Journey to the Centre of Myself

by Andie M. Long

  On the evening prior to admission, Mrs Dornan had left her home, stating she would stay with friends. Mr Dornan noted that she was talking in a rapid way and tried to get her to stay at home. However, his wife became agitated and left the house. He received a call from the police an hour later who told him they had found his wife wandering around the outside of the ante-natal unit where her daughter had been born. She was woozy and incoherent and admitted to having taken some tablets ‘to make her feel better.’

  Past Medical History:

  Daughter born Feb 2009 d. May 2009. Cause: Meningococcal Septicaemia.

  Nil else of note.

  Family History:

  No family history of depression. Mother and father well. Brother Steve lives nearby and is supportive.

  Social History:

  Lives with husband Adrian. Married for six years. No pets. Drinks rarely. Does not smoke. Has never used illicit drugs.

  Drug History:

  Paroxetine 20mg daily. Stopped during admission and switched to Fluoxetine 20mg daily.

  No known drug allergies.

  Summary of Admission:

  On admission, Mrs Dornan’s Seroxat was stopped, and she was switched to Risperidone 4mg o.d. Her symptoms slowly improved and Fluoxetine 20mg daily was added to assist with depressive symptoms. Mrs Dornan saw our Psychologist twice weekly as an in-patient (separate letter to follow).

  After six weeks it was agreed that Mrs Dornan had recovered sufficiently to be allowed home with the help of her husband. She was diagnosed as suffering from Puerperal Psychosis and advised that complete recovery could take between 6 to 12 months. She was strongly counselled that should she and her husband wish to try for another child in the future, they should get in touch with our service for pre-natal advice and care as the risk of a further episode would be high.

  She will be seen again in clinic in six weeks’ time.

  Kind regards

  G Talbot

  Dr G Talbot

  Consultant Physician

  ***

  I can’t believe he’s actually done it. For years I begged him to clear the room, but he said he couldn’t. It remained a shrine. I said I would redecorate it. That I couldn’t bear to see it. I came home one day to find a lock fixed to the door and a room I no longer had access to. We stopped talking about it, pretended it didn’t exist and yet it always did; a constant reminder of sadness, death, breakdown, and madness.

  Another thing not spoken about, hidden away literally. My house, along with my whole life, made smaller.

  Recovery took me months and even then I had lots of time when I was down. I lost confidence in going out anywhere, but slowly I made my way back to work. They held my job open for six months and then let me go back gradually. Adrian drove me there and back. He called me every lunchtime. I thought it was because he loved me so much, until I asked to go out with some colleagues and he said I wasn’t ready yet. Instead, he arranged ‘couple’ nights. We’d meet up with his friends. They looked at me with judgement and questions in their eyes. Adrian said I was being paranoid and the couple nights stopped. I stopped trying to do anything for myself and let Adrian run my life. So it was a shock the day I opened the loan letter and saw how much debt we were in. The day I realised Adrian hadn’t been coping either.

  He said his gambling had been an escape. That he’d had a few wins that made him feel great. He carried on but lost money. Then he put on higher amounts to try and cover his losses. Occasionally he won big. He put it back on, lost it again. He borrowed more money.

  We were a mess together. Now we couldn’t afford to go out, to take holidays. We stayed in our house together with its locked door and slowly died on the inside. Other than work, our main door could have been locked forever too.

  I find my handbag, take out my phone and dial his number.

  ‘Karen?’

  ‘Adrian, where are you?’

  ‘I’m at my mums, she’s not well.’

  ‘Nothing serious I hope?’

  ‘No, just a bad cold. She’ll be fine, I’m sure.’

  ‘Well, give her my love.’

  A pause. ‘Okay.’

  ‘Do you know when you’ll be back?’

  ‘Where are you calling from?’

  ‘I’m at home.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘I’ve seen the room.’

  Silence.

  ‘When you get back we need to talk.’

  ‘I’ll come back now,’ he says.

  I hang up.

  Slowly, I walk back into the spare room and look at the notice board, with its map of the world and I wonder what this all means. Adrian’s mum lives in Sheffield so he’ll be at least an hour, if not longer, depending on traffic. Then I wonder why he isn’t at work again. If his mother’s got a cold, surely that’s not a reason to skip work? Leave it, Karen, I think. It’s potentially none of your business. That’s when it really hits me. The next couple of hours could be the end of my marriage. I don’t have a clue how the day will pan out. I’m unemployed and soon I may not have a home either. In case I need to leave again, I pack a small overnight bag with just a change of underwear and some toiletries and stash it in the bottom of my wardrobe. Then I put my mobile phone on charge on my bedside table.

  There’s a pile of post that has been left for me on the dining room table. I work my way through it. Nothing but circulars. Invites for credit cards, or to Department stores, in the hope I’ll buy overpriced perfume gift sets just because it’s the festive season, and a few family Christmas cards that will stay in a pile on the top of the mantelpiece like they do every year.

  I take a deep breath. He should be back anytime soon. I hope he gives me no reason to leave tonight, but I walked out, I didn’t listen, was I even welcome to stay?

  Chapter 20

  Amber

  I wake the next morning and memories of the night before slowly come to me. I turn around to see Adrian partly sitting up in bed, staring at the wall ahead.

  I smile. ‘Morning.’

  ‘Oh, yeah, morning, Amber.’

  ‘What’s wrong?’ I sit up concerned.

  ‘I, oh God it’s such a mess.’ He puts his head in his hands.

  ‘Oh, my God, you still love her, don’t you?’ I wrap the duvet tight around me.

  ‘No, it’s not that, it’s… oh, I don’t know how to explain it. It’s the lies, so many lies.’

  ‘Well talk to me about it. I’m here, I’ll listen.’

  ‘No, no. I need time to think.’ He swings out of bed and gathers his clothes.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Amber, I need to go.’

  ‘What?’ I get out of bed, pushing my feet into my slippers and slip my robe on. ‘Please, can you stay a minute and tell me what’s going on?’

  ‘No, I can’t. Please, give me some time, okay? I’m going to work this out in my head and after I’ll come and talk to you, I promise.’

  ‘So will you be at the dinner tomorrow?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe not. Text me the address, okay?’

  I nod and he walks out of the room. A few minutes later I hear the front door close. The only reminder I have of him ever being here is the slight soreness between my legs. I should have stuck with the next step of Fumble, like Mirelle advised. Instead, I ended up fucked, in more ways than one. I’ll never learn.

  Mirelle is in mourning. She’s wearing a black sweater set, has her hair tied back and has no make-up on. Her head is bowed to demonstrate her suffering. Unfortunately for her, she looks like a hot sexy secretary, the stereotype you see in films. She just needs a nail file. Even without lipstick, her full lips pout in an ‘I give amazing head’ sort of way. Normal folk don’t stand a chance when there are people like her around, and the fact that I feel like a vampire victim, all bloodless and soulless doesn’t help.

  ‘Oh my God,’ says Jo. ‘It’s bloody Christmas and look at the two of you. You look like you found out Santa doesn’t exist.�
��

  Mirelle takes a bite out of a Twix and points the rest of it at me. ‘What’s happened to you? Husband getting girlfriend pregnant didn’t give you that face, so it must be a fucking death in the family.’

  ‘I don’t know what’s going on in all honesty,’ I say. ‘My mind can't take anything else. I keep being hit by the bowling ball; keep springing back up and then wham, smacked back down again. Strike!’

  I see the local paper on Jo’s desk and grab it.

  ‘Hey, that’s mine, get off—’

  ‘I was there.’

  ‘What?’ she says, ‘You saw it?’

  ‘No,’ I’m distracted as I read the headline. It was a random shooting. A disgruntled employee turned up to his place of work and shot an innocent man who was standing outside with his girlfriend.

  Jo and Mirelle are both looking at me concerned.

  ‘Do you need me to get Andi?’ asks Jo. ‘Do you need to go home?’

  ‘No, no.’ I shake my head. ‘It had already happened when we got near. We had to crouch behind a car. It was really scary, like I just can’t describe it in words sort of scary. It’s freaking me out because I kept thinking how you can never know what will happen in life.’ I carry on rambling. ‘Like a month ago I was married, and yes he was annoying me and I don’t know if we’d have stayed married anyway, but he’s all let’s have a baby and I decide to go for it, and then I find out he’s having one with someone else. Next I’m alone, but I’ve met this hottie and we,’ I nod at Mirelle, ‘make up this crazy competition which seems like fun, but it’s really awful. We’re playing with people’s relationships when our own are fucked up and we’re hurting people—and ourselves—and then I think life’s too short because this person got shot and so I sleep with my married man, but he’s not married, he’s separated and that’s great and I think things are turning around and then I wake up and he says he can’t explain but he has to leave, and he walks out. That’s two men who’ve walked out on me in the same house in one month and that’s so evil and fucked up and I don’t know what I did to deserve that, because I can be stupid and silly and immature at times, but I’m a nice person, and yet no-one loves me, or wants to be with me. I guess I was a serial killer in a previous life.’ I run out of breath and stand panting.

  Mirelle walks up and puts her arm around me. ‘Ssh, you crazy cow. I love you. Not in that way because even if I was that way, you would be punching above your weight, but in a best mates way, I love you, you daft bat.’

  I grab a tissue from the desk and dab my eyes.

  Mirelle sighs. ‘You’re right. The game was lame and a stupid idea. I only started it because I wanted to feel less shame about my own affair. I’m sorry it turned out so bad for you. Men are bastards.’

  ‘No, they’re not,’ Jo says. ‘No more than we are. Some are, but not all, and that’s what you two need to do. Find the ones who are worth sticking around for. I suggest first, though, you both get a bloody smile on your faces and be ready to dance your arses off at my party tomorrow night.’

  ‘You can’t expect Amber to come to the party when she was almost shot.’

  ‘Yes I can, and you too, no getting out of it. It’s Christmas, it’s been a shitty year, and it’s time for some Christmas cheer. If you aren’t at mine for seven-thirty, I will order a cab and come and get you myself, is that clear?’

  ‘Oh-kay,’ says Mirelle, looking at me with wide eyes. Her face looks funny, all ugly and un-Mirelle like and I start to laugh.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Your face.’

  ‘What about my face?’ she dives in her bag for a mirror while feeling at her face with her fingers.

  ‘It just looked, well, goofy.’

  ‘Oh is that all? Well if it makes you laugh.’

  She proceeds to pull some of the stupidest faces I’ve ever seen until I’m laughing so hard tears are rolling down my face. I don’t even think it’s all that funny, but it’s the kind of laugh you can’t help, that verging on hysteria sort of thing.

  Jo looks at us like a Zookeeper inspecting her animals. ‘Well, that’s more in character for you two,’ she says. ‘For a moment there I thought you’d both been abducted by an alien life force.’

  ‘So shall I come round to yours or meet you at Jo’s?’ asks Mirelle.

  ‘Why don’t you come round to mine and stay over? Practice for Christmas and we can make sure the other one actually turns up.’

  ‘Only if you change the sheets.’

  ‘Eww. I will do, and anyway, you’ll be in the spare room.’

  ‘Aww. I get all chatty when I’m drunk and like to sit and eat snacks slumber party style and gossip.’

  ‘Oh, Good Lord, I’ll make up both then you can choose later.’

  ‘Yay,’ she says, flicking her hair and I realise I’ve been manipulated— Mirelle style.

  ‘I might un-invite you for Christmas.’

  ‘No you won’t,’ she says.

  Jo gets her coat at four pm.

  ‘I’ve taken tomorrow off to prepare for the party.’ She tells us. ‘You two had better show up.’

  ‘We will. Go, shoo,’ says Mirelle.

  ‘Do you think you two can be trusted to do some work for an hour, on your own?’

  ‘Don’t be so silly,’ says Mirelle. ‘Of course we aren’t going to work when you’ve gone. We’re going to stuff our face with chocolate.’

  ‘Just try to hold off from photocopying your backsides.’

  ‘Ooh, there’s an idea. What do ya reckon Amber?’

  Jo huffs and goes out of the door.

  Mirelle moves to the side of her computer so she can see me more clearly. ‘So no contact from Adrian then? No text?’

  ‘Nope, and I don’t expect any to be honest. He got what he wanted—a shag. Then he went running.’

  ‘Well, it could be worse.’

  ‘Oh yeah,’

  ‘Yeah, we could not have Jo’s party to go to, now how depressing would that be?’

  We snort and Mirelle opens the drawer and takes out a box of Heroes.

  ‘Chocolate?’

  ‘Only one?’ I ask.

  ‘Shall I split the box and leave Jo the spares?’

  ‘Erm.’

  ‘Nah, she’s not back til after Christmas, let’s eat the lot.’ Mirelle empties the chocolates across her desk and splits them.

  ‘She’ll kill us.’

  ‘Nah, she always comes back on a bloody diet.’

  ‘What shall we do until five?’

  ‘Let’s change Jo’s computer passwords and photocopy our bottoms.’

  ‘Be serious.’

  ‘Okay, there’s a pile of filing needs doing.’

  I grin. ‘What’s Jo’s password again?’

  Chapter 21

  Karen

  I am conscious not to sit at the dining table. Not to repeat the scene from ten days ago when I made my speech and left.

  Instead, I sit on the sofa in the living room. I put the TV on though I can’t concentrate. I want it to look like normal life is taking place.

  He enters the house and I hear his keys hit the dining room table on his way in; the routine we have for the evening. As he’s locked the door and moved the keys, I can’t make a dash for it.

  He comes into the room, slowly. I’m appraised as if I’m a frightened kitten, poised to startle and retreat.

  ‘Let’s try to sit and talk,’ I say.

  The tension held in his face softens. ‘Okay.’ He takes a seat in the chair nearby and kicks off his shoes. ‘Do you mind if I make a drink?’

  ‘No, that’s fine. I’ll have a coffee.’

  ‘Okay.’ He nods his head several times, and then gets up to prepare the drinks.

  I sit, rubbing my fingers. Lost. Wasting minutes of time in confusion. I wonder where to start.

  He brings the drinks in and sets them down on the coasters on the coffee table. Takes his seat again.

  ‘How’s your mum?’

  He looks
at me, confused.

  ‘Is she better?’

  ‘Sorry. I didn’t imagine that would be the first thing you said. No. She’s not good. I probably need to go back later. I’ve called the doctor out again.’

  ‘Adrian, I’m sorry.’

  He rolls his eyes. ‘You never liked my mother anyway.’

  ‘I wouldn’t wish her ill.’

  There’s silence. Uncomfortable, perched at the edge of a cliff, do not push it, silence.

  ‘I went to see her.’

  He looks confused again. ‘Who?’

  ‘Gen.’

  He nods. ‘Did it help?’

  ‘Yes. It helped me a lot. I will go back when the weather’s nicer.’

  ‘It’s good you went.’

  ‘I looked at the inscription. I understand now, I guess, why you needed it. It said she was here, a permanent sign. Is that what it meant for you?’

  Adrian chews on his lips before he speaks. ‘I suppose so. It seemed right, necessary, part of the process. I agreed to her burial in the meadow, but she was more than a number, will always be more than a number.’

  ‘We could go there together in the summer, to visit her?’

  ‘That would be, well, not nice, but, I’d like that.’

  Again silence descends. It’s like a library, not a home.

  ‘The room took me by surprise,’ I say.

  ‘Well yes, that was the whole point, except it went wrong, didn’t it?’

  ‘You lied to cover it up and well…’

  ‘You couldn’t trust my lies. I get that. I do.’

  ‘So much of our marriage has been based on them, Adrian. I don’t know if there’s a way forward for us.’

  He takes a sip of his drink. His eyes have filled with tears.

  ‘It took me a long time, but I realised the room needed to go,’ he says.

  ‘I don’t ever want another baby.’

  His head lowers. ‘I get that now.’

  ‘It’s not that I don’t want children, Adrian. It kills me that there’ll be no child-like giggling, or watching our baby develop, learn to crawl, walk. But I could get ill again. A high probability they said. I can’t take that chance.’