It was hot outside at Western. After all, it was getting close to summer. The volunteer, Jan, rolled up her sleeves. I couldn’t take my eyes off her arms. They were scarred from her wrists to her elbows. Almost every square inch. When Jan saw me notice, she pushed her sleeve up the rest of the way. The scars continued up to her shoulders.
Jan said she’d done it locked in the bathroom at school. It took 56 stitches to close up all the cuts. Now, Jan had to wear long sleeved shirts all the time to keep people from staring. The scars were all different shapes and sizes unlike the concentrated straight cuts on my arm. For a moment, I left denial. It made me sad to think of Jan’s arms marked forever in that chaotic fashion.
A kindred spirit. I had never met another arm cutter before. That was before I found out about Konrad.
* * * * * * *
(AH, KONRAD. I LOVED HER. Really? YEAH, BUT, IN THAT WAY YOU LOVE SOMEONE BUT DON’T REALLY WANT TO TAKE THEM HOME WITH YOU. Like the way I feel about you? VERY FUNNY. NO, THE WAY YOU FEEL ABOUT A GOOD FRIEND YOU’VE LOST TRACK OF AND WISH YOU COULD VISIT NOW AND THEN. Oh.)
* * * * * * *
Alfer Centurie woke up crying. He cried like a baby—for all he was worth. He’d had a dream…
He and his brother (he didn’t have a brother) had been making noise playing and somehow got into a yelling match. His father (he never knew his father) stormed into their room and wanted to know who started it.
Neither boy knew who started it. But, their father insisted one of them had. Neither knew who it was, so no one admitted it. His father beat them both with a strap for not telling him the truth. Then, he sat them down on the couch and ordered them not to move until one of them admitted who started it. Where upon, that one would be beaten again.
Alfer Centurie and his brother sat awhile pondering their problem. They were not to speak to each other. His brother was a bit younger and finally broke down and admitted he’d done it. Even though, nobody really knew. His father beat him again, and came to Alfer Centurie saying, “You understand why I had to do that.”
No, Alfer Centurie didn’t know why he had to do that but sensed another beating lurking around the corner if he admitted it. He lied instead saying, “Yes,” and woke up crying.
He cried and cried for no reason he could tell. Such an event could not have happened in his life. Yet, he felt it on a deep level. The good thing was, when the BJ person came in again, he could understand what she was saying when she asked him what was wrong. He was so relieved that he cried some more.
* * * * * * *
At Western, they transferred me in another room shortly after my counselors were chosen. It was in the opposite hall called “Olympic” hall. (They were big on cutesy names.)
I got to know some of the girls down at that end of the hall. My friends were Cheri and Konrad. Both of whom had Jerry for their counselor.
* * * * * * *
After he became my counselor, Jerry immediately got confrontative and difficult to talk to. When I commented on the change, his response was hard line. “The first two weeks were just the baby sitting period. This is the way things are really going to be around here. So far, you’ve met the Mister Nice Guy. Now, you’ll see the real Jerry.”
I shuddered unable to imagine an additional difficulty thrown into the works. In a burst of denial, I pretended not to believe him.
* * * * * * *
“Reality, Konrad. Reality.”
Konrad was trying to tell Jerry why she was upset. Satan was trying to take over her body. I could see clearly that for Konrad Satan was just a creative manifestation of whatever originally bothered her. All Jerry would say was, “Reality,” as if he could force her into another state of mind by shear repetition.
They were in the television room. Konrad was trying to appeal for help from Jerry’s compassionate side. I was watching from a distance just close enough to hear but not close enough to be noticed. Jerry was stubborn and refused to even acknowledge what Konrad said as long as she used language he perceived as non-reality based. Konrad left and came back several times—each time being studiously ignored. I watched with horror.
An hour or so later, Konrad came up from her room in Olympic hall screaming that she could not go into her room because HE (Satan) was there. She could not be soothed or quieted at this point. Hands quickly grabbed her in an effort to stop her screaming and running around. Jerry was one of the strongest and wasted no time in putting her in an isolation room where her screams continued to be heard but in a muffled fashion.
Having been thinking of ways to discuss my own problems with Sasifraz and Lucifer, I felt an intense wave of crushing energy come over me. I felt like throwing up. I watched the drama unreel itself with no movement to interrupt the process. I knew Konrad needed someone to listen to her whether what she said made sense or not.
Konrad hadn’t gotten that. I knew I wouldn’t get it either. Later when I tried to talk to one of the counselors about being upset, it was attributed to that phenomenon in mental hospitals known as, “Oh, when one gets upset, they all get upset. Thank God, we got that one put away as quick as we did.”
(Thank God, indeed, we’d hate for a burst of feelings to flood the scene.)
I knew it was better to let them think that rather than get the “Reality, reality” treatment myself. So, I kept quiet which was probably how I had arrived there in the first place—by keeping quiet in order to survive.