‘I’m sure it is and it’s not going to work for me. Besides,’ – this is a cheap shot and AJ will know it – ‘you know they might talk about me to someone else and it will get in the papers. You know I don’t want that, you know I’ve worked hard to keep it quiet. I don’t want to be “TV chef who was mugged”. That’ll be my job descriptor forever. No matter what I do, I’ll be Freya Abalone, who was mugged traumatically and ... God knows what else they’ll add in for fun. These stories take on a life of their own.’
AJ picks up his pen again and begins writing.
‘You possibly need to see a psychiatrist then about other drugs, perhaps antidepressants. I would prescribe them myself but I think, given your experience, you may need more expert advice, and then a psychologist to help you work through your issues’.
‘I don’t want to talk,’ I explode.
‘Freya,’ says AJ cosily, ‘the Zimovane is drying up soon.’
‘But I get nightmares,’ I say desperately.
‘Freya, you’ve got to come at this from another angle, meet me halfway. I just can’t keep doling out sleeping tablets forever, that’s not the answer. You have to deal with what’s stopping you sleeping. You think talk therapy or group therapy is a load of old rubbish, but it isn’t, it’s worked for so many other people who have come into my surgery.’
‘People who are mugged?’ I say crossly.
You give it to him girl, shrieks Mildred.
‘Oh, shut up,’ I say. Out loud.
‘Shut up?’ says AJ.
‘Not you,’ I say, mortified. ‘You know the horrible little voice in the back of your head that tells you you’re useless at your job and should have got up half an hour earlier to get working on yourto-do list and not to have thattoffee-filled muffin if you want to have a flat stomach? She’s working overtime at the moment.’
‘You were saying “shut up” to the voices in your head?’ says AJ.
‘Not voices!’ I shriek. ‘It’s the classic inner critic, nothing else. I’m distancing myself from the inner critic by calling her Mildred: that way I can tell her to shut up when she’s annoying me and it works, because the voice says nasty things and undermines me, the way all our inner voices do. When that happens, I sayshut up, Mildred. I know it sounds mad but it helps.’
‘I understand but why Mildred?’ says AJ.
‘It seemed innocuous,’ I mutter. ‘Come on,’ I add desperately, because even with a doctor I’d known for years, this could sound bad, like I was having a—
‘It’s not a psychotic breakdown,’ I said urgently. ‘I’m as sane as you are, AJ. Just stressed and talking to myself, which we all do. If Dan thought I was truly losing it, don’t you think he’d drag me in here and make you section me to a mental hospital?’
AJ eyed me.
‘Suidical ideation?’
‘No.’
‘Other voices?’
‘No.’
‘Times when you can’t remember what you’ve done or where you are?’
‘No.’
‘If it was anyone else sitting here,’ he says, ‘I would have them in hospital seeing a psychiatrist as soon as I possibly could. But it’s you, Freya, and I understand the way that weird mind of yours works, so I’ll give you a pass. Yes, many of us talk to ourselves but giving your inner voice a name is not one I’ve heard before.’
I shrugged. ‘Keeps me happy. Mildred is bad tempered but I can cope with her. Look,’ I stared down at my hands. ‘Not sleeping is hideous and I have bad nightmares. It is affecting my work in that I’m not coming up with new recipes, but creativity does slow down with anxiety. However, I am working, doing cookery demos, taking care of the children, helping out with Dad. I have no history of mental illness, no depression, nothing. I’m not hiding some big disaster or ...’ I’d run out of reasons to prove my sanity. ‘I get sad; that’s not a crime, right? It’s normal human behaviour. Humans get sad, AJ. My sadness is made worse by a variety of things and no, I don’t want to be on sleeping tablets forever. But I need them to function right now.’
I eyeball him fiercely.
AJ sighs. ‘Fine. We’ll keep going on the sleeping tablets. But I need to see you next month to see how you’re doing. I’d be neglecting my duty if I didn’t. We need to set up a plan not too far in the future to get you off them, which will take a while. You’ve got to come off them gently, detox. But I’ve one stipulation: you’ve got to go to a group for help with this, Freya.’
‘You won’t tell Dan?’ I say. ‘He thinks I’m already going to a group.’
‘I can’t. Confidentiality, remember. But you’ve got to do something or I will. You can’t live on sleeping tablets for the rest of your life and I won’t prescribe them. If I didn’t know you, I’d be worried.’
