Chapter 7: Father Marco and Saint Craig
Ellie
Visiting day. I hate visiting day. You want to know why? Because for me, the visiting gets scratched out and only the day is left. So today is just "Day." It's no different than any other DAY for me. I have to sit in this room while all kinds of warm, loving people swarm around everyone else, leaving me out in the cold.
Emma's so lucky. She has everyone. She's got parents and friends; she shouldn't even be messed up. As far as everyone knew at school, she was perfect. I guess that's what caused her downfall; everyone pressuring her to be perfect when she really wasn't. But she has so many people. It makes me ache inside.
J.T has his grandma. I even envy him. I envy everyone around me, because they've got someone who cares and I don't.
I know what you're going to say. I have Marco. Yeah, right. My best friend who is gay. I mean, sure, he's there, but he's not my parents. And wouldn't Dr. Moon say he's part of the problem? He can't help his sexual orientation, but he did start the saga of "Ellie Nash Being Rejected by Guys, Part I."
And then Paige. Don't even get me started on Paige. Just because she helped me, what, two years ago, she thinks she's some angel and I'm the one she's meant to save. We're not even friends. She helped me that once; that's it.
Ashley is in England. She's probably emailed me tons, but I can't reply because there are no computers here. For we freaks, at least. I guess the doctors think I'd rip apart the PC and use the pointy little circuits to cut. I'm not that crazy.
We all know where this is going. I want parents. Yeah I know, I have some, but I want real parents. The kind who are around, the kind who don't get drunk, the kind who don't throw you into the coffee table. I want a sober mom who is there for me twenty-four seven and I want a normal, non-army dad who works in an office or something, and doesn't leave for long amounts of time risking his life. I don't want to have to hurt all the time because they're gone.
I want to feel better.
I know. Ellie Nash, wanting to recover. It's a shocker, I tell you. But I do. I've never wanted to cut myself, never wanted to die, but I had to because of what my parents put me through (or what I put myself through, but lets not get into details). There was nothing else I could do. It was the only way out. I've always wanted to get better, to be better. A better person. I just can't. Not until I get some support, encouragement. And I don't mean from any of my stupid friends.
I'm still stuck in "the tunnel," as J.T calls it. Stuck between suicide land and choices; getting better. I don't know which to choose. Relapse or recovery? Forward or back? Rewind or fast forward? Stop or play? Right now I'm on pause. I think. Whatever.
I snap the rubber band on my wrist rapidly. No one is coming. No one ever does. My mom checked me in and took a hike. Daddy called from Kabul when I was still in solitary confinement. He didn't say much. Being shot at does that to you.
Mom is probably too drunk to come. If she is drunk, I'm glad she isn't showing up. Marco will come (he always does), but he doesn't count. I know I'd almost like to talk to Craig; he's the easiest person to open up to since we went to Group together. But Manny hates me with an undying passion, whether I'm a suicide freak or not. She was probably happy when she found out about my little "episode."
Today means nothing to me. It's so boring, I might as well go hide in my room or the bathroom, give myself a little release. Make all the pain they give me inside appear on the outside too. I could, I should, I have before. I might as well. But I can't get away. I better stop thinking about it, or the need will become uncontrollable.
But what else is there to think about?
It's not like I've ever had much to occupy myself with. The only thing to think about is memories, and I don't want to go there. I've got no life. Everyone else in this stupid room has someone to talk to except me. Just goes to show how popular I am. How wonderful and loveable I am.
"Hey, Ellie."
I look up and see Craig Manning in the flesh. Surprising. What made Manny suddenly feel bad for me? Does she have amnesia? Wouldn't that be fun?
"She actually let you over here?"
"She told me to come over, actually. She said you could use a friend."
That's sad; he has to wait for Princess Manny's permission to come play nice with the psychos. Didn't know Craig was such a softie.
"Oh," I mumble and look away.
"So how've you been?"
"Sucky. This place is hell, Craig. Worse than hell."
"Emma said that too. Just not in so many words."
"Doesn't surprise me. She's not a princess anymore. Must take some getting used to," I say this with venom in my voice. No one can know I'm starting to get kind of used to Blondie.
"Jeez, El. Way to be harsh."
"I'm not being harsh. I just don't get her. I respect her and everything, but I don't get it."
"I don't think anyone really does…"
"Like you don't get me, right?"
"Of course I get you, El. I always have."
"No you don't, Craig. You never will."
"Aw, don't be like that Ellie. I--"
"No! Why don't you just leave me alone?! You know, its kind of asshole of you to lead me on and play nice, just to walk away again! 'Ooh, just kidding El!'"
"Why do you have to be such a… such a--" he's getting angry. I don't want him to be angry with me. I don't want to hurt him. Damn. If I make him angry at me, I'll feel like shit all over again. And then I'll need my crappy safety pin. Again.
"What? Such a crazy bitch? Sorry Craig, but I guess that's who I am now. A depressed, suicidal, crazy bitch."
We're silent after that, besides the snapping of my rubber band. It hangs between us like a thick, velvet curtain. Emma yells about something and people turn to look at her, but she's quiet again seeing her mistake. I smirk a little. Just like her, to slip up like that. Of course with the hunger mood swings, I guess she can't help it.
"I'm gonna play at the Northern Sound Showcase," Craig says, changing the subject. He's cooling off. I hope.
"That's great!" I reply, smiling a little. But not to much. Me, I don't smile. I don't really remember how, or why I ever would. It's a waste of time.
"Yeah. The whole band could of, but we… don't have a drummer anymore."
"You don't need a drummer, Craig," I probably can't ever pick up drumsticks again. I wouldn't know what to do. I feel like everything outside of this place would be too complicated. No matter how much I want to get out of here, the thought of actually going outside gives me chills, "Your drummer is a psycho with bleeding wrists."
"Ellie, don't say that," Craig tells me, and then stares, "Are you still cutting?"
"No."
The answer comes so quick, it's kind of obvious. Even I know that.
"I know when you're lying, El."
"No you don't, Craig. You don't know anything about me!"
Didn't we already establish this? Oh well. He's always been a little slow.
I try not to raise my voice. If I start yelling, the nurses will attack me. I might be given more dumb pills. They might lock me up. They've even sedated people before. I can't live like that. Hell, I can't even live now.
Craig just looks at me. I see in his eyes how sad I make him. How sad it is that he doesn't understand me anymore. He just can't. I know he wants to; I know he wants to help. Craig always wants to help me. He just manages to screw it up pretty awesomely. And now I see what it does to him, what I do to him.
I make him sad. I make a lot of people sad, I guess. But why does making him sad make me feel like I deserve to burn in hell? More than usual, anyway.
"I guess so. Not anymore. Bye, Ellie."
He walks away. Back to Princess Manny. Back to anorexic Emma. And who do I get? Marco Del Rossi. My best friend, and yet so annoying right now.
"Hey El," he says and hugs me. I don't hug back. He sits down in a squishy chair next to mine, "Sorry I'm late, but traffic, you know?"
"It's okay," I say and look down at the floor.
"Why was Craig over here?"
"Just talking."
"Do you think that's a good idea? With you being here, won't Craig just hurt you?"
"I don't know…" I say and bite my lip. Why does anyone talk to me? I'm sure Marco could find a way everyone hurts me, intentionally or not. Then again, I suppose I do that everyday, just to find yet another way to beat myself up, "I guess I'm okay…"
"Okay."
I sit in silence while Marco talks on and on about school and Dylan and Paige and Jimmy. I nod my head at appropriate times. Sometimes I even give a yes or no. He says Paige wants to visit, but wanted to make sure it was okay first. Jimmy too. I guess they all think that if I see them when I don't want to, I'll fly off the handle and try to die again.
They might be right, but I don't know. Have to experience it. Wouldn't that be fun? Anybody know how to kill yourself with a safety pin? No? Didn't think so… Maybe I could discover a way to kill yourself with a safety pin, a paper clip, a felt tip pen. I could sell the idea to millions of psychos looking to do themselves in without being noticed. I could get rich. Someone could use the money to buy me a fancy tombstone.
Jeez, when did I get so freaking morbid?
"They can come if they want to," I tell Marco. I almost want to ask him to check on my mom, to call or something, but I guess I could do that myself. I don't want to put him in that situation, either, "Just prepare them."
"Prepare them for what?"
"For me."
I know people need to be prepared. The look of surprise or anger or sadness I see on so many faces when they come here and look at their kid or their best friend. And then their face gets stuck like that the whole visit and it makes you feel like shit. Trust me, I know. Been there plenty of times.
"Okay."
"Ellie, Dr. Moon will see you now," A nurse says. I get up. Marco gets up too and hugs me again.
"Bye, El," he whispers, "See you next time."
"Bye," I say and give him a weak smile because I know I should. Then I'm herded to Dr. Moon's office. J.T just came out, and gives me a reassuring smile, but I can see in his eyes that his session didn't go well. No one's session ever seems to go well.
I walk into the room and the door is shut behind me. I sit in a cushiony leather chair, one I've sat in many times. I've counted all the lines on this room's wallpaper, memorized all the nicks in the paint on Dr. Moon's desk. I've stared at my boots for hours contrasting against the bright blue rug. It makes me sick. This place is a torture chamber.
"Hello Ellie," Dr. Moon says, smiling. I don't smile back, "Are you having a nice day?"
"I guess."
"Who came to visit you today?"
"My friend Marco. And my friend Craig came with his girlfriend, Manny, to visit Emma Nelson, so he talked to me for a little while."
"Is there a reason your mother isn't here?"
Yeah, she doesn't waste any time. Like I'll ever tell Dr. Moon anything. She asks almost every Visiting Day. My mom is drunk, of course. Or dead. Or she just forgot. Because she's drunk. Passed out. Throwing up. Could be anything. But none of this is going to come out of my mouth. No way.
"She probably just forgot," I say. It's possible. Not a lie, not the truth. Possible, but not definite. See how easy this stuff is?
"Ellie, Olivia gave me the poem that you wrote. I'd like to talk about it."
Olivia, the traitor. Why'd I even write that stupid poem? Damnit!
"The poem? It was nothing…"
"It was something, Ellie," she leans over her desk, picking the paper up, "A fine piece of work. There are many things it says to me. I'd like to know what it says to you."
I'm silent except for the snapping of my rubber band. Dr. Moon stares at me intently. The clock ticks in the background.
"Ellie? Is your mother not here because she is drunk?"
Don't say anything, Ellie. Don't give her satisfaction. Don't give her any ground! But don't I want this to get better? Didn't I just confess that? This could be my chance. It could be the push I need… to make myself try a little more.
"Maybe," I say quietly, and breathe deeply. Dr. Moon keeps staring at me, "Well… probably."
"How long has she been drinking, Ellie?"
Great, she wants more. I don't know if I can give it. But just saying those few words… it makes me feel better. Like I can actually do this… sort of.
"Since my dad went back to the Middle East… she always does when he leaves. The first time was when I was eight."
"Did your mother ever hit you?"
Did she? Well yes, but she didn't know what she was doing. She was drunk. I don't think she really meant it. Sometimes it's hard to understand if she really loves me or not. She doesn't act like it; only when she's faking. If she ever has loved me, I can't remember it. But deep down she's my mother. That's why I always feel like I have to take care of her. Even if my patience has grown thin a few times, and it will again, I can't really let go of her. She's my mom, even if she's the most rotten mom in the world.
"She didn't know what she was doing…" I say and bite my lip, "I don't think she meant it."
"She probably didn't. But it still hurt, right?"
I nod. How does Dr. Moon read my mind? It's kind of creepy…
"Okay. I think that's enough for today. This was very successful. I'm glad you talked to me. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"
I nod and start to leave. She loves the word "successful." And "progress." Ugh. Success my ass. Her "success" makes me feel like jumping off a bridge.
"Oh, and Ellie? Congratulations. You made Level Two."
I nod again and walk out the door. Level Two, wow. I'm just a regular goody goody, aren't I?
I feel better about talking to Dr. Moon about my mom. A little better. Not a whole bunch. I feel okay about it, but I still want my safety pin. I want blood and pain. I want tears.
That's why I go back to my room instead of telling J.T the good news. I don't think I could handle his smile right now. And I couldn't handle myself, wishing so hard that I could smile back.
