outside my body, watching, and unable to do anything to help myself. My whole world had shrunk until nothing existed except a tiny, frightened little girl sitting in a chair, muttering and mumbling to the doctor and trying not to remember.
I allowed Tom to put his arm around my shoulders and lead me out to the car, where I sat beside him in the passenger seat, rocking gently, no longer able or willing to try to reach out and grasp hold of reality.
Tom parked the car in the hospital car park. I don’t remember getting out of it, but I must have done so, because I do remember walking with Tom towards a set of double doors that were set in the centre of a large, red-brick Victorian building. Inside, he spoke to someone at the reception desk, who walked with us down an echoing, lino-floored corridor and knocked on one of the many identical grey doors.
The psychiatrist who questioned me gently had grey eyes and darker grey hair, and I remember wondering if greyness was one of the conditions of employment, so that all the people who worked in the hospital would blend in seamlessly with the almost colourless décor. He was kind, though, and he showed none of the irritated impatience I was half-expecting as he explained to me that I would have to be admitted to the hospital while they made a proper assessment of my mental state.
‘No.’ I spoke the word loudly, with a conviction I didn’t really feel. I was no longer sure about anything and I had a terrible, growing feeling that I might be quite mad. But it seemed important not to do or say something that would give anyone else grounds for suspecting there was anything wrong with me. Otherwise, they might lock me up inside this soulless labyrinth of corridors and ill-health with its smell of floor polish and sickness. And then how would I ever get better?
‘No,’ I said again, shaking my head as if to emphasise the determination I was trying to summon up. ‘I don’t want to stay here. I want to go home.’
‘I’m sorry, Katherine. But I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist.’ The doctor smiled a small, sympathetic smile. ‘Just for a few days, while we sort out what the problem is.’
I stood up, still shaking my head, and he said, ‘Please, Katherine. You must stay. I would far rather you agreed to come in voluntarily, because I don’t want to section you. But I will do so if I have to.’
I’d forgotten Tom was in the room, until I felt his hand on my arm. ‘Please, Katie,’ he said. ‘Just stay here for a couple of days. Let them take care of you until you’re feeling well again. Please.’
Suddenly, it was as though someone had pulled out a plug in my body and I could actually see all the energy draining out of me. I seemed to have been struggling to act normally for so long that I’d finally run out of steam and I was too weary and defeated to argue any more.
‘Well, okay,’ I conceded at last, sitting down heavily in the chair. ‘But what about Sam? Who’s going to look after Sam if I’m in here?’
‘Don’t worry about Sam.’ Tom’s voice was loud with relief. ‘My mum and dad and your mum will help me take care of him. You know how much they’ve been dying to get their hands on him.’
‘No one must touch him!’ I leapt to my feet and shouted the words in Tom’s face. He took a step backwards and I could see the shock and the distress in his eyes. And then, just as quickly as the unidentifiable fear had overwhelmed me, it faded again, and I tried to smile at him as I said, ‘Okay. But look after Sam.’
Then I allowed myself to be led from the room and through one locked grey door, down a long grey corridor to another.
Chapter Six
I didn’t stay in the hospital for just a couple of days, as Tom had thought I would. I stayed there for almost six months, because I was far more ill than he, or anyone else, had realised.
I was put on medication, which eventually quietened, but didn’t silence, the clamour of voices in my
I allowed Tom to put his arm around my shoulders and lead me out to the car, where I sat beside him in the passenger seat, rocking gently, no longer able or willing to try to reach out and grasp hold of reality.
Tom parked the car in the hospital car park. I don’t remember getting out of it, but I must have done so, because I do remember walking with Tom towards a set of double doors that were set in the centre of a large, red-brick Victorian building. Inside, he spoke to someone at the reception desk, who walked with us down an echoing, lino-floored corridor and knocked on one of the many identical grey doors.
The psychiatrist who questioned me gently had grey eyes and darker grey hair, and I remember wondering if greyness was one of the conditions of employment, so that all the people who worked in the hospital would blend in seamlessly with the almost colourless décor. He was kind, though, and he showed none of the irritated impatience I was half-expecting as he explained to me that I would have to be admitted to the hospital while they made a proper assessment of my mental state.
‘No.’ I spoke the word loudly, with a conviction I didn’t really feel. I was no longer sure about anything and I had a terrible, growing feeling that I might be quite mad. But it seemed important not to do or say something that would give anyone else grounds for suspecting there was anything wrong with me. Otherwise, they might lock me up inside this soulless labyrinth of corridors and ill-health with its smell of floor polish and sickness. And then how would I ever get better?
‘No,’ I said again, shaking my head as if to emphasise the determination I was trying to summon up. ‘I don’t want to stay here. I want to go home.’
‘I’m sorry, Katherine. But I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist.’ The doctor smiled a small, sympathetic smile. ‘Just for a few days, while we sort out what the problem is.’
I stood up, still shaking my head, and he said, ‘Please, Katherine. You must stay. I would far rather you agreed to come in voluntarily, because I don’t want to section you. But I will do so if I have to.’
I’d forgotten Tom was in the room, until I felt his hand on my arm. ‘Please, Katie,’ he said. ‘Just stay here for a couple of days. Let them take care of you until you’re feeling well again. Please.’
Suddenly, it was as though someone had pulled out a plug in my body and I could actually see all the energy draining out of me. I seemed to have been struggling to act normally for so long that I’d finally run out of steam and I was too weary and defeated to argue any more.
‘Well, okay,’ I conceded at last, sitting down heavily in the chair. ‘But what about Sam? Who’s going to look after Sam if I’m in here?’
‘Don’t worry about Sam.’ Tom’s voice was loud with relief. ‘My mum and dad and your mum will help me take care of him. You know how much they’ve been dying to get their hands on him.’
‘No one must touch him!’ I leapt to my feet and shouted the words in Tom’s face. He took a step backwards and I could see the shock and the distress in his eyes. And then, just as quickly as the unidentifiable fear had overwhelmed me, it faded again, and I tried to smile at him as I said, ‘Okay. But look after Sam.’
Then I allowed myself to be led from the room and through one locked grey door, down a long grey corridor to another.
Chapter Six
I didn’t stay in the hospital for just a couple of days, as Tom had thought I would. I stayed there for almost six months, because I was far more ill than he, or anyone else, had realised.
I was put on medication, which eventually quietened, but didn’t silence, the clamour of voices in my
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