Unravel(27)

Dr. Rutledge is sitting up straight. “Calm down, Naomi,” she says cautiously.

“No!” I point at her. “Try having your own family admit you into a mental institution. Try having everyone that you need and love disappear on you when you need them the most!”

My hands curl into fists; I bang them against my head.

If I hit hard enough maybe I’ll knock out all of the voices.

“Stop.” She stands from her chair. She looks frantic, almost scared. “Stop it!” she shouts.

I close my eyes and keep slamming my fists.

“Naomi! Stop!”

Her voice is closer. It makes the voices in my head panic. Their volume increases; their voices shriek and my ears start to ring. It hurts so much tears start to stream down my face.

And then I feel her grab my hands.

I freeze. It’s like a balloon has just been popped.

I raise my eyes. I don’t try to hide my fear and pain. I let Dr. Rutledge see it all.

I watch her pupils dilate as she takes it all in.

My darkness.

My frustration.

My pain.

My humiliation.

She drops my hands. They fall to my side like heavy weights. She walks around her desk, and lays her palms on her desk. Her body hunches over the same time her eyes slam shut.

We stay quiet. Me rocking back and forth against the wall and her staring down at her desk helplessly. Until she lifts her head and glances at me. The title of M.D. disappears. She’s a person. One with flaws. One with scars.

“You know why I became a psychiatrist?”

I stare at her blankly and wipe my cheeks with the back of my hands.

“Why?” I say reluctantly.

“I’ve always been fascinated with the human mind. How we process things. How we feel. What emotions we project,” she admits.

So far, I’m not impressed.

“During my residency, I realized that maybe there could be something more behind my decision in pursuing this field.”

I don’t understand where this conversation is going. But I know these conversations between doctor and patient never happen. They ask the questions and expect answers. They never open up and tell you something personal about themselves.

I slowly stand up. “What do you mean?”

“I have family members that have struggled with mental illness. My fascination stems from them. I wanted to figure out where all their pain came from. Why it seemed like they couldn’t shake the darkness constantly looming around them.” Dr. Rutledge sighs.

I don’t think it’s so light and sweet as before. This time I see the pain and sorrow behind it. She has darkness in her past.

I look down and trace the veins running across the back of my hand. “Have you found an answer?”

“Sometimes I think that I have,” she says carefully. “But then I read something new, or start meeting with a new patient, and I realize that I’m trying to solve the impossible. We’ll never have a sound answer. Everyone is different with the way they feel, think, love, and express themselves. I guess that’s what makes the world go round.”

I think of Lana. She’s in the bathroom, staring at her reflection. She’s given up. She’s tired of all the pain. I’m standing in the doorway, telling her not to give up, but she won’t listen.

Goose bumps cover my skin. And I try my best to shake the image away.

Dr. Rutledge laces her fingers together and takes a deep breath. I know confession time is over and she’s back in her normal role. “I’m not Dr. Woods. When you talk, I listen to you. I believe you. But I need you to trust and open up to me. Okay?”

I know why she went back to the doctor mode, but I already miss the other side of Dr. Rutledge. When she talked to me, my humiliation lessened. I didn’t feel like a failure who doesn’t have control over my own mind. Somewhere, during our talk, a small fragment of trust started to appear. It was hardly noticeable, but at least it was something.

“Okay,” I say.

“I know this isn’t easy for you. Just remember that even the purest of souls have darkness in them. It might be hard to spot. Perhaps they’ve perfected the art of covering it from the world. Or maybe it’s hidden in a dark corner of their mind. But it’s there. No one in this world is scar free.”

My shoulders relax. I nod and that seems good enough for me.

“All I want is for you to tell your story the best way you know how.”

I take a deep cleansing breath. To say I had just begun with my story was an understatement. I wasn’t even close to scratching the surface.

“I told Lana that maybe we should stay at my house. That she would be safe there…”



11—NO EASY WAY OUT

“We have to get you out of here,” I whispered.

Even though it was just Lana and me out in the barn, I was still too afraid to speak up. Too afraid that her dad would hear me and come back outside. I wanted to make use of the time we had and leave this place as soon as we could.

But Lana wouldn’t move. She stared at the ground with a vacant look in her eyes and rubbed her fingers across the red marks on her neck. I don’t even think she realized what she was doing.

I gently laid a hand on her shoulder and nudged my head toward the open doors. “Did you hear me? We have to go.”