Her (39 page)

“Hey there! Do you need something?”

“May I have a pencil and a sheet of paper, please?” I asked him.

Geoffrey handed over two sheets of paper and a pencil. I took it, thanked him, and went to the sitting area. Most of the other patients were watching television or talking. I sat down at a table that faced away from the television, and I put the sheet down. I held the pencil between my fingers and sat, frozen, with the tip of the pencil touching the paper.

I remembered when it used to be so easy. Every feeling I had was so easy to write down and pour out of me onto the paper. They went from just mere thoughts and feelings to words and creative expression. They traveled from my mind and heart to my fingertips, to the pen, into the ink, and out onto the paper. It was hard, sitting here at Bent Creek with the pencil and the paper. Mr. Sharp kept screaming in my mind. What if he really did leave me? What would I be? Who would I be without him?

I was writing instead of cutting--was I the one abandoning him? Writing used to be so easy. Easier than cutting, anyway. But here in Bent Creek, neither came to me easily. I felt abandoned, in a way. I stared down at the paper. What was I feeling?

CHAPTER 41

The next day, Dr. Pelchat called for me after lunch. When we arrived in one of the Group Therapy rooms, he didn’t waste any time.

There was a booklet on the table, and two No. 2 pencils. When he told me that I had sixty minutes to complete the test, I felt like I was back in public school. Dr. Pelchat looked down at his watch and nodded.

He said, “This is a yes-or-no choice test. You just have to answer as truthfully as possible. If you don’t understand a question or you cannot answer it, then skip over it. Some questions may not seem to apply to you. Everyone who takes this test has different experiences. Just answer as best you can. Responding openly and honestly to all of the questions is the only way that we can accurately assess whether or not there is something we can do to help you.  If you are not open and honest, the test measures will indicate that you are being defensive or suppressing information or simply lying to hide things you don’t want us to know. This response attitude then prevents an accurate assessment of your situation, and then we may have to do this all over again. So, remember to be honest. Go ahead and start when I walk out of the room. If you need me, I will be across the hall. Good luck.”

“Good luck” didn’t seem like the right thing for a doctor to say, but I nodded at him anyway.

When I heard the door shut behind me, I opened the test booklet and began. The first question was simple: Do you feel that you worry excessively about too many things? Yes or No.

Second question: Do you have a fear of losing control of yourself? Yes or No.

Do you feel afraid that you will be in a place or a situation from which you feel that you will not be able to escape? Yes or No.

Do you find it difficult to let go of the past? Yes or No.

Do you find yourself constantly having to answer to a higher authority due to your actions? Yes or No.

Suddenly I was taken back to an earlier time, when I had been called to the principal’s office at my last high school.

“This is the second time we have had to call you into our office,” the principal said.

Mrs. Dickinson was always so sincere, and she spoke in such a calm voice. This time she wasn’t so calm. She nervously stared down at the bloody kitchen knife that was sitting on her desk. She had it in a plastic bag, with paper towels wrapped around the blade. Mrs. Dickinson wasn’t talking to me. She was talking to my mother, who was sitting next to me while we sat, face to face, with Mrs. Dickinson.

I sat quietly as she told my mom about what had happened. She only told her side of the story, about the girl who had been in the bathroom while I had been slicing myself with the kitchen knife. I’d made a mess on the floor, and the girl had been scared, so she’d run to get the school nurse.

When the school nurse had seen me, I had already put the knife away, but I couldn’t hide the blood I’d spilled, or even the cuts on my arms. The nurse had pulled me into her office so that we could have a “nice talk” while she wrapped up my arms. Did she need to call the principal? Apparently she’d felt the need to after she’d found the bloody knife in my backpack. She hadn’t even asked me why I’d done it. She was so quick to tell on me.

So that’s how I wound up in Mrs. Dickinson’s office, with my arms wrapped up and my mom sitting next to me, ready to snap my neck because she’d had to be pulled out of work to come to my school.

“This is very serious,” Mrs. Dickinson continued. “Last time we caught her with razor blades in her locker. Now she has a real knife! Normally, in situations like this, we would have to call the police, and Kristen would be arrested for bringing a deadly weapon to school. From what I see, Kristen does not need to go to jail. I think she needs to see a psychiatrist.”

Mom sat up straight and jumped in, “No! Excuse me. I don’t think that you are certified to even make a suggestion like that. Is your degree in psychology?”

Mrs. Dickinson said, “No. but-”

“I didn’t think so,” Mom cut her off. “You can be assured that this will be handled. With our family’s break–up and the divorce, things have just been a little rough, and Kristen is dealing with it in her own way. It’s not necessarily the right way, but we are working on it.”

“Have you even noticed Kristen’s change?” Mrs. Dickinson ignored my mom. “The way her grades have been dropping? She pulled out of the Writing Club, which I thought was very important to her. She’s been absent eighteen days this semester. Did you even notice?”

Mom looked at me while rubbing her neck, the way she did when she was nervous but trying not to let it show. She put on her intimidating face and stared at Mrs. Dickinson.

“You know it’s hard on all of us right now. I will deal with her. This will not be a problem anymore. Believe that.”

She turned and looked at me. She kept her eyes on me.

“I hope not,” Mrs. Dickinson said. “Because next time this happens, not only am I going to have to get the police involved, but she will be kicked out.”

Mom brought me home right after the meeting with Mrs. Dickinson. It was a good thing Nick and Alison were both still in school. When we got back home, Mom did not hesitate when we got through the front door. She slammed the door shut, and before I could put my backpack down, she slapped me across my face. I looked up at her, hurt and shocked.

“I work two jobs,” she began, “to feed you and the twins. I put a roof over your heads. I clothe you. I am dealing with this, and trying to make it work for all of us, and this is the kind of mess that I have to deal with! All I ask of you is to help me out by trying to set an example for your brother and your sister. You don’t want to be the example from which they learn what
not
to do. Just do what we talked about. What about our new beginning, Kristen? You have to stop this. If you keep this up, they will call Child Protective Services, and they will take you, Nick, and Ally away. You don’t want that, do you?”

Anger seemed to be seeping out of her with each word she spoke. Afraid to say anything, I just looked at her. I did not react or answer her question. I just stayed silent and listened.

“I worry. I worry all the time. You don’t think I cry and I get depressed? Sometimes I just want to punch my fists into the wall and just go crazy, too! But I don’t, because I think about you and the twins, and I know that’s not what you need to see. I know that I need to keep it together for all of you. I can’t just act the way that I feel. You can’t act like this! Now I want you to stop. Stop right now!”

I let the tears fall as she scolded me. She was right. Somewhere I needed to feel that she was right and not just know it in my mind. I just couldn’t feel it. I thought about what Mrs. Dickinson had suggested, and I dared to bring it up.

“Mom,” I said, while wiping my eyes. “Maybe I need help. Maybe I should go see the doctor that the judge ordered you to take Nick to after Jack’s trial was over.”

Her shoulders tensed up, and she looked away from me. “What would you say to a doctor that you can’t say to me?”

I shrugged, afraid to answer. I tried anyway.

“I could talk about the things I saw. I could talk about Jack and what he did. I can’t keep letting it play in my mind. It’s like a movie that won’t stop playing. I can’t hit pause sometimes, Mom. I can’t make it go away. I feel so sick when I think about how I knew what was going on when Jack would take showers with Nick, and when he would hurt him so bad, and I knew what was going on, Mom! I knew! And I just want to die sometimes, because it happened, and I knew! And then when I saw Jack, and he had Nick in the-”
                           

She put her hands up and covered her ears. She shook her head with tears in her eyes. I looked at her, confused and hurting deep inside. I was crying so hard that my breathing became shallow and rough. The metal ball in my chest was turning at about a hundred miles an hour.

“Mom!” I cried. “Mom, please. Just let me talk to Nick’s doctor.  Maybe I can get help, too. Maybe I can stop-”             

Mom uncovered her ears and grabbed my shoulders. She shook me hard.

“No! No! No! You do
not
need a doctor. Don’t do this, Kristen. The only reason you want to see a doctor is because you want attention, just like Nick. Nick was the one who was hurt.  That’s why the judge said
he
should see a doctor. You are always so dramatic and seeking attention! That therapy is for your brother. Think of his future if he did not get that treatment. What do you think his life is going to be like? All you will do when you get in there is complain about the past, and nothing has really happened to you. You’re going to tell the doctor that you knew what was happening? Well, if you knew and you were so sure, why didn’t you help your brother? Why did you let it continue? Why didn’t you come to me? Tell me, Kristen. Why?”

The feeling of death seeped into my soul. I had never wanted to be dead as much as I did at that moment. She was right, I thought.  I should have said something. But I wasn’t sure until I’d finally seen Jack doing what he’d done to Nick. It wasn’t until that last day when I’d seen him, hovered over Nick and having sex with him, that I really knew for sure. Didn’t I try to tell her? Didn’t I show her the mess in the bathroom? Didn’t I try to call the police when he’d gone out of control on Nick? I had.

I realized why Mom did not want me to see the doctor. She was afraid for herself. I bit down on my lip so hard that I could taste blood. Mom took her hands off my shoulders, and she backed away from me, almost looking like she was drained of her energy. She placed her hand on her forehead, like she was checking to see if she had a fever.

She looked away from me and said, “If you need to talk to keep from doing that mess you’ve been doing, then come to
me.
Don’t go into the kitchen and touch my knives. And those knives and little swords that you like to collect are to stay in the boxes that you keep them in. Do you understand, Kristen?”

I didn’t answer because I was not all there. I was still in a daze from the realization that had come over me.

She yelled, “Do you understand me?”

I snapped out of the daze and looked at her with wet eyes. I nodded.

“Let me hear you say it.”

“Yes. I understand now,” I said.

She nodded and came over to me. She wrapped her arms around me to try to make me feel safe again. I tried not to let it affect me, but I needed her arms so badly. I closed my eyes and gave in. I allowed myself to believe that she was right. If I did go to the doctor, I would be calling attention to myself, and then I could get her in trouble. I didn’t want the people to come and take us away. I didn’t want to have to cut. At that moment, I told myself that I would try to stop.

“Mom,” I said.

She pulled away from me and looked into my eyes.

“If I get a job, could I check into doing home schooling?”

Mom thought for a moment. A smile appeared on her face. She said, “That doesn’t sound like a bad idea. Let me think about it some more. Meanwhile, you should look into finding an after-school job or a weekend job. I think that will help you. You won’t have time to sit and think about things that are supposed to be behind us.”

“And it could help, because then you won’t have to work two jobs,” I added.

She nodded and started to walk away. “Let me think about it,” she said.

Question number 59: Do you constantly find yourself feeling bad about yourself, and that you are a failure because you have let yourself or your family down? Yes or No.

Yes.

Final question: Do you have constant thoughts of death or being dead? Yes or No.

Yes.

CHAPTER 42