I know, I know - two chapters in one day, I really am spoiling you. But the inspiration for this chapter just hit me like a truck and I had to write it. It is a little darker than the other chapters okay? Just to warn you. There is a teeny bit of sex, but the very ungraphic kind so I wouldn't worry. Anyway, read on ...
Psychiatrist 3
I hadn't wanted to tell the Doctor about the third psychiatrist. He'd pestered me for days about it, casually dropping it into conversation and even going as far as sulking when I refused to talk about it. Eventually, I gave in.
The third psychiatrist is a woman, a friendly, kindly woman, with shoulder length brown hair and shiny polished round spectacles. Dr. Lindsay makes jokes, is kind, and understands girls because she has two daughters herself. I first come to visit her when I am 15 years old.
There is a more serious reason for me being there this time. It is not about drawings, or believing in an imaginary man - they are actually worried about me.
Dr. Lindsay starts talking to me about symptoms of anxiety and depression, about how I never really resolved my feelings after Mum and Dad died.
"I hear that you've been suffering from panic attacks, Amy." She says, peering over the top of her glasses and surveying me intently.
"Not really." I say, shuffling about in my seat "Just the one."
It happened at school. I don't have many friends there, except Rory and maybe Jeff - most people stay clear, they don't want to be seen anywhere near 'mad Amy Pond'. The gang, all made up of girls in identical silver padded jackets and identical swinging ponytails, cornered me during the lunch hour. I was alone, because Rory was trying to be cool and fit in by kicking a football around with the other boys and Jeff was in detention for swearing at a teacher. They surrounded me easily.
"Oi, Amy!" The ringleader, a girl with a name like Melanie or Melody or something similar called out, her tones ringing loudly. "I heard you made up a boyfriend."
"Making up a boyfriend?" One of the other girls echoed "That's pathetic. What, you can't get a boyfriend so you make one up?"
"I didn't make anyone up." I murmured, staring down at the pavement and subconsciously wishing it would swallow me whole.
"I heard you've gone to tons of psychiatric doctors." Melanie or Melody smirks "You must be proper mental, I'm surprised they haven't locked you up."
The other girls begin jostling me, shoving me hard on the shoulder and laughing nastily. I tell them to stop it, to leave me alone, but that only makes them laugh more and before I realise it I am running and running, tears running down my face and their insults ringing in my ears. My chest feels tight and I can't breathe, I feel dizzy - I can't breathe! My breaths are coming frantically, but no air is going in and it feels like the world is folding in on me. The next thing I remember Mr. Braithwaite, the Maths teacher who Jeff is always moaning about giving him too much homework, is holding my head between my knees and telling me I can breathe, that I must calm down and somehow stop this urgent feeling of terror pounding through my body. Every one of my senses is telling me I am not safe. Every single one of those sense is screaming for me to find somewhere remotely safe to hide myself.
I recover eventually. They send me home in the middle of the day, and Aunt Sharon is worried and upset, but not because she was called away from her work during a meeting, but because she is frightened for me. This time I can tell she is really scared.
She makes me an appointment with the psychiatrist again, and this time I don't protest or kick up a fuss, or refuse to leave the house like I did when I was little, because I feel like I need some help.
Dr. Lindsay is warm and caring and doesn't tell me that the Doctor isn't real because she focuses on me entirely. She scans her eyes over my file briefly and mutters something about unresolved issues in childhood.
"I want you to try some counselling." She says carefully "Just once a week at first. But I'd also like you to try some medication."
"Drugs?" Aunt Sharon asks from her place by the door "That sounds a little… extreme."
In that moment I manage a half-hearted smile - it is nice to hear Aunt Sharon speaking like that about me. I know she does love me, of course she does, but she finds it hard to talk about - she once told me that everyone she has ever loved has left her at some point in her life. Uncle Billy, Gran, my Mum and my Dad. She doesn't want to lose me too.
"A mild dose." Dr. Lindsay says calmly "Just to calm you down, and help you think a little more clearly. An anti-anxiety will do the job, but I think in this case an anti-depressive drug might be beneficial. Prozac."
"Anti-depressive?" I ask suddenly "I'm not depressed."
"I know that." Dr. Lindsay smiles "But Prozac can greatly help people in your situation. I think it might be worth a try."
I pause, biting my lip. I'd be even more mental if I was to go on some medication. Jeff would laugh and tease me, before asking me what they tasted like. Rory would go all shy and not talk about it, and stroke my shoulder in an oddly comforting manner. But those pills would stop that feeling of fear again. It would stop it.
"Okay." I say "I'll try them."
We collect the prescription the next day, and for the first two weeks everything feels alright. Aunt Sharon watches me unscrupulously ever day as I swallow each pill with a gulp of cool water. She always squeezes my hand afterwards, and tells me she is proud of how brave I am being. I don't feel brave at all.
Then everything begins changing, oh so slowly.
Prozac makes everything feel strange. It is as if I am floating underwater - everything feels sluggish and far away. But it was at night when it was worse. I began having vivid terrifying nightmares from which I would wake up in a frenzy, my heart hammering in my ribcage, hardly able to breathe from the fear that wrenched my insides. The nightmares were mostly about Mum and Dad, and the car crash. In a particularly horrible version of one of these dreams, I woke up during the accident and no paramedics were in sight. I was completely alone, strapped in the back of the car unable to move. I could see Mum and Dad, both of them covered in blood, still and dead. It is at that moment that I try to open the doors, to run for help; then there is that sickening feeling of dread when I realise I can't, that I am trapped. I am pounding on the windows and kicking out with my legs but it is as if something is sitting on them because I can hardly move them. Then I am screaming and screaming - and I snap to attention and wake up in my own bed, with Aunt Sharon standing above me, a look of worry stretched onto her face.
After the nightmares I cannot get back to sleep. The doctors call it insomnia, a common side affect of the pills. I walk around like a zombie. I sit up all night, just staring at the faint hairline crack in my wall - it's still there, but is less defined now. I stare and stare at it, until I can almost see him, a faint outline, a garish shadow. I can almost feel him beside me, then I blink or move my head and he is gone. I begin drawing again, hurried, frantic sketches; pencils pressed so hard into the paper that they break and I have to sharpen them again. They are always the same drawings. The Doctor with the blue box. The Doctor holding my hand. The Doctor smiling at me, telling me everything will be fine when I know it really won't this time, because it feels like the world is slipping far away from me. I change.
On the 20th of April, a warm summers day, I lose my virginity to Rory, in my back garden of all places. Aunt Sharon is out with her Women's Institute friends, no doubt sitting around drinking tea and eating scones, and pretending to be posh and grand.
Since taking the medication I had felt so lost, like a discarded balloon floating up, up and away out of sight. I needed something to grab onto, to anchor myself to the world. Rory came over and while we in the garden, sat underneath the old oak tree, laughing at something Rory had said he kissed me - and it just, sort of happened. I lay flat on my back, on the soft plaid rug in the grass, with Rory looming over me. I stayed completely still the entire time, staring up at the canopy of leaves sheltering us both, watching the splashes of yellow sunlight filter through the branches until my eyes began to sting. It was quick - quicker than I thought it would be, with only a brief moment of pain.
When it was over and we lay side by side, silent in the sunlight, I began to cry. Rory bumbled about panicking, saying that he was sorry, that he hadn't meant to frighten me. I managed to convince him it wasn't his fault eventually. I was crying because of me. I shouldn't have done it: I wasn't ready, and I didn't love Rory. I'd always thought my first time would be with someone I loved, who loved me back. Rory had been so nice; I wanted to feel real for a second, just for a second. I wanted to feel like I used to feel, raggedy Doctor or not. I missed all of those daydreams I'd used to have, about him suddenly turning up in the blue box and whisking me off in adventure - I really miss those daydreams.
The next day I tell Aunt Sharon I don't want to take medication anymore and to my utmost surprise, she agrees. She too had noticed a change in me, and was about to suggest the same thing. I came off of the Prozac. Even through all the years that passed later, even after all we went through, me and Rory never spoke of what happened that day. It stayed trapped there; a secret, hidden beneath an oak tree, only to be thought of in a fleeting passing memory.
The Doctor is remarkably quiet for once, and is staring at me from his place on the console chair. Then, wordlessly, he stands up and enfolds me in a tight, warm hug. I cling to him in reply, burying my face in the space where his neck and shoulder meet and breathe deeply. I don't feel so alone anymore - and I don't think I'll ever feel that alone again.