Note: Wow, that was some crazy response on the last chapter and I cannot thank you enough. That really made me feel amazing! So for that, here is a nice long chapter and I'm so sorry if it drags but I'm still finding my feet writing for Reid but I think I'm getting better...am I? You tell me.
(Are you okay)
(I'm not crazy)
(That's not the question I asked)
(But that's what I heard)
The next day brought an uncharacteristically early Dr Wolff to Spencer's bedside. Before he had even had the time to do much other than struggle into blessed consciousness, take medication and eat his breakfast. The medication had to go, he knew, but he hadn't yet had a chance to work out which ones, or in what order. He needed to do this scientifically, one tablet at a time, work out the effect that each one had on him, so that he knew which ones he could stop taking.
Disposal was also going to be an issue. Flushing them down the toilet seemed to be obvious answer to it but were there cameras around? He was fairly sure there were cameras in his room, people watching him most of the time, although he hadn't yet managed to identify exactly where they were. Hidden from view most likely. For today however, he contented himself with palming two of the tablets, just to see if he could get away with it. Which he could. Hiding them in his cheek was also an option (slight distasteful albeit) but the way the nurses watched him to check that he swallowed made him think that trying to keep them in his cheek with his tongue would be detected.
An hour later he took out the tablets that he had palmed and hidden under his pillow and inspected them. He was starting to feel panicky, but both tablets looked the same. Small white ones. One must be the pericyazine that Charley had talked about, but what was the other? Until he worked out which was which, it was safer to take both, otherwise they might realise what he was doing. He just hoped the cameras wouldn't pick it up. He did a reverse palm technique to swallow them, wary of being seen with them openly.
Stupid really, he should have just palmed one. Tomorrow he would know much better. However, sadly, it was another day of potential freedom lost to failure.
Dr Wolff had a thick sheet of paper with her, which he put down on Spencer's table.
"Depression score," he said. "Well actually it's a manic-depression score. I thought we could see where you are on it later on. If you're feeling up to it that is."
Spencer shrugged hardly paying any attention, he really couldn't care less.
"Are you going to talk to me today? Hm?" Dr Wolff asked.
"Do I have much of a choice?" Spencer sighed.
"Not really I'm afraid, Dr Wolff admitted, she look a little sorry.
Spencer sighed, something he'd come accustom to doing so over the period of time he'd been locked up.
"Who was the woman who came in yesterday?" Spencer asked eventually."The one with lipstick?"
"Amanda Shaw?" so she did have a surname after all. "She's a clinical psychologist. What was your opinion of her."
"She treated me as though I was a child
Dr Wolff chuckled and shot a semi-smile towards the brunette
"You were still pretty out of it from the anesthetic. Perhaps it was a bad time for a visit to be honest. Though, maybe you were acting like a child and you don't remember."
Spencer bit back the retort about not remembering anything because of the constant wave of heavy dosage of medication. He sighed a little and looked over to Dr Wolff with dull eyes.
"Maybe so, but I'm not one, and I don't appreciate being treated like one. It's never really happened before so…" he trailed off.
Dr Wolff nodded, the more you know.
"Fair enough, I'll feed that back to her. She's not been with us for all that long; she's still finding her feet here, be nice too her. That and she doesn't really understand about your mental capabilities," Dr Wolff confirmed.
So she was new to everything. Interesting.
"Who is she?" Spencer asked. "Do I really have to see her?"
"I just told you, she's a clinical psychologist here. She's going to do some CBT work with you; that's
"Cognitive behavioral therapy. I know what it means," Spencer cut in. "You don't need to explain it to me."
"Of course. Well, she's going to to try and give you some strategies to attempt to prevent the depression from returning once you're well again.
Spencer made a motion, between a shrug and a frown. He didn't really want to have all of it spelled out to him in such a way that it made him feel incapacitated.
"There is very good evidence that it's better than medication for preventing recurring episodes," Dr Wolff continued. "And as you've already informed me that you don't want to be on medication for the rest of your life I was the one who made the suggestion that you work with her."
Spencer flashed Dr Wolff a face.
"Why?," Spencer snapped furiously.
"Because you're doing psychotherapy with me and that's different. Or rather you're meant to be doing psychotherapy with me. Currently you're just arguing with me and attempting to turn me into an information mule. Besides, it's healthier to work with several people. It gives you different perspectives to work with," Dr Wolff snapped back.
Spencer could feel anger bubbling inside him. His usually calm exterior was cracking away little by little, day by day. All the years of being able to hide small details about how he felt, all of it was going to waste and for what? Because a doctor made him feel...insecure and unsure.
"So you can all sit around a table and talk about me. Is that what you do? Once, twice a week maybe? What do you call them, case conferences, team meetings?" Spencer demanded.
"Team meetings twice a week. They are important. We also have brief handovers with the nursing staff every morning," Dr Wolff said, she looked and sounded as frustrated as Spencer felt.
"And what do you say about me in these team meetings? Anything I should know about?"
Dr Wolff sighed and shut the case file of Spencer's, she looked the brunette in the eye for a moment. No smiles, just looking. It was as though she was looking for something that was hidden in them. Maybe she was. People believed that the eyes were the windows to the soul, maybe Dr Dabria Wolff believe it too.
"What do you think that we say about you?" she asked calmly.
"That I'm difficult. That I refuse to talk. Am I right?" Spencer asked.
Dr Wolff stayed silent, dark eyes shifting to the left slightly.
"Am I right?" Spencer asked a little sadly this time.
Dr Wolff sighed and shook her head. Spencer frowned and looked back to the bedsheets.
"Why are you so bothered by what is said at meetings? By what anybody here thinks about you?" she asked. "After all, is it not in your best interest to not know what we are saying about you? We might say that you perhaps struggling to engage. No doubt, we might say that you were still experiencing significant depressive symptoms but it's interesting that you think that you come across as difficult. Is that something people have said about you before?"
Spencer shot her a glance.
"I don't remember," he admitted quietly.
He didn't think he'd ever been described as brilliant. Freaky, sure. Odd, once or twice. Discerning and confusing had been thrown around by several people. Never difficult though, it was a different story when he explained things in a little too much detail, because then he knew himself that it was simply his own mind that worked at a mile a second. Difficult was something that was escaping.
"Why is that? Do you think you're difficult?" Dr Wolff pressed.
"I think...I think it's because I won't live up to other people's expectations of me. Everybody expects so much of people," Spencer replied quietly.
Dr Wolff chuckled.
"Now you and I both know that isn't true. You've probably far exceed expectations. I don't know. However, you can't stop yourself thinking and that's partially the problem. That's also why you've needed such hefty doses of sedation before now. It's to stop your brain overworking itself," Dr Wolff admitted.
Overworking, an odd turn of phrase. Spencer had never considered it before, name because he never needed too.
'So what do I do then?" Spencer asked quietly.
"We'll talk, I and Amanda will help you get through this Spencer, it's all for the best," Dr Wolff said gently as she could.
Spencer was silent.
"Give yourself time to think about it," Dr Wolff said. "Try to remember. Anything at all. We'll talk about it again in a few days time. Because I don't believe that you're difficult. Because of your intelligence," she paused. "I think that you feel lost without the constant reminder that you're above other people in levels of intelligence. You're trying to conform to normality and I think we both know that you're unable to do that."
Frowning a little, Spencer looked over to Dr Wolff who was smiling a very small smile.
"So you don't think that I'm difficult?" Spencer asked timidly.
"The very fact that you're asking that makes it rather unlikely. The fact that you're cooperating with me right now, is proving something and I don't think you notice what it is yet," Dr Wolff said quietly and a little inwardly.
"What's that?" Spencer asked.
"It'll come you you. Look, Spencer, I'm certain that you're not entirely sure what the rules of normality are or how you're meant to conform to them. A lot of people don't. For a long time I didn't either," Dr Wolff paused and leaned forward in her chair. "It's a little too soon to start sticking labels on you Spencer, and I, personally, don't believe that labels are very helpful in any given situation. People are individuals, even the ones who try to deny it."
Spencer sighed, he still felt lost and confused.
"We still haven't agreed that I'm ill," Spencer said finally.
"Haven't we?" Dr Wolff said with a smirk. "We've agreed that without proper medication, without sufficient treatment, you experience anxiety, panic and depression. Now tell me; is that not mental illness?"
Spencer sighed deeply and looked to the wall, dark eyes closing for a little longer than a standard blink. It really couldn't be. It just couldn't.
"Yes, but...I never thought," Spencer said slowly, the words weren't coming to him
"You never thought that it would happen to you?" Dr Wolff finished. "Why, because you're smarter than most. Or is there some or undisclosed reason I should know about?" there was a brief pause filled by a sigh. "Even the greatest people, smartest people. World leaders even. They can all fall under. Stress just becomes a little too much."
"But not to me," Spencer snapped. "I know...I know how to deal with it."
Dr Wolff sighed.
"Even you Spencer. You really need to accept that now," Dr Wolff said almost mutely. "Your symptoms on admission were not consistent with a drug psychosis, and after all had it had been drugs, the symptoms would have more than likely worn off at least by now."
"But I'm still being given drugs," Spencer snapped, the confusion returning.
"Yes, but drugs out of the same packets as all the other inpatients in this institution," Dr Wolff snapped back. Probably unintentionally. "Their symptoms could be all be linked to drug intoxication too. It's a possibility. Look, Spencer, all of them came in here with symptoms which are all responding to the drugs exactly as we predicted. The drugs are making them better, the drugs are making you better. No-one is making you ill deliberately. This is not rational, this is paranoia.'
Spencer considered. The same medication as all the others. Interesting. Could his medication be switched before it was brought to his room? He didn't want to ask, but he needed the information.
"It's all the same medication," Dr Wolff was saying patiently. How did he know what he was thinking? 'There is no way that anyone could switch it before it gets to you. The nurses looking after you take your drug chart, go to the cupboard, get the tablets out of the pots, put them in the medication pot and bring them in to you. The nurses that you know and are starting to trust. Charley and the night staff. Do you honestly believe every single one of them are on this? Because that's the only way that you could be being drugged. Through them."
Spencer shook his head.
'You've been here over a month Spencer, now is the time to start accepting your situation. Nothing is going to change that but yourself," Dr Wolff sighed. "You really don't want to be stuck here forever."
Spencer sighed, the same words 'you need to get better', 'you're ill', 'you need help' it was all the same to brunette. No matter who the person was, their words were meaningless to him. Falling on deaf ears, ones that were not wanting to accept the situation that was so out of his control that it terrified him.
"I'm a psychiatrist Spencer, remember. Your thought processes, that you aren't ill. That somebody has drugged you. They aren't rational. Nobody has poisoned or had you drugged into this state," Dr Wolff paused as for dramatic effect. "I've told you. It's simply not possible to cause your symptoms with the aid of drugs. The sooner that you accept that, the sooner that you can start to get better."
"And if I don't you'll put me back on that medication?" Spencer asked sullenly.
Dr Wolff sighed and shook her head
"Not if you don't need it. If you need more however, I would rather prefer it to be your choice rather than somebody elses. However, medication and therapy is a better choice as of the current situation. The medication was get you to a point where you could take other medication and engage with the therapy," she ended the sentence with a semi-smile.
"Am I engaging now?" Spencer asked timidly.
"Yes, you are," Dr Wolff replied. "Surprisingly well. It really helps that you want to know, that you naturally examine the evidence for and against theories, that is what therapy is all about."
Spencer paused and considered an idea for a moment.
"Can...can I have a pen and some paper?" Spencer asked before his confidence failed him. "So that I can write things down as when and if I remember them?"
"Can you be trusted with them?" Dr Wolff asked.
Spencer gawked at her confusedly.
"What do you expect me to do with them. Shove the pen up my nose and bang my head on the bedside table to attempt to self-lobotomise myself?" Spencer snapped at the stupidity of the question. "I would never do that."
Dr Wolff half laughed.
"Then yes, you may have a pencil and some paper."
"And some books?" Spencer asked, trying his luck.
"If you want. There are some in the library but it's not a very good selection. Anything particular you want?" Dr Wolff asked.
"Greek, I like Greek Mythology," Spencer replied quietly, inwardly happy.
"I'll take a look and see what I can do," Dr Wolff replied.
"Thank you," it was barely above a whisper.
A small smile crept along the doctors lips before clearing her throat and continuing with her professional motif.
"Do you want to look at this depression score today with me, or shall I leave it with you for another time?" Dr Wolff asked.
"What is it?" Spencer asked doubtfully looking at the paper.
"It's a way of quantifying depressive and manic symptoms. It is basically just a series of statements. You need to tick the ones that you feel apply mostly to you."
Spencer took the proffered sheaf of papers and looked at the list. It made uncomfortable reading and made Spencer's stomach drop to a new low in the hospital
"I thought you didn't believe in labelling people?" Spencer snapped defensively looking up from the paper.
"I don't," Dr Wolff replied. "But this is a useful way of assessing progress.'
"And of working out if I'm bipolar," Spencer muttered, Dr Wolff either didn't hear or ignored the brunette so Spencer continued looking at a few more of the statements. "I can't. I really can't, not today."
"Why're you finding this all so upsetting? Hm?" Dr Wolff asked.
'I..I have no idea," Spencer replied a little bewildered. "I suppose it's because...I don't like seeing my feelings being written down in black and white on paper."
"Perhaps that's because it proves that you really are ill?" Dr Wolff finished.
Spencer sighed.
"Possibly," he murmured quietly.
He could feel it, rising up from inside him. Deep the pit of his stomach. Black, writhing, consuming him with endless misery. Panic and fear in close pursuit behind it. He closed his eyes and tried to calm his breathing which had suddenly jerked into hard and uneven. A hand on his shoulder, reassuring, comforting did nothing for him and so he kept his eyes closed.
'You've done well today Spencer. I'll get Charley to bring you some medication to help you right now. We'll continue this tomorrow. Amanda Shaw is coming to see you this afternoon but please, do not shut her out. She means well."
Buzz, click went the door as Charley came into the room. How had Dr Wolff summoned her? The call button? He hadn't even heard it go, or perhaps had she been listening the whole
time to the conversation. Were there listening devices as well as cameras? He opened his eyes to check the footsteps were hers. Dr Wolff was still sitting by his bedside and Charley was on the other side with the little paper pot of medication. Two oblong blue pills (Lorazepam she had told him yesterday) Spencer liked them. They helped. He swallowed them quickly, almost gratefully and lay back down, waiting for them to kick in. Dr Wolff was saying something to him, but he couldn't register it. Not that he cared either. There was just the cloudiness, thick, black and, somewhat welcoming, dragging him down deep and threatening to close over his head. Then the blessed release of sleep came.
(You say this is working)
(It is and you're doing really well)
(I'm not, you just want to label me)
(We really don't, you're making up facts again)
