“I did things,” I said, waving my arms hysterically in the air.
“What kinds of things?”
I leaned against the wall. “In the beginning I cried a lot. I knew I wasn’t supposed to. It was disrespectful after everything she did for me. I betrayed her time and time again.”
Dr. Marshall’s chair creaked as she sat back. “Everything she did for you?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. “You mean how she took you from your front yard? From a family who loved and adored you. A family who grieved the loss of you. Is that what you betrayed? Mia, don’t you see? You didn’t betray her; she betrayed you. She took you from everything you knew. Of course you cried. You were a scared little girl.”
I slid slowly down the wall as her words began to sink in. “But, she saved me,” I whispered. I pulled my knees up to my chest and slowly rocked back and forth.
Dr. Marshall stepped around her desk and sank down on the floor next to me. “Mia, what was she saving you from?”
I scooted away like an injured animal. I didn’t want her close to me. I didn’t want anyone close to me ever again.
Images of my time with Judy flooded my mind. Every scream, every beating, every swing of the leather strap. I felt my body wince in pain as if I were reliving years of punishments over and over again. “My sickness. I mean, I don’t know. I’m just so confused,” I said in a raw voice.
She shook her head, scooting close to me. “Mia, you weren’t sick. She didn’t save you. She was sick and she lied to you.”
I closed my eyes. No longer angry. No longer sad. I was empty. There was nothing left to give.
“I trusted her,” I said, trembling. My vision blurred from welled-up tears. Every emotion I had kept bottled inside began pouring out uncontrollably.
“I know you did. That’s what she wanted.”
Dr. Marshall pulled me tightly into her arms, allowing me to crumble into her embrace.
“I’m so sorry,” I cried, repeating the words several times.
“It’s all right, sweetie,” Dr. Marshall said as she rubbed my back gently. “Everything will be all right.”
* * *
My anger and sadness came and went in sporadic waves over the next few weeks as Dr. Marshall and I discussed my time with Judy in great detail.
“I’ve met with Judy,” Dr. Marshall told me during one of our sessions. “We sat for an extensive interview. Her own childhood was far from perfect. She was raised by an abusive father who believed in corporal punishment. She used that same type of punishment to control you and bend you to her will.”
I processed her words. Weighing them in my head.
“Did she ask about me? Is she even sorry?” I finally asked.
Dr. Marshall shook her head. “Unfortunately, remorse just isn’t in her genes. The only thing she regrets is losing you. You must understand—Judy doesn’t believe she did anything wrong. She is convinced to this day that kidnapping you was in your best interest.”
Her words made the air stick in my throat. “So she hates me,” I said knowingly, absently scratching at the skin on my wrist.
She reached for my hand to stop the clawing. “What Judy did is a learned behavior. Much like when you inflict pain on yourself. For so long pain has connected you to reality. These are learned patterns, but we can work on them together, with your family if you are open to it. None of us want to see you in pain anymore. You’ve had enough harm to last a lifetime.”
Although I understood Dr. Marshall’s intentions were only to help, at times I still found myself hating her for making me talk. For forcing me to see things I had been so blind to for so many years. She encouraged me to talk until I was sick of my own voice. All my secrets tumbled out as if an invisible gate had been lifted. Dr. Marshall’s probing, though painful, made me finally accept and blame who was truly responsible for everything.
34
IT TOOK a month until I was comfortable enough to see Mom and Jacob. Dr. Marshall had been nudging me in that direction, preaching that I needed to “trust” them again. That was her key word. Trust not only my family, but myself as well. Trust that I could handle my life outside the hospital.
“I’m so excited today is visiting day,” my new roommate, Trisha, said, bouncing on the edge of her bed.
I looked up from the book I was reading and shot her a look. When she was brought to my room five days ago she was lethargic and practically unresponsive. Her wrists were heavily bandaged and she had a vacant look in her eyes. Within two days of being on meds she was a completely different person. She was so damn chatty and happy that she seemed out of place here. At first I questioned if she even existed, wondering if my mind had once again conjured someone to distract me. Fortunately, Dr. Marshall verified her presence. During our numerous sessions at Brookville, Dr. Marshall and I talked about my time with Gunner at the hospital. It was under her orders that no one, including Mom and Jacob, intervene. She felt at the time that knowing the truth would be too traumatizing. Since my breakdown at school, I was now on a treatment plan to better cope with my stress.
Chatty Trisha was indeed real and evidently here to torment me. I’d say drive me crazy, but that ship had already sailed.
I set my book to the side and sat up on my bed. “I’m excited too,” I said, knowing she wouldn’t let it go unless I echoed her sentiments. I avoided looking at her wrists, which were still heavily bandaged. She had confided in me that she slit her wrists when the voices in her head wouldn’t shut up. She did it to silence them, but her younger sister found her before all the blood could leak from her body.