The Unbalancing Act (6 page)

I am starving and ready to eat a pregnant hippo, but I know I have to find Katelyn. I
’m thankful that I’m starting to come down from the brownies. I really actually like Katelyn and don’t want to piss her off. I don’t plan on being here long, but I’d like to be on good terms if possible. The other nurses are so stuffy and dull. There is one named Wanda who doesn’t smile and one named Gerri who has had so much plastic surgery I can’t tell if she smiles or not. There are others but I really don’t know any of them yet. I don’t look long and I spot Katelyn before I even get to the nurse’s station. She walks quickly over to me, pulls my arm, and jerks me into a room. It looks like an employee break room. There is a fridge, a table with folding chairs, and a schedule drawn up on a dry erase board. Luckily, there is no one else in here.

“I got you a private room,” she says to my complete surprise.

“You mean away from Bath Salts Mary?”

“What? Who is…? Oh. Whatever. Anyways, we have an open room and I saw your request. But after what I just saw I guess it’s safer for you to be in a single room. Many of our patients don’t want to be humped.”

“Oh, uh…sorry about that. We were just being stupid…and I…”

“Look, it’s fine. But try not to get me fired, okay? I need this job and you are my responsibility.” She stares at me and takes a deep breath. “Look okay, I just found out my boyfriend has been cheating on me and I need to get a place of my own. He’s blown every dime I had in savings and ran up my credit cards buying big screens and video games, a new computer, a tablet, a new phone, and even some new golf clubs. That loser doesn’t even golf. Now I’m flat broke. Hell, I’m worse than flat broke, I’m in debt. I’m staying in a hotel until I can get a place.”

And there it is…a smudge. Her make-up is real. Tears fill her eyes and before I know it, she’s hugging me. I’m not sure what to do, but I hug her back and she starts to sob. No wonder she looked like she was faking it here, this chick is a damned mess. She pulls me away and looks at me seriously.

“I need this job, so don’t get me fired. Just be good.”

“I’m so sorry!” I say honestly.

“Now get out of here and don’t tell anyone what I told you. Your new room is 109 and you can move when you are ready.” I look at her and she wipes all traces of her tears away, looking perfect once again.

I thank her and turn to open the door to leave.

“Wait Vada,” she says. “I hope you cleaned up your mess.”

Oh shit! I forgot to get rid of the brownies!

I am so hungry I could literally eat the silicon out of my boob. Is silicon toxic? Who knows...anyway they are both filled with it. I got a boob job after I quit nursing Jordan. I nursed all my kids for six months each and it was lovely, but when it was over I decided to shut down this baby bakery. I felt so bad about myself going from a C-cup to a DD-cup to a B-cup. Not to mention how sad my boobs were. My lady lumps looked depressed and really needed some perking up. Thanks to a little surgery and a lot of money, they are happy now. Happy and full and looking up at me like we are friends that had a falling out and now that we have made up, our relationship is stronger than ever. That is the one thing I have done for myself in six years that was totally selfish, but I am glad I did it and I’d do it again. Eric seems to enjoy the investment and I consider them to be a gift to both of us, so see, I guess it wasn’t totally selfish.

It is seven o’clock, dinner time, but I know I need to find the box of brownies. I have so much to do. I need to move out of my room, find pot brownies, eat dinner for the love of all that is glorious, and I know there was something else, but I can’t remember what. I decide that finding the brownies is probably most important, so I hit the trail and find the bench where we were sitting. No box, no trace, not even a crumb. Fantastic! Either there are some really high ducks flying around here or security found this and I will be arrested and have a mug shot. Maybe I can put my mug shot on Facebook! This is really great. Maybe I can FaceTime my kids’ teachers from my prison cell for conferences. Bloody hell!

I start walking back and tell myself not to freak out. No one will know it was mine—until security finds the tape of Sabrina bringing it in. Okay, this is crazy talk. I need to chill the hell out. There is nothing I can do about it now and I’ll just have to see if anything comes of it. I am going to really be crazy if I don’t quit this paranoia shit that is burning like a wildfire through my head.

I choose to have dinner in the commissary. They give you a choice here to eat in your room or you can join the land of the living and eat in the group. It’s considered a breakthrough if you eat with the crazies. Well, give me an award, because I can’t make the trip back to my room to wait for dinner to be delivered. I go and grab a tray and find a seat at a table with the most normal looking gals I can find, four of them. They are eating quietly. Dinner looks good actually. It is some sort of lemon chicken pasta with cream sauce and asparagus. I eat like a hog. I must look like a freak show eating like this. It’s one of those dinners you need real silverware for instead of this plastic crap, but clearly we can’t be trusted with real knives. I’m not a cutter, but I guarantee you there are plenty of chicks in here who have an extensive cutlery set at home and some beautiful scars to show for it. I fiddle with my luxurious plastic ware and shove my mouth full. I know I’ve got shit dripping from my mouth, but I just don’t care. When in Rome…I am slightly embarrassed but am still high enough to continue stuffing my face.

At least here I can eat with two hands. At home I usually have to eat while standing over the stove with Jordan on my hip. Typically, he is screaming as dinner time is the witching hour. He is always fussy around five thirty, which so conveniently coincides with the fact that Eric is usually late getting off work. By the time I get a handle on dinner, the other kids have raided the pantry for fruit snacks and crackers, and I let them because I am simply trying to get the fucking dinner made and placed on the fucking plates. By the time I have food actually on the fucking table and everyone in their fucking places, no one will fucking eat!  It’s at that point that I feel defeated and tell everyone they may leave the table and I start cleaning up. And I shit you not. I...shit...you...not...the second every dish is done, the second that every counter is wiped down, the floor is swept, and the mop is hung to dry...they are all hungry. No joke. And to put the cherry on top of this sweet deal, Eric will run for fast food because he doesn’t like leftovers, even if they were cooked that same night. Why do I even try? I guess because it’s the law that I must feed my kids. I am simply trying to be a law abiding citizen and no one appreciates it. So eating my dinner like a lion eats a zebra after a rigorous chase when I have the chance, is no skin off my back.

After I fill myself to a satisfactory level, I look up only to see Rita, the puke counselor staring at me from across the room. Her eyes look as if she is taking great pity on me. I can imagine she’s thinking I’m going to get a second tray and then pray to the porcelain gods. I try to avoid eye contact because I surely don’t want her to come and talk to me. I try and start a conversation with the girls at the table, but it seems they are in their own little worlds. I wonder if I am at a table full of schizophrenics and they all are hearing little voices in their heads. I try again anyway.

“I don’t know about you ladies, but I am full-ull.” I say, sounding kind of like a hillbilly.

Not a one of them says a word. Perhaps they are not schizophrenics. Perhaps I have found the table of mutes.

“Well, my name is Vada. How long have you all been here?” Why the hell do I sound like such a nerd?

The women at the table all stare blankly at each other and then they start laughing, but they won’t look at me. What the hell? What is this, like high school or something? I’m not crazy enough to be in their click? Screw them! They are still laughing. I had no idea there was like “cool” tables here in the nuthouse. I feel embarrassed and stupid and I’d like to kick all of their asses. I want to crawl into a hole. I’ve never been laughed out of a table before and these mentally ill women are laughing at me. I hurry and get up. They are still laughing. I can even hear one of them slapping the table, as I speed walk to the bathroom. I just want to get away. I go in and lock myself in a stall. Tears start falling down my face. What have I done? I miss my kids. I miss Eric. I want to go home. I decide that after I walk out of this stall, I will go and switch my stuff to the other room and get a good night’s sleep. I plan to call Eric in the morning and see what I can do to get out of here.

I regain my composure though my eyes are still red, and I open the stall door. BAM. It’s marga-fucking Rita, standing there, staring at me. I would almost it rather be the cops here to arrest me for possession. Could this get any worse?

“Dear, it takes time.” she says, and puts her hand on my shoulder. “We are all in this together. Don’t be too hard on yourself. I would like to know what you’re feeling.”

I look up in to her eyes through her red glasses. She is actually emotional about this. Here we stand outside the stalls with a lingering aroma of asparagus-scented urine, from what the girls have eaten all night, mixed with a hint of bathroom funk. This moment is awkward and I wish someone would walk in the door and save me. I feel like I want to break her glasses. Just take them off her stubby nose and crack them in two. That’s how I feel. However, I watch my mouth and play the game.

“Oh Rita, I just was so hungry.”

“I know sweetie, I know. So am I, shhh…shhh….so am I.”

And there it is…a hug. I just take it, whether I want it or not, like a new bride with a headache. It’s just something that must be done and we are now hugging are hearts out in the bathroom. She starts swaying me this way and that and I don’t know where to place my feet. I feel like I am at a junior high school dance. Do we circle while we sway?  I am so uncomfortable!

“I want you to tell your therapist about this tomorrow in your session, okay Vada? If you need me to be there with you, I will. I...”

“No!” I say way too quickly. I pull back. “It’s just that…I feel like this will be good for me to come clean on my own. I want to start taking accountability for my own actions. I need to do this to help me get better.” What the hell am I saying? “But I am extremely tired tonight and just want to get to my room, okay?”

“Alright dear, should we pray together?” She tries to grab my hand.

I fake cough and cover my mouth to avoid any more of this intimacy.

“Already did…right after I barfed. Prayed it all better and the Lord is happy that I’m done with the puking and I can now go back to my room and settle in. So thanks, but already talked to God and I’m pretty sure he forgave me for doing the technicolor yawn in there, so I’m gonna go now. Thanks Rita. Thanks a bunch. You are really good at this.”

Rita looks like I just grabbed her ass and she has no clue how to handle it. So I walk out the door and leave her there puzzled, figuring she may as well use the toilet while she’s in there. She’s probably got some hacking to do herself.

I know I have to go to my old room and
I hope that Bath Salts Mary is already asleep or out chewing curd somewhere because I don’t want to have a one-sided conversation about why I am leaving. I’m just going to get it over with. I walk in quietly and there she is. Oh God. Those eyes turn my way. “Hey Bath-I mean Mary, I don’t know if they told you yet, but I’ve been moved down the hall. Sure will miss having you as a roommate. I just need to get my things.”

Mary looks different for some reason. She has make-up on. Huh…who would have thought? She’s no Miss America but she cleans up at least decently. I’d say she’s at least about a two or a three. And I’ll be darned, but she’s got on lavender satin pajamas. Who the hell is she dressing up for? I keep grabbing things and throwing them into my duffle bag. I swipe my stuff from the bathroom, grab my boys’ drawings, and am ready to head out.

“Well, good luck to you Mary,” I say sweetly and smile. “I know we didn’t become the greatest of friends and I am sure we both have issues that—.”

“Not to be rude,” she interrupts, “but I’m expecting someone and if you could just stop talking and leave then I would like that.” Her blood shot eyes are piercing through my skin.

I stand frozen. Did she just talk, like in human words? Wait a minute. Did she just kick me out? Has she got a boyfriend coming in here? Oh…does she have a girlfriend coming in here? Well, I guess I should leave before she gets feisty. But that bitch has a lot of nerve and apparently needs to get her freak on. Gross. I just look away and walk out the door.

I head to room 109. Why does it have to be an odd number? It is eight thirty and I am tired and ready for my sleeping pill in my little white cup. I must say, however, that this room is ten times better. There is a queen size bed with a fluffy white comforter and two fluffy pillows. There is a private bathroom and a closet with low drawers, no hooks, probably so we can’t hang ourselves. There is even a little table with two fabric-covered arm chairs with floral patterns. They are a pretty sage green, cream, and pale yellow. It’s kind of bed and breakfast-ish, but I like it.

I get my jammies on, pink flannel pants and a wife-beater. It’s not quite as sexy as Bath Salts Mary’s seductive satin number, but the thought of what lies under that lavender fabric gives me a strep throat taste in my mouth. I start to feel a little better about my lame jammies. I don’t unpack, as I am still planning to call Eric in the morning to come get me. I do hang up the pictures my boys drew for me, because they make me happy. I then, lie in this deliciously comfortable bed and let out a sigh of relief. That is, until my door knocks and in walks Katelyn, perfect looking Katelyn.

“Hey there, just checking on your room. I have your therapy schedule for tomorrow and I brought your p.m. meds. How are you feeling?”

“Wait a minute, how are
you
feeling?” I ask.

“I shouldn’t have told you any of that. I apologize for having a moment earlier, but I needed to get it off my chest. I guess even the nurses here have meltdowns sometimes. I should be helping
you
get better so don’t even think another thought about me, okay?”

“Well okay, but you know there
are
ways to get back at this guy.”

“What do you…no…just forget it. I need to move on with my life. Plus, I have one more patient to see before the shift switch.”

“What, you’re leaving?”

“Vada, I’m the day nurse. You have a different nurse at night. Have you not even noticed?”

“I guess the sleeping pills must really work.”

“Okay, I’ll be back in the morning and I’m trying to get overtime, so I may be here more hours than I normally would. Good night…take those pills first before I go.”

“Hmm…a sleeping pill and a pooping pill I am guessing?”

“They give those to everyone. Most prescription meds clog your tank.” This strikes me as funny because I bet Katelyn doesn’t poop. Perfect people don’t poop, do they?

“Thanks Katelyn, and if you change your mind and want some help with this guy…you know where to find me. I’m really good at screwing people up. It’s always been one of my personal strengths.”

“Thanks Vada. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Katelyn walks out, shutting the door behind her. The door is big and creaky and kind of appropriate for a place like this. I can only imagine the different kinds of women who’ve been here before me, who have slept in this bed. There are so many reasons people are here and all of them seem somewhat normal to me. Aren’t we all a little OCD...a little anxious...a little depressed...a little manic...a little paranoid...a little addicted to something? Aren’t we all a little unbalanced?

My deep thoughts are interrupted by a knock on the door. For the love of Haley’s Comet, can’t a girl get some rest around here? I open it a crack and it’s that Jessalyn girl. It’s after nine. I forgot. I knew there was something I forgot; those brownies messed with my memory. I nervously open the door all the way to let her in. She is just a tiny little thing. She looks like a model with blonde waist-length hair that was left to air dry and magically looks like it’s made for the runway. Her skin is pale and her face is pretty, like in a natural way, not a false eyelash kind of way. She seems to be in her jammies too: striped boy shorts and a red lacey tank top that says Nighty Night. Well dammit! I’m back to feeling lame.

“You got my note right?” she asks. She is twirling a strand of blonde hair around her finger.

“Umm…yes. I’m sorry. It’s been a really busy day and I just forgot.”

“Whatever.” She looks off to the side as if deliberately trying not to make eye contact.

Awkward silence….ugh...I hate awkward silence.

“Did you need something?” I ask.

“I’m on to you.” she tells me.
Duh
? Like I didn’t read the note, but what the hell is she talking about? I don’t love this conversation we are having.

“Well…congratulations, I guess.” I just want to go to sleep and I can already feel the sleeping pill making my eyes all blinky.

“I know you’re not really bulimic. I’m calling your bullshit on that one. So what is it really? Are you a pathological liar? A sex addict? Do you hear voices? Oh…wait, I know. You have postpartum, severe postpartum! Am I right?” she is laughing, still twirling her hair.

I do not know what to tell her. Who the hell does this girl think she is? I don’t have to tell her a damn thing.

“Why do you care? Why are you making it your business?” I ask her.

“Because I don’t like to see people spit lies all over my group. A lot of us have
real
eating disorders. It’s not fun, okay? It sucks, and whatever it is you are trying to cover up as an eating disorder, well it’s not my problem and I don’t want people involved in our group who don’t belong.”

I point my finger at her like she’s going to get it. “Okay, little girl, you may not understand me and that’s fine, but you don’t know a thing about me so until you do, I suggest that you focus on yourself. I’ve got enough going on and really don’t need your shit, okay? I’ve got three kids at home and I don’t need another one here, so thank you very much. You can go now.”  Wow! I’m way more ballsy than I thought. Actually, I’m kind of a bitch. Who knew?

She looks at me like I’ve just slapped her. In my mind I’m all like, what now biotch! You best be headed back to your room! But the mother inside of me sees a little broken girl who just needs someone to be mad at. She lets go of her hair and looks down at the floor like she is about to cry.

I soften my voice and I feel like I’m dealing with one of my children. “Come here and sit down.” I walk over to the chairs and pat one with my hand. “Let’s try to start over, okay?”

I can’t believe it but she actually does. I really hope she doesn’t stay long because Mommy needs sleepy.

“Alright, I’m sorry if I was rude. It’s just been so hard being here,” she says. “I feel so exposed...and the things I have told these women here and the story you heard…about my grandfather…well…” she starts crying.

I hand her a box of tissues, “What?” I ask. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“But I
do
want to talk about it. I want someone to know! Nobody outside of this building knows! Everybody thinks, ‘Oh Jess just wants to be a model’ and ‘Jess is starving for attention.’ That’s what my family and friends think is wrong with me. They all think that I’m obsessed with my looks and the truth is I hate myself because when I look at my body it reminds me of what happened to it!”

This little lady is now crying and I find myself crying too. I did not sign up for this. I am not equipped to deal with this. I need to find a nurse. STAMP! or STAP! What the hell is the word they say when the medical people need something quick? I know it starts with an S! STAT! What am I supposed to do with this girl? Maybe I should just let her talk and not say anything. Maybe I should just run out of the room and hope she doesn’t follow me. But I think she came to me for a reason. There must be a reason. Words come out of my mouth, but I am totally winging this one.

“So, you are telling me that you never told anyone what your grandfather did to you? How old were you? When did it finally stop? Is he still alive?”

I ask so many questions and get so many answers. Jessalyn goes on to tell me the details of when she was six years old her grand-pig violated her for the first time. He lived in their house with her mother and drunken father. He told her that if she told anyone, that they wouldn’t believe her and that he’d hurt her even worse. How freaking scary would that be for a child? Her mother died of an intentional drug overdose in the middle of all of this, when she was only eight. Her father left after that, so she was left with this creep to raise her. Apparently, her aunt moved in to help, but supposedly never caught on to what was happening at night. How could she not know? This old prick sounds like a real winner. He tortured her with threats, and the abuse apparently went on for years until she got her period at the age of twelve. It seems that the pervert only preferred pre-pubescent children, because then it stopped.

“Everyone thinks he’s a hero,” she said. “He was in the military, a war hero. He is well-known around town and has always been active in the church. Still to this day, they all worship him. He’s almost ninety years old, but he’s as alive as ever. Every time I’ve been forced to see him, he gives me this look, this creepy look. It’s like he’s warning me...still to this day...not to tell.”

All I can do is hug her and tell her how sorry I am. She thanks me for being a good listener and I tell her that I am here for her if she needs anything at all, so to come see me anytime. She even promises not to rat me out at puke group. I think I’m going to like this girl. I just wish I could help her.

Before she walks out my door, she turns and looks at me with a smile and says, “Oh Vada, by the way…those brownies were awesome.”

Shocked, I say “
You
are the one that found those? What did you do with them?”

She says through her smile, “I saw your little blonde friend bring them in. Sorry Vada, but I kind of ate one. Even an anorexic chick like me can enjoy a pot brownie now and then…and didn’t you know? The anxiety girls had a little dessert before dinner tonight. I thought it would be good for them to have a laugh and chill out. I think it worked, don’t you?”

I look at her completely clueless.

“Couldn’t you tell? You sat at the same dinner table with them. They were so stoned. It was hilarious! Well, Good night...and thanks Vada.”

Well, lift up my hood and jiggle my parts…no wonder they were all laughing. What a day! I’m going straight to sleep and I am not letting myself think about anything. I will try
especially
hard not to think about what Bath Salts Mary is doing right now in my old room, but I’ll bet it’s sticky and naughty and has an odor.