Bloodletting (10 page)

After the appointment he wrote the following letter to my new doctor.

20/6/95

Dear Dr X,

RE: Victoria Leatham

Thank you for referring this 26 year old woman for an assessment of her Bipolar Disorder and behavioral problems.Victoria currently lives with her aunt and uncle having returned from living in Sydney two months ago. She is currently on unemployment benefits but does some part-time work in photography or dress
making. In the past she has attended university and has a Masters degree in English Literature.

Victoria gave a history of psychiatric disturbance since at least the age of 12 years.During her teenage years she principally had problems with anorexia nervosa but was also involved in episodes of self harm during these years.

Subsequent to this time she has gradually come to have fluctuating episodes of Major Depression as well as occasional episodes of mania.Throughout both of these times she has tended to harm herself by cutting her arms or legs with a razor and has also had episodes of auditory hallucinations at times. In the past 3 years she has had three admissions to . . . in Sydney and has been seeing one psychiatrist consistently over the past 2 years for supportive psychotherapy. Although Victoria also gave a history of past abuse of alcohol,marijuana and amphetamines she denied using any of these substances for at least two years.

Victoria’s development is characterised by her being raised in a family where everyone seemed to criticise her except her father who seemed to rather ignore her.Even her brothers thought that ‘I’m a waste of space’and teased her repeatedly. In her early life this family environment was balanced out by her being brought up on a farm and being able to escape from the family. In addi
tion, she was an intelligent young girl who was able to perform quite well at school. Unfortunately, at the age of 11 her parents lost the farm . . . and the family had to move to [the city]. Victoria found the entrance into a large high school to be quite overwhelming for her. Her life since this time has been char
acterised by episodes of severe psychiatric illness interspersed with periods of relatively good functioning. However, she has never been able to maintain any sustained relationships through these years.

At interview, Victoria presented as a rather evasive and anxious woman who clearly seemed to wish that she was not with me. She did not present as depressed or as manic but her thinking patterns were illogical at times.

The history and presentation are consistent with a diagnosis of Bipolar Disorder upon a background of multiple other problems.These include prob
able Borderline Personality Traits,an eating disorder in remission,and a family background of severe dysfunction. In addition, she has very little in the way of social supports or a sense of structure or organisation to her life.

I have encouraged Victoria to continue with her same medication for the time being.This consists of Lithium carbonate 750mg per day as well as Prozac
40mg daily. I will see if I can engage her further in some therapy and would hope to give her a mixture of problem oriented psychotherapy and supportive psychotherapy. We have arranged to meet on a further 2 or 3 occasions and Victoria will decide if she wishes to continue to see me at that time. I will let you know of her progress.

Yours sincerely

I was shocked.

It was a letter that made my family sound awful and me sound mad.

My brothers were mean and my parents were busy. Was that so dysfunctional? And there were mistakes.I didn’t cut myself as a teenager, and I only once cut myself on my leg. And auditory hallucinations? I’d been misinterpreted in this way before when trying to explain to a psychiatrist about my inner voice.

The rest, however, was pretty accurate. His description of this Victoria—this troubled, neurotic person—suddenly made it clear to me why my family and friends found me so difficult to understand. And why they were so worried about me.

One of the reasons I’d decided to go to South Australia was our family beach house. Built in the 1950s, the only alterations it had undergone since then were the addition of an overhead fan in the sitting room and a phone in the kitchen. Sitting at the top of a cliff, it was a house I’d known well as a child when each summer my mother would pack up the car with towels, bathers, cricket bats, tennis balls, sunburn cream and hats, and we’d head off. My father didn’t usually come, as it was bushfire season.

When the life drawing course finished, I decided it was time to go down there.

As soon as I walked in, I was greeted by a familiar, musty smell, and I wondered why I hadn’t thought of going to the house sooner. I spent the afternoon opening cupboards, looking at the bookshelves and sliding old suitcases filled with children’s games out from under beds.

When night fell, I found something I hadn’t counted on: silence. There were no neighbours and little traffic. It was just me. Alone.

As I made scrambled eggs in the kitchen that had always been filled with siblings fighting, or whinging, or flicking each other with tea towels, I felt apprehensive but couldn’t put my finger on why. Perhaps I just needed background noise.There was an old black and white television in the back bedroom cupboard. As far as I knew it hadn’t ever been used for anything but watching cricket matches, but it would do. I put it on a side table and adjusted the antenna. It worked.

After three days, during which I’d visited the local supermarket, walked down to the beach several times, read a bit and watched a bit of TV, I felt an increasing need to talk to someone else. I knew only one other person in the area.

I’d been walking my aunt’s—very large—Alsatian one day, and had seen a photography exhibition advertised. I’d tied up the dog outside the hall where the exhibition was being shown, and went inside. As soon as I was out of sight, the dog began to bark, and bark, and bark. Reluctantly, I was about to untie him and take him home, when a girl approached me. She introduced herself as Mandy and asked if I wanted her to look after the dog while I looked at the pictures. It was an offer too good to refuse, so I left her patting him, and went back in.

As I was wandering around inside, a man came up to me. He was Mike, Mandy’s father.They’d both been watching me with my dog, he said, and he’d suggested that Mandy should offer to help.We chatted for a few minutes, and I discovered that he had a house in the same small coastal town as our family. He said that I must get in touch when I next came down for a visit.

When I phoned, Mike immediately remembered who I was, and asked about the dog.Then he asked me to dinner the following night. I was taken aback, but nevertheless accepted the invitation.

It had been a while, quite a while, since I’d been out, so I decided to dress up for the occasion. No-one knew me here so I could wear and do what I liked. I put on a green suede miniskirt done up at the front with press-studs, stockings with very obvious black suspenders,knee-high boots,and a very low-cut black T-shirt.Everything was tight, though not by design. I’d bought the clothes during my flamboyant period at the warehouse.

Mike’s eyes widened when I arrived but he didn’t comment. Instead he poured me a glass of wine and talked nonstop as he chopped the vegetables. I didn’t get a chance to say anything.

The house wasn’t his, it belonged to a friend and he was just looking after it for a few months. He was 44 and divorced, and his daughter Mandy visited him on alternate weekends. He had a small business, selling cards, but he admitted it made no money and certainly didn’t take up any time. In fact, he told me with surprising candour, he was essentially unemployed and not particularly interested in finding a job—he was more interested in having a lifestyle he enjoyed, and being happy.

This sounded good to me.

When he kissed me later that evening, I was surprised; when he suggested we go to bed I couldn’t think of any reason not to. He was warm, funny and liked me.

From then on, I became part of his life.

Mike was impressed by the fact that I’d finished a postgraduate degree, and he liked the idea that I was writing a book. I hadn’t begun writing it, though I too liked the idea of doing so, and was relieved when he didn’t ask what it was about. Unlike Patrick, he wasn’t interested in content.The suggestion that it existed was enough.

He introduced me to his friends, a mixed group of sculptors, actors, and hippies.They were all friendly, like him, and interesting. Despite not having a job or permanent home, he seemed to live very comfortably. His philosophy, he told me that first night, was simply ‘Ask, and the universe will provide’.

We spent our time musing, eating at friends’ houses, swimming, painting, or drawing, and gardening.The town was surrounded by small farms and large wineries, which meant you could cycle out to get cellar door specials and pick your own strawberries in ice-cream buckets. The days drifted by.

Our relationship was relaxed and companionable, rather than passionate. I wasn’t in love, and didn’t expect to be. Nevertheless, after a month or so, when his house-sitting spell finished, I suggested he move in with me.We already spent most of our time together, so it wasn’t a big change for us.

My parents, on the other hand, weren’t quite prepared for it.

They had been in Adelaide visiting family, and had decided to come down to see me, and meet Mike. As soon as they arrived, hot and flustered after an hour and a half in the car, he offered them a cup of tea. And then he took them on a tour of the small house. As they owned it, this initially seemed an odd thing to do but his point quickly became clear. He wanted to show them that we had pulled the two single beds together; he wanted to show them our sleeping arrangements.

I was only slightly less embarrassed by this behaviour than my parents, who left soon afterwards.

As soon as we’d waved them goodbye,I turned on him.‘What was that all about?’

He was calm, even patronising. ‘I wanted to show them that you weren’t their child anymore.That you’re an adult and have an adult relationship. I thought if they understood that, they might stop trying to interfere with your life.’

My mother still called regularly and asked about my weight, my skin, and what I was actually doing. But was that interfering? I wasn’t so sure.Wasn’t it just parental concern? Sure, I hated it—particularly as her questions focused on things that also worried me—but I didn’t think she was wrong to ask. I didn’t feel that my parents needed to be taught a lesson. And certainly not by Mike.

‘If I’m so grown up, then surely I should be dealing with my relationship with my parents—not you.’The incident made me not only angry but uneasy.

He sensed this. ‘I was just trying to help. I don’t like seeing you unhappy, and every time you put down the phone you are.’ He looked hurt.

I forgave him: he was only doing it because he cared.

The beach lifestyle meant I was relaxed and much happier than I’d been for a long time, but I was also bored.The writing wasn’t going well. I hadn’t got beyond chapter two in fact, and had to admit that it wasn’t bestseller material. Most bestsellers have more than ten double-spaced pages.

The solution seemed simple. I’d move to Melbourne and get a job. I didn’t want to go back to Adelaide, and I wasn’t ready for Sydney. When I went back there, I wanted to have achieved something positive. So far, all I’d managed to do was put on a stone, develop acne and bleach my hair blonde. So I chose Melbourne.

After eight hours on an interstate bus, I was in the city centre. It was cold, grey and very exciting. My older brother Archie and his fiancée let me stay with them, and, after two days of window-shopping, coffee sampling and half-hearted house hunting, I found a neat one-bedroom flat in Prahan.

I rang Mike and told him how it was clean and light and cheap. It was in a great area and,something I couldn’t ignore,it was on Victoria Street. He had to come over and see it.

Mike didn’t want to hear about Melbourne. He’d been visiting Katie, an ex-girlfriend, and had seen a ‘for lease’ sign in front of the house opposite hers.The house had a fabulous view of the sea, a big garden and was made of local sandstone.‘I’ve found a wonderful place here.’