Bent But Not Broken (4 page)

'You can have one book per session,' he said. 'So long as you keep your word,' he added.

Okay, first question answered. What did I have to do to keep him happy?

'When you have chosen your book, come and sit on one of the chairs. You can decide where you sit. But you must talk,' he said.

I dragged it out as long as I could. Eventually I chose a novel I'd read before I was twelve. I guess I wanted something from my real life – something familiar and comforting. Finally I sat in a lounge chair as far away from him as I could get. I hugged my book to my chest.

He kept looking at me with those weak, wet eyes, and waited. I didn't want to talk to him about anything. I call him Doctor Hobbit because he reminds me of one. He's small and a bit fat and wears rimless glasses. I bet he's got hairy feet! Honestly, would you talk to a hobbit?

So I told him how it was for us when we were little – when it was just you, me and Mum. Before George. He had his tape recorder going, and took notes. Why would he want to hear about how happy we were then? I have no idea what goes on in his brain. Maybe he's as messed up as the crazies he works with. I dunno. And he didn't try to screw me, even though I couldn't see any cameras. He just walked me back to the ward in silence.

I hope he was satisfied, because now I can read without talking about the other stuff.

Abigail

 

 

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

ENTRY 15: 29/04/2014

Abigail obviously was elated that we have moved our sessions to the library. She even seemed delighted to be beyond the confines of the ward and its grounds. However, she was pensive during the walk over to the library. I do not want to explore this as yet.

I saw the girl trapped inside Abigail today. She was so excited, exploring the shelves of the library. I don't think there was a volume in it that she did not scrutinise at least once. It was a pleasure to see her with her guard down.

It took forty minutes for her to select a novel. While she did not actually show it to me, I could see what it was. Not surprisingly, it was below what I would expect to be her current reading level.

Finally, she chose a lounge chair just about as far away from mine as she could get. Again, as expected, she did her best to maintain physical distance from me.

She did keep her word. She spoke about her life when she was young. She spoke of her mother and little sister Crystal with genuine warmth.

Obviously this was a safe time for her. She did not mention any males in their lives at that stage.

I am content with this level of interaction with Abigail. She has started to speak, even though she is keeping to an era before she was abused. It is a start.

Dr. Harry Nightingale

 

 

 

Dear Crystal,

It was wet today, so I expected that we wouldn't be let out in the yard. But no, they had a new trick up their sleeves. I didn't know they had a pool here! It's an indoor pool, heated and surrounded on three sides by glass. It is housed in its own building – so we were escorted, as always, by a bunch of orderlies.

They only let a few of us go. It seemed to me that they chose the least crazy girls. Period girl wouldn't come. Just in case she got her period, I suppose.

When we got inside the pool building, some female orderlies led us to the change rooms. There were no cubicles or doors – not even on the toilets or showers! They had a bunch of bright yellow togs, all one piece and designed by the people who make supermarket bags. They handed some to each of us and we had to change while they were watching. I didn't care about that. I've been bare-arsed so many times it didn't bother me at all. But I could see that a couple of the girls were uncomfortable about stripping off without even a towel to cover themselves. Remember how we used to get changed when we went swimming for school? How we'd face the wall and use the towel to cover our bare bums? Well, none of that! They didn't take their eyes off us for a second.

I'll admit I was curious. So I peeked at the crazies while they were stripping off. The orca fat one has burns all over her body! Not her arms and legs, but everywhere else. They looked like cigarette burns to me. Spider Girl has welts and scabs where she has tried to pick the spiders off herself. And Miss Anorexic is truly tragic. Her thighs are thinner than my arms! I have to admit, seeing them like that has made me a bit sorry for them. Yes, they're crazy – but maybe they were made that way. Maybe it's not really their fault. Of course, I didn't say anything. But it does make you wonder.

It wasn't a swim like when we used to go to the indoor pool. This pool is pretty small, and shallow. I could stand up even in the "deep" end. The water only came up to my crutch. Not much chance of drowning here! I suppose that goes with the whole crazy thing.

We were allowed to play around in the water for a little while. They had balls and floating rings and kick boards for us to muck about with. I felt like a little kid! Then a fit looking woman came to the side of the pool and started demonstrating movements for us to do. Water aerobics, she called it. Dumb shit, I call it.

You know what I get like when someone tries to boss me around. School used to say that I had oppositional disorder. That's crap. I just don't like being told what to do. So I ignored her and played with their toys. It felt really good! I pretended I was back in primary school and having free play in the pool. The fit lady did her best to get me to join in, but I wouldn't. I could see she was trying hard not to show that she was pissed off with me. 'Get in line,' I thought.

I should have known there'd be a price to pay. At group session Doctor Hobbit told everyone that they had to commit to the full program of rehabilitation if they wanted to get well. Such bullshit! What program? As far as I can tell, a person is bound to go mad in here – or go madder!

I have given up asking you to get Mum to get me out of here. I figure you just needed a break from me for a while. But please don't forget I'm here! I am starting to wonder if I will ever get out.

Abigail

 

 

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

ENTRY 16: 30/04/2014

In an attempt to help Abigail integrate into the program I instructed that she be included in the water aerobics session today.

She went willingly with the staff, and changed into bathers without incident. However she refused to join in with the aerobics, stubbornly ignoring all efforts to get her to co-operate.

The staff reported that she did enjoy being in the pool, and played like a happy child throughout the session.

Is this another sign that Abigail is trying desperately to cling to the time before she was abused?

Dr. Harry Nightingale

 

 

 

Dear Crystal,

Doctor Hobbit has surprised me by keeping his word about letting me borrow from the library. Now our daily sessions are held there, even if I haven't finished the latest book that I have borrowed. It suits me better. His office is so like a doctor's room. He's got a huge desk and a squeaky leather chair that I hate. The walls are covered with framed degrees and diplomas. I wonder if he needs to keep looking at them to convince himself that he's important. The office has a couch and a lounge chair for him to sit in while he listens to crazy shit. In between is a coffee table with his recorder and a note pad. All the trappings of an oh-so-important man. There are no pictures of a family, so I suppose he doesn't have one. Who would want him for a husband? He plays with people's heads for a living. He'd probably do the same to a wife and kids.

In the library we both sit on lounge chairs. There is still the inevitable coffee table where he puts his recorder, but I've gotten used to that. I ignore it, like so much else around here.

He seems satisfied that I tell him about our life before George. About the stuff we got up to as kids.

I told him that Mum worked a lot and wasn't home 'till after six each night, and that she trusted me to look after you.

I told him how we used to get on the school roof and pinch the balls that were tossed up there. Do you remember the time you nearly fell off, reaching too far for a ball? Scared the shit out of me, you did! All the way home that day I was shaking, trying to imagine how I would tell Mum that I let a seven year old fall off the school roof!

I told him how great summer holidays were for us. How we would meet our mates and go swimming in the river. But I didn't tell him that I used to steal money from Mum's purse for all those feeds of fish and chips we used to have. Please don't tell her about that. I feel kind of bad about it now.

Funny, you know. I used to be embarrassed by our lunch treats. All the other kids had bought stuff in packets. We always had Mum's homemade cookies or cakes. Now I think she was pretty awesome. She worked all day, cooked tea and did baking – all for the two of us. I see it differently now.

I guess what I am trying to say is that I'm sorry I was such a bitch to you and Mum. I cracked it about everything. Dishes. Making my bed. Cleaning up my room. The only thing I didn't crack it about was doing my homework – and that was only because I know I'm smart and want to learn. So even that was all about me.

Now that I'm in here and don't have you and Mum, I realise that I miss you and want to be back home with you. I promise when I do I will be a better big sister.

Love,

Abigail

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

ENTRY 17: 01/05/2014

I think Abigail is surprised that I have kept my word by relocating our individual sessions into the library. She now talks readily, but she keeps to early times and events that represent the "safe" period of her life. She speaks with genuine affection about her mother and her sister.

It is still clear that she does not trust me. I know that in her view I represent authority over her. She is deeply antagonistic to any external control. While this is not, of itself, unusual in a sixteen year old – but with Abigail it is clearly a source of great anger. She is extremely distrustful, and guards her secrets with absolute determination.

At present all she shows is a deeply hurt and damaged young person. It is my hope that soon she will start to come out of her shell – even if she does not discuss the real issues that brought her here.

Dr. Harry Nightingale

 

 

 

Dear Crystal,

I started to listen to what the crazies were saying in group today. Spider Girl's name is Elizabeth, but she calls herself Beth. She said she's always been totally scared of spiders – even little ones. Okay, huntsmen I can get. They are big and hairy and the way they move! Ugh! But to be so afraid of all spiders is crazy. She admits she knows something like a daddy longlegs can't hurt her. But she can't stop the terror. She said it's with her all the time. Well, that's not actually insane. Spiders
are
everywhere.

Do you remember how Mum would put torches in our room when the power went out, so that it wouldn't be completely dark if we woke up during the night? I know it happened a lot, but this one time was pretty wild. A huntsman had crawled onto the torch, probably for warmth. You woke us up screaming your head off. When she rushed into our room you were plastered into the corner, curled up as small as you could be, pointing to the ceiling. The shadow of the huntsman was projected there, absolutely huge! Like it was the biggest spider in the world! I was freaked out, too. Mum killed the spider and tried to calm you down. But you were too upset. She made a batman symbol out of paper and taped it over the torch. Do you remember what she said? She said that Batman would look after you through the night, and she knew it was true because there was his symbol, see? I slept with you that night. I think we both needed to be together. So I get where Beth is coming from.

She said she had always been afraid of spiders. She couldn't even look at them if one came on the TV if she was watching a program about animals. She said as a joke a friend put a plastic spider down the back of her school uniform when she was in Year 8. I want to punch the bitch, listening to how Beth screamed and cried. How cruel is that? Beth told us she couldn't go to school on the bus because she would have to wait in a bus shelter where there could be spiders. So her mum drove her to school.

Apparently she could sort of function except in science class. They had all sorts of specimens in jars and she just couldn't cope. She flat out refused to go into the science room. I admire that. Why couldn't they have found a solution for her? They could have let her do the work in another room. But we both know how teachers get. Like everything with them is a test of wills, which they have to win.

Beth said that was the start of the end for her. She couldn't face the science room, and instead of helping her they came the heavy. Do it or else. That's when she realised the adults just didn't get it and didn't care enough to find out how to fix her problem. Her mum would drop her at the front of the school, and every day there was a bunch of kids waiting for her. They called her names and threw plastic spiders at her. Of course she ran away. What option did she have?

Beth said she figured if she could get numb, the fear would be wiped out too. She stole money from her folks and used it to buy grog. That gave her a whole new set of friends. They didn't care that she was scared of spiders. They took her as she was. She said she spent months shit-faced. They drank heaps, did a bit of dope, and had lots of sex. That was how the cops got her. By the time she was taken to court her parents didn't want to know her. They didn't want to know the wild girl she had become. Beth said they couldn't sign the papers fast enough to get her in here.

I reckon she's not actually crazy at all. Everyone's scared of something. With her, it's a bit extreme, is all. I don't know how being in here is supposed to fix her. Most of the time she keeps her shit together. In fact, now that I think about it, she hasn't lost it for a while now. I haven't really been paying attention. But I might start to talk to her. She's smart and funny – so long as we don't talk about spiders!

Love,

Abigail

 

 

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

ENTRY 18: 02/05/2014

In our individual sessions Abigail continues to disclose events from her life before she was abused. She recalls a childhood that was fun and innocent. I am not sure how much of this is memory and how much imagination. It really does not matter at this stage. She is speaking.

Abigail continues to maintain her determined silence in the group sessions. I know that she is listening to what the other patients say in the group. I have seen that she is at times horrified and appalled when they discuss what has happened to them. She clearly has the ability to empathise with them, even though she continues to resist their overtures of friendship.

I no longer view her as a suicide risk, and have removed the 30 minute suicide watch overnight for the weekend.

Dr. Harry Nightingale

 

 

 

Dear Crystal,

Either I'm getting loony or getting used to this place. Like I'm desensitised to it, or something. Every day we have a group session and an individual session with Doctor Hobbit. The rest of the time they try to keep us entertained and busy. On fine days we get to go outside and do a bit of sport. Once a week we go to the pool. I still don't do the dancing in the water thing, but I do enjoy the pool. We have art and music once a week.

I find art challenging because I have no talent for it whatsoever. It just makes me feel retarded. And they reckon I use too much black paint, so I'm not allowed black any more. What the hell? What's wrong with black?

Last week I noticed they had books in the art room. So I spent my time looking through them instead of feeling completely stupid standing in front of an easel. Most of the books were about really olden day painters like we learned about in school. You know – Michelangelo and guys like that. Some of it was good! There was a book about Da Vinci. Do you know he invented a whole lot of stuff? Things he thought up in his head – like helicopters and robots! They must have thought he was crazy, back in the day. The one that really grabbed me was about this bloke called Escher. He was a seriously sick twist. He drew impossible stuff and made it look right. And he drew pictures where fish turn into birds and weird things like that. He even drew a hand drawing a hand! I reckon he must have been on something wild!

I am going to ask if I can try to copy some of his drawings, instead of painting. I suppose I'll have to trade something. Nothing's for nothing in here. But that's sort of okay, I guess.

Love,

Abigail

 

 

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

ENTRY 19: 05/05/2014

Abigail is joining in with the activities of the program. It is like watching a preschool child – in that she is participating without interacting with the other girls. However, this is definitely a step in the right direction. I know that she is watching and evaluating both the program and the other patients.

She is maintaining her defiant silence in group therapy. I take this to be a form of resistance. She is exercising the power that she has in the only way she can. This is fine. At least her moods have steadied. There have been no outbursts of anger for quite some time. It is as though she has, at some level, accepted being in the ward.

Abigail's depression seems to be improving with her medication. I believe that the structure of the program is providing her with a sense of security in that it is a known and stable routine. I think that this is helping to reduce her anxiety.

Today Abigail surprised me with a request – although, as usual, it was delivered as a demand.

'I want pencils and paper so I can draw!'

'Why?' I asked.

'Duh! So I can draw! Like I said!' Accompanied by the withering look teenagers reserve for particularly stupid adults.

'What has brought this on, Abigail?' I asked. This was genuine. I had no idea what she had in mind.

'I can't paint for nuts,' she explained. I tried not to laugh – she usually reserves "nuts" to describe the other girls in the facility.

'I have been looking at the books in the art room,' she explained.

'Okay,' I replied, starting to get a bit of an idea where she was going.

'There's one I really like, called Escher,' she expanded.

'I know Escher's work,' I replied. 'It's amazing stuff!' I added enthusiastically. It's true. I really do like Escher's work. But of course Abigail looked at me with skepticism.

'My favourite is probably the hand drawing the hand,' I added.

Now Abigail could see that I wasn't trying to play mind games with her.

'Yeah! I really like that one too!' she exclaimed. 'But I don't think I'm a good enough to be able to copy it,' she added.

'Which one would you start on?' I asked.

'Dunno,' she answered. 'Maybe the stairs one.'

'What I love about Escher's work is that it all seems right, but it's impossible,' I explained.

'He must have been a right weirdo!' came her enthusiastic reply.

'Have you looked at his tessellations?' I asked.

'Are they the ones where he turns birds into fish, and stuff like that?' she asked with genuine interest.

'Yes. But he had a trick, and I can help you do it too. It's called isometric grids,' I explained.

Abigail thought about this for a minute. Then her face came alive with when she found the memory that she didn't even know was there.

'That's graph paper! But it has triangles instead of squares!' she announced with animation.

'You are right, Abigail. I can get some for you, as well as plain paper. But I can't promise about the quality of the pencils,' I added.

'That's okay,' she said. 'I'll take whatever you can get for me,' she said.

I am delighted with this interaction with Abigail. Just for a little while she did not treat me as her enemy. It also shows that at least to some degree, Abigail is accepting my authority and recognising that I have the power to improve her situation.

The fact that she has chosen Escher does not surprise me. I have noted, without comment, the level of books that she is borrowing from the library. While generally she is choosing novels of greater complexity, sometimes she seems to revert to an old favourite. She does this when she appears to be least at ease.

I am pleased that Abigail is starting to engage with some of the activities of the program. In her individual sessions she keeps to "safe" times in her early life. This reinforces my belief that she has suffered long-term sexual abuse. I do not know as yet when or how this abuser entered her life – though I still suspect this happened in her early teens.

I will continue to let Abigail think that she is in charge of our interactions. She does not seem to realise that she tells as much through her silence as she does through her words. In my opinion it will not be productive to try to extract information from Abigail. She has a very strong will and would utterly resist even gentle probing. With her it will have to be a process which she believes she owns and maintains control. To her, staying in control is clearly essential.

Dr. Harry Nightingale

 

 

 

Dear Crystal,

I was right about the drawing thing. Doctor Hobbit said he can set me up with pencils and paper to try to copy the Escher stuff – but I have "to be more forthcoming in our sessions." I'll play along and just give him what I want to tell, and not what I don't. He won't know the difference, anyway.

I have been listening more in group. It's kind of hard not to. Some of the girls have had some serious shit going down. The thirteen year old who thinks she's got a baby at home was raped by her brother. Not once, but many times. She said she hasn't had a period yet (and I believe her because she's a scrawny little thing) so she must have had a baby. She genuinely believes it. When Doctor Hobbit asked Jenny what the baby's name was, she got this shy smile on her face and said it was a secret. She carries around a soft doll, wrapped up like a real baby. She really loses it if they try to take it away from her, even if it's for a shower or the pool. She's had her share of needles, I bet. I can't help but feel sorry for her. She's just a kid, for Christsake!

The fat one is Tamara. She doesn't say a lot. But she sparked up today. We all did. Doctor Hobbit asked us about our pets at home. Tamara talked about her cat. She said got it free from someone at school, and her mother and stepfather had an absolute fit when she brought it home, tucked inside her sweater. But she's got guts, (ha!) I'll give her that. She told them she was keeping it and they couldn't stop her. That night, the way she told it, her stepfather beat her up again.

Listening to her, I wondered why her mum didn't stop him. I've seen the burn marks. Surely her mum must have too? What sort of mother would let that happen to her kid? Then she told us that her mum is an alcoholic, and out of it most of the time. So he whaled into her whenever he felt like it. But she kept the cat! It was the most animated I have seen her. She glowed when she talked about her cat. Fat people look better when they smile. It's like their whole face lights up. It was a good look.

You know we have to sit in a circle for group. Doctor Hobbit works us all over with his eyes. He always waits after one of the girls has spoken, and looks at each of us in turn. Like he can hypnotise us into speaking. He's not afraid of silence. He lets us dangle like wind chimes until someone is forced to fill the gap. And then again he moves around the whole circle, pausing, waiting. I still haven't said anything in group, but I got suckered in today. He really surprised me. He asked if we would like to get a kitten for the ward! How good would that be! We all got pretty excited, I must admit. All the girls were keen. He said next group we would work out the rules. Of course, there would be rules. There are always rules. But it would be great! I really miss our pets. I just hope they keep a sharp eye on Kayla so she doesn't eat it!