Chapter 14: I'm shrunk

"Hey, it's my last day," Mary L., no, now just Mary, told Hannah when group ended. They had ended up in the same intensive outpatient program (IOP), turns out Mary lived only fifteen minutes from Hannah. "They decided I have graduated to once a week therapy." She twirled her hair absently, now styled in small twists.

"Congrats," Hannah said, trying to to summon appropriate feelings and almost succeeding.

"You'll get there too," Mary assured her, sensing the mood of her friend by necessity and shared experience. "You'll see. It's shitty, but it's not forever. It's hardest waiting for the meds to really kick in, believe me. At least you didn't go manic on them. That happened to me. The bp meds are a whole different set." Hannah nodded though she didn't really understand.

"Any word from James?" Hannah asked changing the subject. James had gotten out two days before Hannah did so he should be home and back in the real world.

"No, I gave him my email but no word," Mary said. "I checked the obits online but nothing so I guess that's good. Unfortunately James Kim is a common name so it's impossible to find him." Hannah nodded.

"Hannah B.? Dr. Kaufman is ready for you," an aid said. Mary touched Hannah's shoulder briefly. They'd exchanged emails but Hannah was certain she'd never see Mary in the outside world. Despite the fact that Mary understood all Hannah had gone through, that Mary had been there too, it was too much to see her in a different context. Mary was her touchstone into the crazy world she'd entered, a painful reminder of that place and now this place. Hannah followed the aid into the room she was familiar with now. The doctors changed every week. Always the same questions. Didn't they take notes? Couldn't they just consult each other. Did she really need to be here?

"Hello Hannah, it's nice to meet you," Dr. Kaufman said. "I'm the doctor on today and next week so we'll be seeing each other. I'd like to get to know you today." She had small, round glasses she kept pushing up her nose and curly reddish hair that kept escaping from her bun. She looked like a little girl playing dress up as a psychiatrist.

"Hi," Hannah said.

"So let's just dive in. This is your first time taking medication for depression?" Hannah nodded. "And how is it going? Any side effects?" Hannah shook her head.

"How is your mood?"

What exactly did that mean? Hannah wondered. She had been asked that so many times and she still had no idea. What was the correct answer? Good? Bad? Up? Down? What did that mean when she felt nothing?

"Fine," Hannah answered.

"Hannah…"

"Neutral, I guess. I don't know."

"How is your energy level? Is it getting better?"

"I think so."

"How is your sleep? How many hours are you sleeping every night?"

"10 hours," Hannah replied. The pink pill wasn't as bad as it was before but she still struggled to wake up every day. She then spent the morning slow brained and groggy.

"Any thoughts of harming yourself or others?"

"No." That was mostly true. When she was on a bridge, all she could think about was jumping so she stopped walking across bridges if she had a choice, even if it meant the long way home. They had to cross a bridge to school if Clay walked her instead of driving. She made sure Clay was closer to the edge. She didn't know if he picked on that. She counted on how dense he could be more than ever though now he watched her like a hawk, they all did.

Only Tony, who found out when they needed an emergency person to 'watch her,' looked at her normally. Since then, he came by every few days after school or when their free periods lined up. He didn't treat her as if she was a princess in a glass tower like Clay did who always was afraid he'd say the wrong thing. Tony treated her as if she was normal Hannah and carried on his half of the conversation even if she couldn't respond.

"I'm sorry," she said once. "I'm so sorry."

"It's ok, you're doing great. You'll get it," he'd replied and proceeded to tell her about some changes he was making to his mustang.

"Are you still experiencing the, um, voices?" Dr. Kaufman inquired, looking at her notes to make sure she had read that right and breaking Hannah's reverie.

"No," Hannah replied, recalled back to the present.

"Good, maybe we can do a trial off the seroquel in a few months." Hannah nodded. "I understand this was likely not your first episode? That you've experienced depression before? When was your first episode?" Hannah really wished they'd consult each other. She'd answered this question so many times.

"I don't know," Hannah said, which was true.

"You don't remember the first time you felt down like this?" Hannah shook her head. "Have you tried to hurt yourself in the past?" That depended on your definition of 'hurt yourself' but she shook her head again. Dr. Kaufman sighed. "Can you tell me about this recent episode?"

"I just...couldn't keep living. It was too much," Hannah said. She couldn't put into words what she had felt, her despair, the future sinking in front of her into a black hole, the feeling that it would like that forever. Hannah couldn't bear the thought that it would be like this forever. It was too long. They sat for a while before Dr. Kaufman realized she was getting nowhere and moved on.

"How is the program going for you? Do you feel like it is helping?"

"It's fine." Hannah had been here, at the intensive outpatient (IOP) for two weeks, three days a week, three hours each time and she was tired of it. It took so much energy.

"So how is school going?" Dr. Kaufman asked. Hannah shrugged. "No, I need more of an answer than that."

"It's fine," Hannah replied. She'd gone back to school that Monday with the story of a nasty stomach bug to explain her week long absence. She didn't know if anyone bought it but not one asked. Mr. Porter had met with her regularly even though she didn't know what to say. He knew the real story, wanted to know what he could do. He kept asking her that and she still didn't know.

"How are your classes? They've lightened your schedule?" Hannah nodded. She would need to make up some work over summer break but for now it was more manageable.

"Are you able to keep up with your homework?" She was, kind of. Hannah came home and collapsed to stare at the ceiling. She did homework in 30 minute bursts with hours in between. Someone, usually Clay, sat with her always, concerned eyes when she lay down to regather energy. She had traded the prison of the psych ward for one in her home. A prisoner on house arrest.

Dr. Kaufman sighed, frustrated. "Hannah, I need more from you. We cannot help you unless you open up. We're not your enemy." Hannah would hear a similar speech many times over the next few years from many doctors. She didn't want to be difficult; she wanted to 'open up.' She wanted to cooperate, be "helpful." She just didn't have any words. She didn't know how to articulate what was happening to her.

"I'm trying," Hannah said as tears started pouring down her cheeks. She hadn't realized she could cry anymore. Her struggle must have been evident on her face as Dr. Kaufman took pity on her. "I know things are hard right now but they will get better." Dr. Kaufman looked at her watch. "We're out of time. I look forward to working with you next week. I'll see you Monday."

I'm Shrunk is by Aesop Rock, a rapper who talks a lot about his struggle with mental illness including in 'Kirby,' an incredibly adorable song about how awesome his cat is.