But Inside I'm Screaming

time. That if I wasn’t careful she’d just throw me out with the trash. I didn’t mind it so much when she hit me, but the trash thing, that killed me. I used to be so scared about that, you know? I used to pray that I’d get really big so that I couldn’t fit into a trash bag. One summer? One summer I grew. I got, like, six inches taller. I was so relieved. I knew then that I wouldn’t fit in the bag. Even one of those big Hefty bags for leaves and stuff? I knew I wouldn’t fit into that. Until that summer I really thought she’d do it. Throw me out.”

Ben hangs his head. Larry puts his hand on Ben’s giant shoulder. In the corner of the room Melanie is sniffing. Cindy’s eyes are dry.

“Medication time!” the nurse calls down the corridor two hours later.

Within minutes the ragged group forms an uneven line in front of the pill station.

“I hate this,” Kristen mutters to Isabel.

“Why?” Isabel looks at her and wonders about Nick.

Kristen holds her hand up to Isabel’s ear and whispers behind it. “It’s poison, you know. They’re trying to poison us.”

“What?”

“Come on, Isabel.” Kristen becomes impatient. “Don’t play dumb. You know they’re poisoning us. They don’t want to have to bother with us. It’s Darwinian.”

She used to seem so normal.

“I read this article about how the pharmaceutical companies try out new drugs on mental patients without telling them. That’s what’s going on here. That’s why they’re always so nice to us at medication time. They don’t want to piss us off or we’ll refuse to come. Why do you think they watch us swallow the pills?”

Isabel has a blank look on her face so Kristen continues her paranoid rant. “I’ll tell you why. Because we’re freaking guinea pigs, that’s why.”

“Kristen?” The nurse calls.

“Here!”

“Hawaiian Punch or Crystal Light?”

“Hawaiian Punch, please,” Kristen answers sweetly.

As the nurse hands her a Dixie cup, Kristen turns and throws Isabel a conspiratorial smile.

She’s not swallowing. I knew it.

Isabel watches Kristen closely. It looks like she is washing the medicine down with the punch. But Isabel steps out of line and watches Kristen duck into the bathroom around the corner.

What a freaking cliche.

Fifty-Two

“Isabel? Ted Sargent again. I’m told that you are under the weather and I’m sorry to hear that. However, we do need to schedule a meeting sooner rather than later. I understand you don’t feel well, but business is business. So please call my assistant, Deborah. We’ll be waiting to hear from you.”

“Isabel, it’s John. I’m not gonna lie to you, kiddo. Sargent wants to reevaluate your contract. I’ve tried talking to him, but he’s a shithead and won’t listen to reason. I’m calling you because he keeps calling up here looking for you and people are starting to ask questions. My advice? Fuck him. But you may want to make it easier on yourself and return his call. I thought you should know it doesn’t look good. Fuck. I hate this phone call. Call anytime. Bye.”

“Hi, this is a message for Isabel. Isabel, this is Jack Cartwright with ‘Page Six’ of the Post. I’m hearing a lot of rumors about you and your future at ANN, and before I write anything up I wanted to speak with you. Hear your side of the story. You know the drill. Give me a call. I’m at 212- 555-8765. Thanks. I need to hear from you by the end of the day. Deadlines, you know.”

“Isabel, Michele again. Sorry to keep rambling on your machine but I thought you should know that this guy from the Post is calling people here in the newsroom and asking questions about you. I’m not saying anything, but he did ask to speak with me. Thought you should know. Call me. Bye.”

“Yeah, Eagle One, this is Eagle Two. Checking command post. Looking for signs of life. I got your back, soldier. You know that, right? I’d take a damn bullet for you. Okay, that’s a ten-four.”

“Isabel, what is this shit? I just got a call from the Post asking me about our divorce! What the fuck is going on? Have you filed? This is totally fucked up. Now I can see why you won’t return my phone calls. Payback’s a bitch, right? Well, two can play that game. I’d suggest you call me back before I retain a lawyer and sue you for libel. You want to screw me? Well, come and get it. Try me. You better call me back. I’m going to go before your shitty machine cuts me off. You have it programmed to do that or something? I wouldn’t put it past you.”

I’m offended by that. My answering machine is top of the line.

Fifty-Three

Isabel starts running every morning. For thirty minutes she follows the road that loops around the grounds and within days she is jogging it twice. The running is cathartic, a way to sweat out the toxins of the cigarettes smoked the previous day; a way to escape the commotion in the unit; a way to regain her focus on the outside world. Sometimes, if she starts early enough in the day, she happens on deer, grazing on the dew- soaked lawn. She stops and watches the graceful creatures, feeling a sense of magic, as if they are symbols of good luck.

“You’re looking well today,” Dr. Seidler remarks with a trace of surprise. Isabel walks in, still sweating from her run.

“I’m feeling pretty good, actually,” Isabel answers. “Just being able to run again, to sweat even, is really helping me.” That and a few shocks to the brain.

“How do you think it’s helping you?”

“I just feel better. I can’t explain it.”

“You know about endorphins—I certainly think you’re feeling that—but I think it’s also a healthy way to get back in the game, so to speak. To get back into a regular routine…”

“Yes.” Instead of staring off into space, as she often does during their sessions, Isabel focuses on her therapist. She feels like she is seeing Dr. Seidler for the first time.

“What are you thinking about right now?”

Isabel waits a beat and then answers. “I was thinking that up until now you’ve looked kind of blurry to me. Like when you look through a camera and something’s just a touch out of focus. But today I’m getting a clear picture. It’s weird.”

Dr. Seidler smiles and sits back in her chair. Isabel relaxes, too, and eases back against the sofa cushions.

“That’s a good sign, Isabel. That’s a very good sign.”

Fifty-Four

“Wa-hey, there! Beautiful day for a run.” The gardener smiles broadly at Isabel as she approaches the flower bed he is weeding.

During runs, Isabel practices deep breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth. She enjoys concentrating on the mechanics of the run: feeling her legs move back and forth, pumping her arms in concert with her legs all the while conscious of her breathing technique. She also thinks about her mother’s advice: love yourself. The words float above her every step: love.your.self.love.your.self.love.your.self.