Bent But Not Broken (3 page)

Dr. Harry Nightingale

 

 

 

Dear Crystal,

Today I got the needle for the first time. It was awful. It started in the art session. They have this special room that's always locked unless we are doing some art. The paints are all premixed water-based paints, like in Preps. I guess that's because there's this crazy chick Kayla who eats everything. It's like she doesn't know what's food and what isn't. If they don't get to her in time she eats the magazines. I have even seen her gnawing on the tables! Seriously insane.

Anyway, I was just mucking about because I have no talent. You know I can't draw for nuts. I guess I was painting our home. It wasn't any good. Just a sort of a house shape. I did put the big gum tree in the front yard in the painting. Then I put in you, me and Mum. Stick figures, really. I don't know what happened. I suppose I just snapped or something. I started banging my brush harder and harder, spreading black paint everywhere. Like I was trying to wipe it all out. Cover it all in black. I didn't realise I was screaming. Doctor Hobbit told me later I was swearing like a station rat. But I didn't hear it.

I woke up in bed with mesh restraints on my wrists and ankles. This I do remember. I went ape shit. What do they think you're going to do if you wake up tied to a bed? Seriously? I thrashed and screamed and screamed and screamed. My throat really hurt. So did my wrists and ankles. I'm not making this up, Crystal. It was just about the worst thing I have ever experienced. Even when the nurse came in with the needle I couldn't stop thrashing about. She jammed it in my thigh. It hurt. I think I must have slept it off, because the next thing I remember is being brought out for breakfast.

If it wasn't for the welts on my wrists and ankles, I might not be sure that it even happened. I think it's starting. I think I am slowly going mad in here. You have to get me out!

Abigail

 

 

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

ENTRY 11: 23/04/2014

I thought we had a breakthrough with Abigail today. She agreed to attend the art therapy session.

She painted a simplistic house shape, and then added figures clearly representing her family. She started screaming while attacking the picture with black paint.

Unfortunately she could not be calmed. She had to be sedated and restrained. This caused her further distress, and had to be sedated again.

This whole incident is very telling. Obviously her trauma is located in her home. The obliteration of the figures representing her family members shows clearly that they have – at least in Abigail's mind – failed in their care of her. The use of black paint is, of course, significant.

The scarring to her inner thighs indicates deep trauma. But the concentration of these scars around her pubic region strongly suggests sexual abuse. Further, the simplicity of the painting indicates that this abuse is long term, possibly starting when she was quite young. In her painting there were only three figures, all female. Which begs the question: who was the abuser?

I have long suspected this to be the case with Abigail. It explains her absolute refusal to discuss the events that caused her to be in the facility. She cannot risk this secret, which she obviously sees as shameful, ever being exposed. It explains her mood swings – from deep depression and a lack of interest in her surroundings, to violent outbursts of uncontrollable anger and rage. It also explains the self-harming through cutting. Perhaps cutting her inner thighs was not an attempt at secrecy, but rather a childish attempt to make her genital area less attractive to her abuser?

Though having to be restrained was in itself traumatising for Abigail, I think the whole incident will be the start of her opening up to treatment.

Dr. Harry Nightingale

 

 

 

Dear Crystal,

We are allowed to go outside on fine days. The orderlies come with us, of course. We are only allowed in one section that has a high wire fence around it, and locked gates. It's great to be out in the fresh air. There are big trees with picnic tables under them. There's a half court and a rebound wall, so we can play some sport if we want.

I must admit, a couple of the crazies are pretty good at ball sports. Spider Girl is a really good netball shooter, and runs fast around the court. She stays away from the trees. Guess she figures there would be spiders hiding there. Mostly she keeps it together when we're outside. The other day she lost it because the ball had rolled near the picnic tables. She went ape again and got the needle. The food crazy has her own orderly because she tries to eat dirt. Seriously mad, that one. Orca girl sits and stares at the leaves of the trees. I have no idea what she thinks she's seeing. Fairies, probably. Period girl won't come outside at all. She tries to spend all her time in the toilets.

It was hot yesterday, so most of the crazies were in shorts and tees. The anorexic one is so skinny you can see all her ribs. She looks like the skeleton in the science room. Honestly, how could she think she is fat? And her arms are scarred from cutting. They scare me. How can you get so messed up so quickly?

I really don't belong here. I know I have some stuff to work out, but I am not crazy like these chicks. You've got to talk to Mum and get me out of here before they turn me crazy too.

Abigail

 

 

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

ENTRY 12: 24/04/2014

Abigail has started to participate in some activities of the program. Today she went outside with the other patients, and played netball on the half court. The staff reported that she seemed happy to be outside and moving around. It is a major breakthrough. For the first time, it seemed that Abigail was enjoying herself.

Unfortunately, this positive outlook did not extend to our individual therapy session. She has persisted with her silence. It's as though she sees speaking with me as a form of capitulation. She holds herself tightly bound, as is evident from her posture. While she remains determined not to speak with me, I know that she is quietly observing and assessing the other patients in the group session. Though with this, too, she keeps her own counsel.

Dr. Harry Nightingale.

 

 

 

Dear Crystal,

I have a session with Doctor Hobbit every day except for the weekends. It goes for an hour. He tries to get me to talk, and I sit silent. You'd think he'd give it up. He is supposed to be intelligent, being a doctor and all. Why doesn't he get that I am not going to talk to him about my stuff? I just want to be left alone. I don't know how long this shit can keep going. What does it take to get out of here?

He keeps trying to bribe me to speak. The first was an offer of a shared room. Like I want to sleep with a crazy girl? I've listened to them in group sessions. They are seriously messed up. What if they go psychotic in the night and attack me? I mean, really, would he sleep in the same room as them? I don't think so!

Then he offered special food – anything I wanted, he said. I was tempted to cut sick with that one! Lobster; steak; gelato – whatever I could think up! I was so busy trying to work out something that he couldn't possibly provide that I didn't hear anything he said for the rest of the session. Which is okay, because I don't believe a word he says, anyway.

But it got me thinking. I know they have a library because I saw it when they showed me around on my second day here. It's in another building and of course this is a locked ward. Maybe I could work a deal so that I could have something to read? At least then I could hide in a book, and pretend I'm not really here. Dunno. Got to think about it some more.

Abigail

 

 

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

ENTRY 13: 25/04/2014

I know that Abigail is listening to what I say to her in our sessions, even though she steadfastly refuses to speak. I saw the animation in her eyes when I offered her some inducements of food and perhaps later, a shared room. I could see that she was thinking about something – but I am not sure what, as yet.

However, I am pleased with this response. I know she does not trust me. Her depression and anger are indications that she does not feel safe.

I believe that she has been sexually abused, probably over an extended period of time. This alone would be sufficient reason to not trust me.

Her unwillingness to speak at all indicates that she has tried to disclose the fact of her sexual abuse to an adult, and has been let down by the response that she received. This adult may have been her mother – which would go some way to explaining Abigail's extreme anger when she painted her house and family.

I am looking forward to our session on Monday. I know she is thinking about something.

Dr. Harry Nightingale

 

 

 

Dear Crystal,

I really knocked Doctor Hobbit's socks off today! It was worth just to see the astonishment on his stupid face. He started like he always did: Why won't I speak? It doesn't matter what I talk about. What is important is that I will just speak. Blah. Blah. Blah. You know – the usual bullshit. Then I asked him if I could go to the library. He stared at me like I was an alien. I'll admit I didn't sound so good because I haven't used my voice for a while. I was aiming for determined, but really I came off a bit croaky. He shifted about in his fancy leather chair and tried to get the look of surprise off his face. But I saw it, and knew I had him!

The negotiations began. What book would I want? I want to choose for myself. You can't leave the ward. I can go with an orderly. Back and forth. Finally he cut a deal: I can go to the library if I will talk with him. How often was the next issue. I was going for whenever I liked. I knew I wouldn't get away with that one, but it was a good starter. He said that wouldn't be possible because of staffing.

'You could take me,' I stated.

Then it was my turn to be astonished! He agreed! He said it could be part of our sessions – provided I spoke to him about what had got me here in the first place. And if he thought I was mucking him about, it would stop cold.

Now I'm in a bit of a state. I guess I'll have to think about it. I admit I am excited at the thought of being able to read again. But I am filled with dread at the thought of having to talk to him about my stuff. I guess like everything, it comes with a price.

Abigail

 

 

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

ENTRY 14: 28/04/2014

For the first time Abigail engaged with me in her individual session. I was delighted. I knew she was considering something on Friday, but what she has come up with surprised me.

'I want to go to the library!' she threw down as a challenge.

I am pleased with the shift in venue. I have known from the beginning that she did not like having our sessions in my office. The library will allow her to feel more in control of our interaction.

'It would be difficult, Abigail,' I responded. 'You would have to be escorted,' I explained.

'So you take me!' she demanded.

'What is it that you are actually asking of me, Abigail?' I asked. I knew we would both have to be clear about the ground rules – so to speak.

'I want to read!'

Again the teenage attitude and defiance being used to cover vulnerability.

'I am happy that you want to read,' I replied calmly. 'How do you see this working?' I followed up.

This staggered her. She was trying to overpower me, and was disappointed that I did not rise to the bait. I think she was also surprised that I am more than willing to let her take the lead. She sat back on the couch, and thought for a few minutes. I waited. Finally she seemed to have something worked out in her head.

'How about we do these bloody awful sessions in the library, instead of here?' she challenged.

Obviously she did not expect me to agree.

'Okay. On one condition: you start to talk about why you are here,' I replied.

Now it was her turn to look pensive. Again I waited. The debate in her mind was clearly mirrored on her face.

'I guess,' was all she said – but so quietly.

That she wants to read is a bonus. I have been concerned by her sporadic involvement with the activities and the program in total. She has been observing without commitment. Reading is obviously important to her, and may be a way to link her current self to her former self – before she was abused. It will be interesting to see what she chooses to read.

Dr. Harry Nightingale

 

 

 

Dear Crystal,

Doctor Hobbit kept his word! With great ceremony he unlocked the outer door of the ward and for the first time in weeks I breathed free air! It was just me and him, and I thought about making a run for it. But where would I go? I don't know where I am – apart from being in a loony bin, of course. I don't remember how I got from the hospital to here. So which way to run? "Crazy idea" went through my brain. And that really scared me. I know I'm not crazy. Bit bent out of shape and not as sharp as I was, okay. But definitely not crazy. You know that saying Mum kept on about: birds of a feather, and all that bullshit? Well, maybe it's a little bit true. Maybe being with these crazy girls and listening to their crazy shit is starting to rub off on me? They don't think they're crazy. One of them actually said she thinks she's got rats in her brain, chewing on her wiring. How can you think that and not know that you're crazy? Don't they hear the crap that they say? Beats me.

But I don't care about them. Today I got into the library! It's a big room loaded with books. The shelving is so high there's a ladder on wheels to get to the top shelves. It made our school library look like nothing at all. Doctor Hobbit sat in a lounge chair and watched me try to look at every single book. At least he had the smarts to shut up and leave me to it. I felt like a little kid in the biggest lolly shop you could imagine. Some of the books I recognised, but most I didn't. There was some really old stuff in hard covers that smelt mouldy. But there were lots of paperbacks too – many of which I have read. I kept going across and up and down, moving the ladder along the shelves while he just watched in silence. That's when it occurred to me that I didn't really know what I had agreed to. How many books could I have at once? When would he start in with his questions? I looked at him, and it was like he read my mind – which was really freaky.