Ma, I've Got Meself Locked Up in the Mad House Read online

  ‘Have you ever attended a psychiatrist? Suffered from mental illness?’

  ‘Eh, no! Only depression.’

  ‘Same thing! Sorry, you have been rejected. No pilot’s licence for you. No green card to work in America. No life insurance for a million quid for you. You might top yourself, or top someone else!’

  Jaysus! The stigma of having been under the care of a psychiatrist . . . well, psychologist – they are all the same to me! – has far-reaching consequences. What the hell did I let Sister Eleanor talk me into this for? I must be really desperate. Forget it! This is no place for me. I’m not getting involved with bloody head shrinks! Fuck! She will go mad. I agreed to see this fella at the last minute. She had to go back again and start cancelling and getting this appointment back.

  I stood up, heading for the door. Then the phone rang, and Nail-polish picked it up. ‘OK,’ she said, eyeing me. She slammed the phone down, saying, ‘Doctor’s ready to see you. Up the stairs and first door on the left.’

  I hesitated, then thought, I might as well see him as I’ve come this far.

  I walked up the stairs feeling very nervous. My hands were icy cold and sweating. I didn’t feel very well. I turned onto a landing and headed down a corridor; it was semi-dark. There are no windows along here to throw in the light. I stopped at a row of doors and knocked on the first one gently and waited.

  Pause, then a high-pitched voice said, ‘Come in!’

  I opened the door and found myself looking around a long narrow room, then turned and closed the door very quietly.

  The ceiling was very high, and it was a dull, grey room – like my life, I thought, as I headed down towards a big desk piled high with papers and patients’ charts. There was a big old window, showing the grey light of the morning trying to creep into the room. It wasn’t very successful, and a lamp was glowing on the desk, with a skinny little aul fella squinting beside it, furiously writing away. He didn’t look up when I got to his desk. So I stood, looking around, and took in the big mirror that stretched from the ceiling to the floor and ran the complete width of the wall. My breath caught. That’s there for a reason! It’s obviously for doctors and students to observe patients while not being seen themselves. It’s a two-way mirror! They could be in the other room right now, watching and waiting to observe my behaviour, listen to what I say and make their judgement! Bloody swines! They could even be having a giggle at the poor unfortunates having to sit here and pour out their guts.

  I turned to the little man sitting in an old high-backed mahogany chair. I could barely see him smothering under all the files. ‘My appointment is for twenty past nine,’ I said, not impressed he doesn’t even have the courtesy to ask me to sit down.

  ‘Sit down!’ he said in a high-pitched nasally voice, talking through his nose.

  I sat and crossed my legs, leaving my shaking hands sitting limply in my lap, trying to look relaxed and say what was the matter with me. Just keep calm, I thought, looking at him. He was wearing a brown wool jacket over tanned trousers, and his mop of woolly hair stood standing to attention, with a streak of silver running right through the middle, making him look like he got an electric shock. He had a roaring red face, to match the roaring red hair, and the skin was covered in a mass of boils, pimples, blackheads and even warts. Jaysus! I thought, staring at him. This poor little aul fella is even more afflicted than meself. But he was a squirt of a little aul fella, who thought it made him important to leave a patient sitting here while he went on to ignore them, forgetting they kept him in his job!

  Suddenly, he stopped writing, looked up at me over the papers and said through his nose, ‘So! What is the problem?’

  I was taken by surprise, and my heart started banging in my chest, and I thought about the mirror behind me and gave a quick look back. No! I’m not dreaming! It really is a two-way mirror! I froze. My mouth opened to say something, but nothing came out, so I snapped it shut, feeling very foolish, and just stared at him, wondering what I should say. What’s the matter with me?

  He stared back, taking his time, studying me, looking at my hands sitting in my lap, then watching them wave in the air, trying to articulate.

  ‘I, em, I’m, eh, not well. I . . . I’m definitely not well,’ I heard myself saying.

  ‘Indeed!’ he said crisply, reading me from head to toe. Going from my greasy, long, uncombed plaited hair, to my buttoned-from-the-neck-down romper suit. Thank God I’m not wearing slippers! I gave a sigh of relief. At least he can’t see I’m wearing a long thermal granny nightdress underneath.

  I took a deep breath and let my bony shoulders relax. Keep calm. Keep a clear head. He may be able to help if you start to make sense. ‘I, er . . .’ I began again, but just dried up.

  ‘Are you depressed?’ he asked me, sweeping his eyes again from my bony face down the length of my bony body, looking away with contempt, finding me wanting.

  I thought about this for two seconds. ‘Yes! Yes, I am, that’s the prob . . .’ and he got bored with me and started writing again.

  ‘Continue!’ he muttered, never taking his eyes off the paper he was scribbling on.

  I felt he was treating me with contempt. And I could feel the heat rising from my belly up to my chest. I stared at him, waiting for him to finish whatever was more important than talking to me. He really looks like a little ginger Quasimodo; in fact, he is the spitting image of him, except Quasimodo is better looking, I thought, staring at him.

  He snapped his head up, staring at me, his left eyebrow raised. ‘Well?’ he said. ‘What do you want me to do?’

  The little runt! I thought, glaring at him. He’s no older than myself. ‘Well, I’m depressed,’ I said, wondering if I really was. Then he raised his arm, like he was going to conduct a symphony, and snapped the sleeve of his jacket up with his hand, doing it with great flourish. My head followed this movement, my eyes glued on him. Then he wrote something down, snapped it off a pad and handed it to me.

  ‘What’s this?’ I asked.

  ‘A prescription for tranquillisers,’ he said through his nose. ‘Take one three times a day.’

  I stared at him, my mouth wide open, my eyes bulging. ‘But they’re no good! They won’t solve the problem! They will only turn me into a zombie!’ I said, my heart sinking down into my belly.

  ‘That is all I can do for you. Do you want them?’

  ‘No,’ I said, feeling terribly let down.

  ‘Then I can’t help you,’ he smirked, with a sneer on his face, watching me get distressed. Like I was something interesting under a microscope.

  I felt very humiliated and scared. If he can’t help me, and I can’t seem to help myself, and drugs are certainly not the answer for me . . . I tried again. ‘Can you not listen to me? Maybe make some suggestions?’

  ‘There’s nothing more I can do for you!’ he said with great authority and finality. ‘Now get out! I have patients waiting to see me, and you are simply wasting my time!’ and he stood up, pointing his arm at the door.

  What a black-hearted bastard. He’s so mean, he wouldn’t even spare a drop a piss for his aul ma if she was on fire! We stared at each other, eyeball to eyeball, leaving a heavily pregnant silence hanging between us. He is trying to exert great authority over me with the weight of his profession. He thinks himself a great and important man. His steely-grey eyes had no recognition of me being a human being, and there was no humanity in those eyes. I am at my lowest, I reach out for help, and this little bastard thinks I’m not worth the time of day.

  ‘How dare you?’ I suddenly burst out, feeling all the rage, sorrow, rejection, and, most of all, knowing there was no help, no hope, nobody cared. If you are down and out, the world will kick you into the gutter! I had fought long and hard all my life to be equal with these people. But show them your weakness and they treat you with contempt. No better than dirt! This man was playing God with my life. He knows I’m down and out, but I’m not worth his time!

  He stood up, with his
hands down by his sides, clenched in fists, and shouted, ‘Get out! Get out!’ He screamed, sounding like an aul one in his ‘wet-nelly’ voice.

  ‘Fuck you!’ I screamed, staring and snorting, my bony chest heaving up and down.

  He was outraged, livid. ‘For the last time, get out before I have you thrown out!’

  That did it! I erupted! I stood stock still, then lifted my arm, my eyes darting on his files, and with one clean sweep of my arm cleared his desk. Files went flying in all directions. The lamp popped its bulb, hissed and went out before crashing to the floor.

  ‘My files! My files!’ he screamed like a banshee, tearing around to the front of his desk, trying to gather them all together.

  I stood and watched him on his knees.

  ‘My files,’ he moaned, looking up at me. ‘They are all mixed up! How am I going to sort them all out?’

  I felt a sense of control. He was on his knees! See how that feels! I thought, breathing heavily and looking down at him, feeling very satisfied with myself.

  I suddenly dropped to my knees, grabbing the files again. I lifted them into the air, mixing them up even more.

  ‘Stop! Stop! My God! She’s dangerous! HELP! A VIOLENT PATIENT!’ he screamed, and went tearing off out through the door with his arms in the air like he was giving himself up.

  I stood still, shocked for a minute by his reaction, then tore after him. ‘Come back here, you coward! I’m not finished telling you what I think about you!’

  He tore down the stairs, taking them four at a time, screaming, ‘SAVE ME! SAVE ME! There’s a mad woman after me!’

  I tore after him, not knowing why. It was almost primitive, instinctive, like Bonzo chasing after a cat! But he wouldn’t stand his ground and face me!

  I was on his tail, but could only take the stairs two at a time. So he managed to get into Nail-polish’s office and slam the door right in my face!

  I could hear him panting and moaning inside, and I shouted, thinking he had locked the door, ‘Open this door at once, you bleedin coward!’

  I gave it an almighty kick, and the door flew open. It wasn’t locked after all, just shut over. I roared into the room, screaming, ‘Where is he? Where is that little runt?’

  An enormous woman with red baldy eyebrows and blue hair scraped up in a bun, wearing a long hippy frock, was standing in the middle of the room, and I could see hands wrapped around her shoulders. When I looked down, I saw his brown shoes between her two massive feet. He was hiding behind her!

  ‘There you are!’ I screamed, racing around the big woman.

  She turned, and his feet moved rapidly with her.

  ‘Come out, you fool! I want to have my say to your face. Why are you hiding?’

  ‘Calm down!’ the big woman shouted, trying to look authoritative. ‘I am the secretary here, and you have no right to abuse and frighten him.’

  He literally peeked out from the side of her, then put his head back, terrified, like a very young child.

  I screamed at her, ‘Why are you protecting that moron? Why is he, an adult, hiding behind you?’

  ‘You have terrified him!’ she shouted back, making the little glasses on her nose wobble.

  ‘Don’t let her near me!’ he kept screaming.

  ‘I don’t believe this. You bastards are acting like God! I came here hoping you would help me, but you are the ones who need help! You are all mad! Mad!’ I roared.

  ‘Get out!’ she screamed.

  ‘Call the police!’ the little runt wailed from behind her.

  ‘FUCK YOU ALL!’ I screamed, charging out the door.

  I tore down the stairs, not waiting to open the front door, just lifted my foot still running and gave it an almighty kick. It swung open, and I charged out, haring across the road and flagging down a little Morris Minor with a confused old man behind the wheel.

  ‘Please!’ I panted. ‘It’s an emergency! I must get home quickly!’

  I opened the car door and dived in, sitting myself down, and he stared at me, trying to figure out what was happening to him. ‘It’s an emergency!’ I puffed, still breathing hard.

  He took off slowly, looking very worried. I sat still, intent on my mission to get home as quickly as possible.

  ‘Thank you!’ I said. ‘I live close to here.’

  He stopped the car, letting me out. I shot him a look saying thank you for your kindness before taking off again. Racing to get home.

  26

  * * *

  I put the key in the door, flying in and locking it. I ran for the kitchen, tearing down every bottle of medication I had in the press and lining them up on the kitchen table. Ten bottles! They are all full. I had just been to the chemist yesterday, and they are filled to the brim. These should do the job, I thought, looking at them. I tore open the fridge, taking out a half-carton of orange juice. This will help them to go down.

  I sat at the kitchen table staring at the ten bottles of pills all lined up. Pills for pain – they don’t work; pills to slow the heart down; pills for just about damned everything. Who needs them? I never took half of them. But now I will, the whole bloody lot of them. What else can I take them with? I jumped up, rushing over to the fridge again, yanking the door open. Tomato juice! Perfect. Then I spotted the bottle of vodka. I reached up and grabbed it. It’s still half full! When was the last time I had friends over to share this? Months! Right, this will do. It should see me on my way. I’ll die happy!

  I propped the bottles down beside the pills. One last cigarette before I go! These things are going to kill me! Ha, ha, very funny, I sniffed. There’s an irony there somewhere. It’s not the smokes, it’s the living that kills ye!

  I rolled the tobacco in the paper and lit up, feeling almost relieved. Dying is easy; I just couldn’t get the living bit right. Yeah! I’m glad it’s finally over. It wasn’t worth the struggle. I sat back to eye what I was leaving behind. The black outline on the white pantry door where I had leaned my head, staring out through the kitchen window into the garden for hours on end but seeing nothing.

  So! This is how it ends. Out, out, brief candle! Life is but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more. It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing. Yep! That is me, all right. All hot air and going nowhere! Yeah! Too bloody true it is.

  I opened the bottle with the pink slow-your-heart-down beta blockers and popped two into my mouth with a sip of juice. Ah! Nice, sweet! Then I raised my glass to the empty room. To Sarah! You gave me so much love and happiness, with your trusting innocence and the belief I was the greatest thing since sliced pan. I could do nothing wrong in your eyes. You were my little companion. My little shadow. We did everything together. Oh, the laughs we had. Having you filled me with a power and energy. A deep, raw, hungry need that drove me forever upwards to succeed. A fierce need to protect you, make you feel safe and warm. Nothing but the best was good enough for you! That could only have come from being your mother.

  Oh, yes! I was fiercely protective of you. But you deserved it; you were entitled to it. It was your birthright. So, I think I tried, Sarah! I know I caused you a great deal of pain. I used to see the way you would look longingly at other children’s fathers.

  I had sixteen years with you, being your mother. Sixteen years! You reached that magical age. Now the difficult years should have been behind us. We should have been able to start reaping the rewards of all the hard work. Working sixteen hours a day to give you a nice home with all the frills. A private school! And what did you think of all that?

  ‘Oh,’ you said, ‘I am going to live in England with Daddy and his family.’

  ‘But what about school? You will be sitting your final exams in two years, darling! Then you can study in England if that’s what you really want!’

  ‘Mummy, please! I want to live with Daddy now!’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Because I want to see what it’s like to live
in a family!’

  I looked at her, seeing the pleading in her great big blue eyes. She was desperate to share in her father’s life. She needed her father now. Why not? It is so very understandable. The poor kid always felt the lack of one.

  ‘OK, darling. I won’t stand in your way. But you have to promise me. No going mad, gallivanting to parties!’

  ‘No, never!’ she smiled, staring at me with the eyes shining in her head.

  ‘You have to study!’

  ‘Don’t I always? Oh, Mummy!’ she said, coming to wrap her arms around me. ‘You don’t have to worry about me. I promise I won’t let you down!’

  ‘No, darling. I know you won’t,’ I said, holding her tight and stroking her long soft hair, kissing her head and face. ‘You have always been a good girl. My God! You know how proud I have always been of you.’

  ‘Yes, Mummy! Thank you for being the best mother in the whole world. I really love you, and I’m going to miss you,’ she said, getting tears in her eyes now the thought of really leaving home was hitting her.

  So that was that! It was a slow descent after that. I had nothing to keep me going. Only me little . . . well! . . . big hairy mutt. That eegit nearly broke me heart! Getting me into trouble with the neighbours! Bursting the poor kids’ footballs after they came in to collect him for a game. They would drag him home again, crying it was their special ball. They had it signed an all! Little five and six year olds. Then look down at him and wonder how he could be so mean! The hairy mutt was cute enough to know he had done wrong and sat there looking very mournful.

  Then trouble erupted with the nuns across the road. He started sticking his nose under the nuns’ skirts in the local convent when they were minding their own business, walking up and down getting their prayers. He would sneak up behind them and shove his nose up their skirts, not meaning any harm, it was only his way of saying, ‘Hello, and where’s me dinner?’ He does that to men, too; they get it in the balls! No matter how many times I gave him a bang on the nose, he would just look hurt and do it again. His way of saying sorry!