Get Into The Light: Chapter Fourteen- A Budgie is the Perfect Cure for Mental Illness

‘Nice that they’ve put the flags out,’ I said as the van rumbled into the hospital car park, ‘I bet they don’t do that for everyone,’
Lynette and Carl exchanged glances. Carl was holding my hand tightly as if he could somehow govern the part of my brain that was clutching onto the roof rack, emitting a low and terrible groan.
‘Get out,’ he said.
I jumped into the drizzly evening. The weather was bad again. It was much worse than England. There was really no reason for us to complain. I tried to remember why I was here and not living a normal teenage life of dodgy alcohol brands, snogging and bad hair. Lynette took one hand and Carl still held onto the other so I looked like an overgrown toddler being walked to the park to feed the ducks.
‘I need my sunglasses,’ I hissed.
‘What?’
‘In case anyone recognises me,’ I said.
Lynette started to cry. Why wasn’t I crying right now? Good question! Because I had nothing to cry about that's why!

Inside the décor made the place look like a premium hotel- albeit a joyless, minimalist one. The receptionist peered over her glasses and motioned for Lynette and I to take a seat. Lynette was still sniffling.
‘Name?’ the nurse asked Carl.
‘Her name is Lola Gerard,’ he replied.
‘How old?’
‘Almost eighteen.’
‘And what’s the problem Sir?’ she asked, throwing a glance in my direction.
I’d never been a fan of tracksuit pants- unless you’re actually doing sport or sleeping- they make you look like someone who doesn’t think they’re worth purchasing a proper pair of trousers for. But there was too much on my plate to get paranoid about fashion right now. So I'd dressed down. In fact I was wearing the perfect type of outfit for an emergency - everything about it screamed emergency.
‘She’s been saying a lot of crazy things,’ Carl said, ‘I need to speak to the doctor.’
‘I’ll see if he’s available,’ she said.
I couldn’t believe that Carl and Lynette had changed into a couple of total squares. So much for being bohemians! So much for being proper artists. They were just like my parents – reading Allen Ginsberg yet still finding time to write letters to the council whenever the neighbours didn’t use the regulation bin bags.

A few moments later a man appeared and nodded at Carl who followed him into a room.

If my brain were a pet, it would be the kind of dog you had to cradle in your lap all day. Its legs would tremble when you set it down on the ground. You’d have to carry it into shops - it definitely wouldn’t be able to run in the park unsupervised. I’m not saying everyone’s brain is like that- your brain could be more like a Doberman - fierce some, resilient, always with its ears pricked up – showing off its pointy teeth. But my brain wasn’t. It needed tenderness and it needed a good solid routine. Most importantly of all, it needed an owner that cherished it and made it feel good. Instead I’d attached it to the end of a long leash, then trailed it face down through puddles, crisp packets and abandoned beer bottles. I’d woken it up when it was peacefully sleeping. Then left it to fend for itself because I couldn’t be bothered to take care of it anymore. Eventually I’d chased it into the park, against its will and watched as the other dogs attacked it. Then I’d dragged it home again and filled it up with evil dog food (with the kinds of chemicals you’d NEVER see in any of the top quality dog food brands). Perhaps it wasn’t surprising that I was sitting here in this premium hospital after all.

Carl came back out. All the colour had drained from his face. He looked older than my Dad.
‘You need to come in now,’ he said waving at me.

‘So you already told me she’s been taking ecstasy?’ the doctor said before I’d even sat down.
He shone a torch light into my eye. I saw an orange blob surrounded with white light. I wondered what ecstasy had to do with any of this.
‘Not often. Probably once a week, maybe twice.’ Carl said.
‘Why are you asking about that?’ I said rubbing my eye.
The doctor shook his head.
‘You think a healthy young woman develops a psychosis like this out of the blue?’
I didn’t reply.
‘Tell me some of the things that are going on right now in that head of yours?’ he said leaning forward, ‘What’s going on with Prince? And why do you believe you were responsible for the people that drowned in the boat accident?’
‘I can’t explain. It’s complicated,’ I said, ‘It’s something to do with the way he looks at me in the videos- I know I’ve become famous for something but I’m just not completely sure what it is yet.’
‘Do you want to talk to me on your own for a while?’ he said.
‘No thanks.’
I felt like I’d been completely clear about what was going on and now I was being forced to ‘prove’ it all over again.
‘You don’t want to tell me how you’re feeling right now?’
‘I feel fine. I’m tired. That’s all.’
‘You can be in the midst of a psychosis and then feel pretty okay the next.’
‘Why won’t anyone believe that I’m famous?’
‘If you’re famous, how come I’ve never heard of you before?’
‘Everyone stares at me when I go shopping.’
‘I’m sure that’s not true.’
‘I can turn lights on and off just by staring.’
‘Do you think that’s something do with not getting enough sleep perhaps?’
‘No.’
‘See what I mean,’ Carl said, ‘There’s no trying to be reasonable. She’s been like this all week.’
‘Do you want to stay here for a couple of days?’ the doctor asked.
‘Where would she stay?’ Carl said.
‘In emergency admissions for tonight, then we’d move her to a bigger rehabilitation unit.’
‘You can’t leave me here!’ I squawked.
‘What if she’s like this permanently?’ Carl said, ‘Does that happen?’
‘It’s unusual but I know this whole thing must be extremely worrying. I suspect it will pass. It has all the symptoms of a classic drug psychosis.’
‘But I don’t think she should stay here,’ Carl said, ‘I feel responsible. I’m her partner and need to take care of her. What should I do?’
‘Do whatever seems best. If she gets worse, bring her back in. I’ll give you a prescription you can pick up in the morning. She needs to start taking it straight away.’

The dog analogy had felt reassuring- the idea that my brain was something that just needed tenderness and kind words in order to get it back on track. But perhaps it was more serious, perhaps it actually always been an amoeba. One of those blobs that sits in a rock pool when all you really want to see are interesting things like crabs and starfish. This explained why I found it tough to retain important historical events and why I found it impossible to pronounce words most people took for granted. I never liked to say ‘hyperbole’ or ‘anaesthesia’ out loud just in case. But no, this made more sense, my brain was an amoeba and this wasn’t about tenderness and love at all. It might just be a lost cause. Someone had rammed their thumb into its eye and all its membranes were oozing out.

Lynette was hunched forward on one of the plastic chairs. She’d fallen asleep. Who could actually fall asleep in a psychiatric hospital? Who could really feel that relaxed?
‘Is everything okay?’ she asked after Carl had shaken her awake and we were walking back to the van. Tim had obviously been for a drive and come back. He was eating a bag of cheese puffs.
‘I’ve got a prescription. He says it’s all drug related.’
‘What?’ Lynette said getting into the van.
Tim was playing a Zarzar CD. A long time ago this would have given me an inferiority complex but now I felt nothing.
‘It’s done something to her brain chemistry.’
‘I’m still here,’ I said, ‘You can stop talking about me.’
‘Sorry,’ Carl said planting a kiss on my forehead.
‘So this is a common side effect?’ Lynette said with horror in her voice.

All three of them manhandled me up the narrow staircase. There was no chance to escape.
‘Where are we going?’ I whispered.
‘Upstairs. Where do you think we’re going?’ Carl said.
‘This is a really bum deal,’ Tim said, ‘Is it really drug related?’
‘There’s nothing wrong with me Tim,’ I said, ‘Stop squeezing my arm. I’m perfectly okay to get up these steps on my own’

Carl switched the lights on, went over to the TV, paused and then decided on a CD instead. Hildegard von Bingen began to sing. I didn’t know much about her but she’d been a nun and had seen visions - so right now I felt we had something in common (apart from the nun part). I lay down and pulled the duvet up round my neck. It was late.

‘The doctor said it was drug related?’ Lynette asked, helping herself to a Grolsch out of the fridge and slumping down on the chair.
She couldn’t stop going on about the fact it was drug related. All the way back in the van she’d talked about it. How safe ecstasy was. How everyone felt really good on ecstasy and it was one of those drugs that didn’t have any really bad side effects. It was even prescribed for depression apparently in some cases. She continued again in the same vein. I pulled the duvet further up round my ears. I heard the sound of the kettle being filled.
‘The stuff we take is pure. It’s really pure.’ Lynette said, ‘Anyway I take it more regularly than Lola and I’m okay,’ but there was an edge of hysteria in her voice now.
‘I don’t know enough about it,’ Carl paused, ‘But I can’t see any other reason why she’s suddenly lost her marbles.’
‘What about her family?’ Lynette asked.
‘Ik weet het niet’ Carl replied.

‘You want me to go back to London don’t you?’ I said getting up and marching into the kitchen.
Lynette tried to put her arms round her waist.
‘You’ve lost weight. I can feel your hips. When was the last time you ate something?’
‘I had some soup.’
‘She hasn’t eaten properly for days,’ Carl said.
‘You need to tell your family,’ Lynette said.
‘I’m famous and you’re not! Why not just say it? You’re both JEALOUS!’
And I’m not quite sure what happened next but I found myself standing right in front of Carl with my arm raised above his head. He stared back not moving. I brought my palm down across his face. He didn’t even seem to flinch. Lynette let out a small gasp. I lit a cigarette and stared at the water heater.
‘Maybe it’s time you went back to London,’ Carl said.

The next morning Carl was pacing. He’d lit a cigarette and after each step he took a drag. Inhale, step, exhale, step, inhale, step, exhale. Ash fell from the drooping fag onto the grey carpet below. He rubbed it in with his foot. I’d just woken up. I’d actually slept for a few hours. All that was left of Lynette was a few lipstick stained cigarette butts in the ashtray.
‘I think you should speak to her,’ he was saying to someone on the phone, ‘She’s not well.’
Carl held the phone out, ‘It’s your Mum.’
‘I’m not speaking to her,’ I said.
I pulled the cord towards me and sat down on the end of the bed.
‘Hello love. How are you feeling? Carl says you’re not well, what’s going on?’
Just hearing her voice made me realise how much I missed her.
‘We’ve had an argument. We’ll sort it out…you know how couples are’.
‘You sound strange.’
‘I’m fine.’
‘I spoke to your father yesterday, we were both saying that it was about time you came back and tried to re-sit your A’levels… I bumped into that Mr Holbrook in Waterstones a couple of days ago and he said he would be happy to help you out with your art coursework.’
‘Look there’s nothing to worry about. I’m perfectly OK,’ I said flatly.
‘Carl’s obviously worried. What is this psychosis business? Do you want me to come over? Or do want to come home? I mean it’s not the best of times. We’re getting the patio done so there’s mess everywhere, there’s a crack about four inches wide next to the toilet right now but that doesn’t matter. Your room is always here and I’ll give it a good clear out before you arrive.’
I didn’t answer. I could see another future which involved lying in my bed back at home with this voice, nothing but this voice going on and on. The dog didn’t need that. Neither did the amoeba.
‘You’re probably not eating properly. I read that the Dutch only eat carbohydrates and dairy- it can’t be very good for you.’
I handed the phone back and climbed back into bed. I listened to Carl as he tried to reassure her – no the Dutch diet wasn’t just dairy, yes there were plenty of vegetables, yes there was great medical facilities here, a really good hospital. Then he suddenly seemed to undergo a complete change of heart and said that perhaps things weren’t as bad as he’d first thought, it was worth seeing how things went over the next few days, I was actually happy living here and had a lot going on. Eventually after another five minutes, he said goodbye.
‘Why didn’t you tell her to come and get me?’ I said sitting up.
‘I didn’t see what good it would do. At least you can start taking your medicine today and hopefully things will start to fall back into place.’
‘I don’t know what to say,’ I said.
‘I know you don’t want to go back.’

Later that morning Carl returned with the prescription. He gave me two tablets and a glass of water and started unpacking the shopping. He looked tired. This wasn’t surprising as I was waking him up every couple of hours with updates on new and developing symptoms. I was beginning to realise that I had a problem and the things that were popping into my brain were in no way normal. This was at least a start.

That night I went to bed early and slept for at least nine hours straight. My sleep was uncharacteristically untroubled - no one was drowning, pleading or trying to communicate secret messages via the words of a pop song. I drifted through the night - my body light and free. The moon was clear and a cluster of stars came into view. An orange light emanated from the centre. Slowly this shape grew, It was surrounded my candyfloss streaks of neon light. It was Hildegard. She was dressed in a habit and holding her arms out straight like a statue. I thought about how much we had in common and went to embrace her but then realised we actually had nothing in common at all. I looked up again and everything had faded to black. As I opened my eyes, Carl was standing over me with a worried expression. He’d put some classical music on.
‘I’m sorry about all of this,’ I said.
And for the first time a bit of ordinary perspective started to leak into my vision. I wasn’t crazy. I wasn’t Hildegard von Bingen. I was just stupid.

Four days passed. Most of it was taken up with sleeping. I slept on my back with the TV on. In the chair with the headphones wrapped round my ears listening to Carl’s latest composition. On the floor face down in the middle of the day. One day I got up, had a shower and then just got back into bed again and slept. But I could feel everything was slowly healing. It was normal to feel so tired with this medicine. I hadn’t been sleeping for days and days. The amoeba was starting to re-grow some of its tendrils again. When I woke up on the fifth morning, Carl had pulled back the curtains and light filled the room. I looked up and there was a small green and yellow shape sitting on my left foot. Carl’d bought me a present.

It wasn’t Hildegard von Bingen – it was a budgie.