“You think I chose tattooing to hurt myself because I can’t any other way?”
This is the part where my anger flares, and we enter a standoff or I storm out.I’m trying so hard to be a normal person, not just for myself but everyone around me.While I’m aware I make risky choices, tattooing isn’t one of them.
“Do you understand what I’m conveying, Sadie?This is abnormal behavior and we need to be cautious with your treatment.If you decide to start tattooing more, or don’t tattoo ever again, we need to establish a baseline.Now, please, explain your reasoning.”
Kate is roaring in my ears, clawing at the thick chain wrapped around her neck, thrashing against my skull so we can show Mr.Kensington just how fucking insane I can be—but Liz strokes her elegant fingers through Kate’s greasy hair to calm her.
There are days where I wish I could let all three of them do their worst.Naamah will probably sit back and watch, anticipating when the other two will finally split someone’s skull open.Then remain on her throne of skulls where she judges the rest of us and dictates how we run and when.
Liz is the instigator.She’s the one who whispers malevolently into my ear to release all of my pent-up violence.To free Kate from her shackles, where she may rip, maim, and torment anyone in a hundred-foot radius—including me.Whatever it takes to get her blood fix.
Folding my legs up, I pull my hoodie over my knees and turn myself into a ball on his stuffy couch.Slightly, I lean forward to rest my chin on my knees and stare hard enough to look through Mr.Kensington, looking at the white rabbit.
“I wanted to hide the scars on my arms.Cover up memories that make me want to add to them.My dad went with me; he was supportive and kept me grounded.”
“I see.You think pulling a fancy rug over a pile of dirt makes it go away.Sadie, that’s not healthy.”
“I’m not forgetting, I’m polishing.They remind me of the worst points in my life.The tattoos…I get to see something pretty.If flowers can rise from dirt, then I can bloom in the dark.”
“Poetic, but not sustainable.The mind doesn’t work on hopeful thinking.How’s your medication regimen?Is it still suppressing your urges or have you noticed more triggers lately, since you mentioned distractions.”
This territory isn’t safe either.Half the time I set alarms on my phone to tell me which pill to take and why.Some of them I skip because I don’t need them.My weekend medication I cut in half, then double for school.
Risperdal treats psychosis, Suvorexant for insomnia, and Lithium to stabilize my mood and combat manic depressive episodes.A cocktail of drugs dosed just under perfection, making me crave more but they’re never quite enough.Thus, my home pharmacy skills.
Each has its own set of side effects which we attempt to treat with the others, but if we add any more, I might as well swallow the whole pharmaceutical industry.
“Mostly.Sleep’s few and far between.I haven't lashed out at anyone, but that doesn’t mean I haven't thought about it or created a plan.”
Mr.Kensington stops, putting his pen down.I hate being honest, because it earns me the very stare he’s delivering now.
“Tell me your plan.”
“No.”
“Yes, Sadie.”
Finally, I snap at him, “I said no!”
He doesn’t have to know everything—my mind already isn’t my own.Letting him in is doing more damage than good—it’s pissing the entities off.He can try all he wants, medicating me isn’t going to snuff them out.However, dulling my senses and exhausting the girl makes it easier for monsters to take over.
“How are you managing your anger if the medication ismostlyworking?You have a plan on how you’d harm someone and struggle to sleep, which exacerbates your symptoms.We’ve talked about what this type of instability can mean for you, Sadie.Why haven’t you told me about this sooner?”
“Because I’m handling it!Fucking hell.I do better when I’m not sitting in this damn office spilling my guts and listening to you pick apart the things I say.If you were in my shoes, would you tell me everything when you managed to find something that works?”
Snatching up his pen and prescription pad, he looks at me before speaking again.
“The difference between you and I is that I see the value in therapy while you see it as an hour of me attacking you.According to your records, you’ve never responded to gentle treatment.Results came from uncomfortable positioning, so that’s what we’re doing.It’s called adaptation.I’ll be increasing your Lithium.You claim to manage your mood swings but the two you just had have proven otherwise.”
“I’m not taking any more meds.Forget about it.”
“It’s not another pill.It’s a dose increase.We’re going to find what works, together, or you’ll be forced.The day you become violent and hurt someone is the day you’re enrolled into an institution.I’m also suggesting group therapy with similar patients.There are sessions downstairs every Wednesday at eight p.m.I want to see true effort from you, Sadie.”
Aninstitution.He’s talking about locking me away with people like my uncle.If he’s willing to throw me in a room and drug me to high heaven, would my parents make the same choice?What if they do because I’m too unstable?I didn’t choose this; if I could make myself better I would, but it’s just…so fucking hard.
“I’m going to decrease your Risperdal dosage and increase your Suvorexant.You need sleep.Trading adequate sleep for the single dose of Risperdal should allow you to regulate with the help of the Lithium.I want you back here every two weeks to discuss any changes and group therapy participation.”
“I’m not sitting in a damn circle with people who—”
