I looked at the new blonde in our group. She is beautiful in an unconventional way. Despite the fact that she looking sedated but self assured beneath it. She looked strong and smart, to the extent you can when smashed on doctor administered benzos.
We had to rate our mood, anxiety and motivation on the board. The regular Turqiouse therapist was away on a family therapy course and some eager young pup was filling in. She was really annoying. She loved the whiteboard and drawing circles of emotion and logic and colouring in the bit that overlapped, calling it The Wise Mind. Its was just all so f*cking textbook vanilla bullsh*t, a boring self indulgent therapist-glee waste of my time. She had also reread her textbook on active listening and repeated everything anyone said back to them in her own works to show she understood. Annoying much!!
I gauged a look of disdain, boredom and amusement from the blonde through her glazed eyes and crooked smile. I had an inkling that we would get along.
I rated my mood, anxiety and motivation on the whiteboard as requested. "Motivation? Motivation to do what? To eat lunch? To stay awake in this session? To get clean? To participate in this program? That is like saying "rate your satisfaction. Or rate your level of love. Of what?? Your question makes no sense. It is a stupid question."
"Well, I guess, you motivation for whatever you are motivated to do"
"That is a stupid answer. Don't put questions on whiteboards that don't make sense" I said irritably. "But whatever. i am motivated to participate in this session and drink this entire pot of chamomile tea before me. And knit 5 rows. So I shall rate my motivation HIGH".
"So Kim Novak is it?" said the eager young pup to the blonde.
"'Yes."
"You have rated you anxiety high and your mood high and put motivation at medium. What is going on there for you?"
"Look, Im not really feeling much right now, No offence to anyone here but I am f*cking devastated that Im here. I never thought I'd wind up here. In rehab. My sister was a junkie for 6 years and I took care of her and suddenly Im in a drug and alcohol hospital. 'Hey mum and dad! One daughter is dead and now the other is in rehab. Woohoo, well done! Bet you feel great!" but Im so doped up on meds while Im detoxing that my mood is pretty good. So thats's what that is all about. And yeah, motivation for what, the question makes no sense. Sorry."
"So what Im hearing is that you are upset about being here and concerned about being in rehab and for your parents feelings, but you are also feeling ok because you are medicated."
"Yeah. Thats what I said."
The blonde chick looked at the pup for a minute, shook her head slightly and we both stifled a rude laugh. It turned out that her big sister's addiction had gotten worse and worse and after 6 years of my new friend looking after her and the train-wreck culminated in a dark and ugly chain of events. They were no one's business. Kim Novak had taken up drinking shortly there after. She was taken out of active duties and put in an office with nothing to do to cope with the grief. But boredom, addiction and grief were an illformed recipe and something had to give. "'Find something to do!' my manager said. 'Fine, I'll find something to do. I'll go any buy a bottle of wine and drink it and come back to work.' They couldn't have me out there, like, dealing with people."
We talked outside the room. She told me a bit about her drinking. "You're so lucky your boy has stuck by you!" I said. "Is that part of why you came here, him wanting you to stop drinking?"
"It wasn't even the drinking, it was more the PTSD and what it brought out in me when I drank. When I drank I was full of all the rage and fear and madness of PTSD and the murder, and just a terrible person. We would fight, I would yell and scream and all of my suppressed hurt and rage would come out. I had screaming nightmares which he would wake me from each night. I drank in the hope that i would be safe from REM and the nightmares maybe. I drank because everyone around me did and when they were done I drank some more. I drank and I felt my sister's murder and everyone around me knew and no one talked about it."
"Really brave of you to come to group today detoxing." I said. "The detox here is ok. They take it reeeeeealy slowly. Your story, I relate to parts of it. I didn't lose a sister like that though. Did your colleagues know? When you were taken off active duties and put in an office? What do you do?"
"Im a detective. There were pictures of her all over a wall in a room at the office. Everyone knew. They had a think about it, decided I shouldn't be dealing with the public and took my gun from me pretty quickly."
"Wow. That's intense."
"Yeah."
Somehow she was still funny doped up to the eyeballs in this terrible place and we had the same sense of humour in group. No one ever wants to wind up in a place like that.
I had brain scans and the results came back that morning. There were really weird. Not good. Two psychiatrists came with an official report from the neuro guy. They wanted to meet at 7am. Both of them sitting in chairs in my bed room, me on the end of my bed in a silky black slip. Dr Assumption handed me the one page report with several worlds emboldened. "So Caitlin it says 'Severe.' 'Unexplained' 'Inconsistent'' and 'irreversible''- Just for you to have a quick look at" . He tried to add some bulk, context and weight to the vague layman's attempt at the information they had just given me.
"I'll be taking that back." he said calmly. "Don't want you to go googling and catastrophise it."
"What does this mean??" I said.
"We don't know. But its good that we had the scans done. There is something going on there. Its more than just the drinking and drugging. We need you to see the neurologist. He's good, he has 20 years experience. He will need to do some tests, active and relaxed mode."
"What?? But I'm fine! I'm functioning fine!!! I know I've done some damage, my memory is shot, but I'm fine."
"Yes but this suggests something else is going on. Honestly, it is very unusual. We were both shocked." He looks at doctor Larissa. She nods and looks back at me. They look at me expecting a reaction. I have no idea what to think.
"Ok. Well, thanks I guess." I sit there limply, trying to percolate what I am being told.
"Look, its a lot to take in. We don't really understand ourselves, Its not our field. Thats's why you need to see the neurologist."
Dr Larissa returns an hour later to see if 'the news' has sunk in. What news?? I still don't understand what they are telling me.
I was seriously upset but not sure how or in what way. Scared and confused I guess. Angry maybe. I sat in group, clicking away with knitting needles. A rainbow glitter scarf, different shades of pinks and purples, different wools, fabrics, some with feathers, some twisted tangled colours, inconsistent, sparkly. It wasn't perfect or beautiful but I already loved it.
"What are you making?" asked my tattooed muscle bag scottish friend. He had been clean for 2 years, 2 months out of jail and stayed clean the whole time. His parents and doctor thought a few weeks as an outpatient at Miss Havisham's house might do him good. I trusted him. He didn't say a lot, so when he spoke, I always answered.
"The world's ugliest and most technically deficient scarf."
"It looks like its getting wider as you go" said Loraine curiously, mid forties, funny, the kind of woman who knew how to do this stuff properly. "Are you calibrating your stitches as you go?"
"Um, no, I don't even know what that means. I'm the Bad Girl of Knitting. I noticed it getting wider. I thought id just drop a stitch here and there and that would make is, like, smaller."
"Yes but it will be full of holes!"
"Um, yeah, well, I have accepted that it will be a somewhat unique one-off piece. Oh yeah, and I got results of brain scans back this morning and.." I sort of needed to talk. "Apparently I am brain damaged and maybe retarded! I don't see how this sh*t matters. I'm smart. I seem fine. You don't have to be smart to be a lawyer anyway. It would probably help if you weren't. So I don't know what the f*ck any of this means. Is it a big deal if I buy the wrong brand of nutella and mess up the laundry or some sh*t?"
"Nah, but it might explain your sh*thouse knitting!" said Kim Novak and we both cracked up.
Outside of group I kept to myself. As a general rule I liked to eat my 2 salads a day alone, outside in the gardens with a newspaper or in my room if possible at night and keep to myself. Humane though I might like to think I am, experience had taught me that if someone was crying, whilst on the outside you would make them a cup of tea and ask 'are you ok?' in that place, it was not a good idea. I didn't want to get sucked into anyone else's stuff. One night I made the person-crying-a-cup-of-tea mistake and was sucked in to 25 minutes of garbled nonsense about MS and body escape and texts from a cruel boyfriend and inability to sing opera and IT skills and bipolar and w hole bunch of other sh*t I really didn't not need to hear about. The woman was planning to cry all night anyway, whether i was there with a cup of tea or not.
A few days after she arrived though, Kim Novak's eyes had cleared and she was eating lunch. "Want some company?"
"Yeah, sit down" She smiled her strange smile, which I liked because it was an honest, wry and slightly jaded smile but not guarded.
We ate together. I had talked about 12 step meetings in group. She asked about coming to a meeting sometime. "Just to check out what its all about. I don't now, maybe Im f*cking kidding myself, maybe I am an alcoholic. Maybe I can't drink anymore."
"Maybe. Or maybe just for today". I smiled. We talked about life on the outside, outside of Mrs Havisham's house and meeting up to do something normal. " What do normal people do??" she said "Everyone I know just goes to the pub or hangs out at each other's houses having bbqs and drinking and doing sunday sessions."
"Heaps of stuff!!" I said. "Well, actually all the stuff I do involves drinking too. Exhibition launches and networking events and balls and cocktail parties and conferences and theatre and eating out and festivals. But there must be heaps of stuff. I will figure it out and we will do some of it!" She smiled her strange smile again. It was a smile that made all the absurdities of the world seem normal.
"It would be good to have a friend to do non drinking stuff with."
Loraine came and sat down, freaking out as she had discovered that we were separated by one degree of separation on the outside world. I had not yet made the connection but she wanted to assure anonymity. "Of course" I said. "It goes without saying. But I understand your concern."
"No one knows Im here except Mike! I would die if it got out."
"There is nothing to worry about."
We all talked for a bit like normal girls on the outside. Kim Novak said something about work.
"What do you do?" Loraine asked Kim Novak, and she replied. "Oh god that is too funny!" she said, shaking her head. "Nurse, lawyer, detective having a nice lunch in the rose garden. You'd think we'd all be normal. Or I mean you'd think we'd all be less normal. This place is full of normal people! I mean.. you know what I mean!" We were all sort of laughing at that point. I don't know why, it's not particularly funny, but it was one of those moments. The glimpses of reality, where the heavy stuff was suspended. There were more and more as the days went on, interloped with crashes I felt hopeful about my 9th life and grateful for the laughter, lightness and friendship in the clear light of day with beautiful magical women.
