, from a doctor to a patient, that it is important for you to know.”

This is kind of scaring me. What could I have said during hypnosis?

“Okay, that is fine. Let’s hear it.”

Everyone knows something. I feel like there is an elephant in the room and I am the only one who cannot see it.

“I assume that you have all already had the pleasure of listening to my tapes, am I right?” I ask.

They nod. What a bunch of freaking donkeys.

“Alright then, Vada, we’ll start with this recording from your first hypnosis.” Dr. Ames clicks a button with a blue arrow. All I can think is that tape recorder looks like it’s from the early 90’s and I am anticipating hearing some funky beats once it starts rolling. It doesn’t. No music plays. I hear Dr. Ames’ voice, sounding like he’s reading a bed time story and I can barely make out what he is saying. Now I hear my voice. It’s sleepy and slow, but it is definitely mine. I brace myself for what I am about to hear. It sounds like he’s starting in the middle of a session.

Me: Yes.

Dr. Ames: What worries you the most Vada?

Me: That I am a bad mother.

Dr. Ames: What makes you think you are a bad mother?

Me: I am away from my kids. I am in here.

Dr. Ames: You are in here for treatment for mental health. I want you to understand that it is okay to take care of yourself, Vada. You are helping yourself so that you can help your children. Do you believe that?

Me: I don’t know.

Dr. Ames: You don’t know what? You don’t know that you are in a mental health recovery center? 

Me: I know that.

Dr. Ames: Then what don’t you know, Vada?

Me: I don’t know if I need to be here.

Dr. Ames: Why do you say that Vada, what makes you think that you shouldn’t be here?

Me: Because...none of it...is true. I made it all up.

He stops the tape. I am sitting in front of this panel. They are all judging me and it’s not for my singing voice. They all seem to know something that I don’t. I have the funniest inkling after hearing that, that I recall that conversation. I kind of remember saying that now. Oh Lord!

“There is a diagnosis out there, Vada, which is referred to as mythomania, or more commonly known as pathological or compulsive lying. I am not saying that we believe you are a pathological liar, I want to make sure you understand the difference between...”

I cut him off. “I’m not a pathological liar, you guys. It’s not even like that. I meant that I was lying about...”

“It’s my turn to interrupt.” says Dr. Ames with all his chins. “There is another section of tape that I’d like for you to hear before we go on.” Dr. Ames says in a tone that makes me want to take an ice pick to his scrotum sack and remove his teeny tiny balls. He hits the forward button and then the blue arrow. There’s my sleepy voice again.

Dr. Ames: What have you accomplished so far in your stay here at New Outlook?

Me: Well, I have eaten delicious brownies. I helped Katelyn lose her low-life boyfriend. I helped Jessalyn expose her perverted pedophile grandfather. I tried so hard to help Lauren with her birthday party. I helped Bath Salt’s Mary’s boyfriend treat her right.

Dr. Ames: Okay Vada, now let me ask this in a different way, what did you do here at New Outlook that has benefitted
you
?  Just you and your recovery?

Me: I ate delicious brownies. I got a hold of the janitor’s carpet cleaner and cleaned the carpet in my room twice. I got a mop and spray cleaner and scrubbed my bathroom floors sometimes more than once a day. I really like clean floors.

Dr. Ames: Yes, Vada, the floors are important to you. All the headaches you’ve experienced, tell me about those.

Me: I was faking them.

Dr. Ames stopped the tape. The panel looks at me as if I would have been voted off if this were elimination night.

Dr. Lipton starts flapping his jaws. “You see, Vada. This is significant. We feel that a diagnosis of obsessive compulsive disorder needs to be made. This floor cleaning is not healthy and is a control issue for you. Do you realize that now?”

What am I supposed to say?  Of course I am OCD about the floor. Why don’t they just fry me in the electric chair for it? I’m guilty. It’s not like it’s hurting anybody. In fact, I’m helping the struggling economy by purchasing cleaning supplies.

“Yes, I do, I’m going to leave my floors dirty for a while. I’ll only mop every other day. Will that work for all of you? Can we please end this now, so I can go home?”

“Just one more moment...” Rita whispers in Dr. Lipton’s ear and he then whispers in Dr. Ames’ ear who then whispers in Ms. Peters’ ear.

“Oooh are we playing telephone, should I scoot closer?” I ask.

They all ignore my attitude and Dr. Ames puts in a new tape. We listen. This is just dreadful. I don’t want to hear any more of this ridiculous pig shit.

Dr. Ames: Tell me Vada, about when you were going to commit suicide on the roof.

Me: I wasn’t. I just needed to get a break…

Dr. Ames: A break, like a broken tailbone, arm, leg?  Were you looking to break a bone?”

Me: I just needed a break. I didn’t care where it was.

Dr. Ames:  So you weren’t actually trying to kill yourself?

Me: No, just a break. I tried to make it quick.

He stopped the tape. I see what these bastards are getting at. They are trying to make it look like I wanted to hurt myself.

“Just a minute, I did
not
break anything! I meant a break like I needed a motherfucking break! Like a minute to myself! Haven’t you people ever had kids?  Do they not make you want to run out screaming sometimes? Do your relatives not make you want to hide?  Well mine FUCKING do! So I went on the roof to hide. When I said I didn’t care where it was, I meant a place...not a body part!  A sabbatical, not a broken bone. You are manipulating my words!” I am now shouting. I am sounding like one of the crazies. This is what I have resorted to. I’m going mad. They are not listening and I know it.

“Vada, we have discussed this as a group of trained professionals. We all agree that you have a mental illness which is considered a factitious disorder. There are different degrees and types of factitious disorders including one called Munchausen syndrome. We are not talking about by proxy, not the one where you would fake someone else’s illness, like a child’s. We are talking about faking your own. The constant headaches, while refusing pain relievers and you’ve admitted you have been faking them. The neck problems you’ve described in your sessions that appear to come and go with no explanation. This is a complicated diagnosis. Factitious disorder can go hand in hand with other mental illness, in your case, obsessive compulsive disorder and anxiety. We believe that your incident on the roof was a way for you to injure yourself to seek medical attention. Your plan was interrupted because your husband caught you in the act. In addition, we do
not
in fact feel you have an eating disorder but you do have a very real need for people to
think
you have an eating disorder. We believe that the evidence of this has been deliberately staged by you. Please know we are not judging you. We believe we can help you.”

My blood is boiling. They have this all wrong. I look at Rita. “Then what the hell were you acting so concerned for?”

She replies most definitely, “I was giving you the
opportunity
to come clean, Vada.”

There she goes with that stupid word again, opportunity.

“I specialize in eating disorders and was immediately suspicious that something was off with your case that night in the bathroom. I wasn’t positive so I simply did my part to support you and gave you the benefit of the doubt. I gave you the chance to tell me the truth many times.”

Dr. Lipton’s voice overpowers the conversation. “It has become clear that you have established several relationships with other patients and while we commend you in your efforts to try and help them, it is our collective opinion that you are seeking relationships in order to increase the people in your life who will believe in your (and he finger quotes) ‘illnesses.’ I do, however, believe, as you stated in one of our sessions that you have always felt forgotten, like when you were left at the grocery store as a child. I think that factitious disorder can stem from these types of feelings and incidents.”