I circled the office building five times in my car, debating about keeping my appointment. I yearned to let go of all the emotions that were balled up inside of me, but talking to a complete stranger about my problems didn’t sit quite right with me. No matter what accolades Dr. Marcella Spencer had received, I didn’t know her from a hole in the wall and I had a serious enough problem talking to people I actually knew.
I finally parked and got up enough nerve to get out of the car and walk into the building. I caught the elevator up to her floor and located the correct office. There were two other people waiting in front of me. Great. I’d have to sit there and let the anticipation build.
I gave my name to the secretary and she gave me some forms to fill out. That took all of five minutes, leaving me with what turned out to be only a short wait because the two people were waiting on a third to come out of the inner office. He was the “authentic patient” and I stared at him while he exited, wondering how a person that appeared so normal could need a psychiatrist.
Five minutes later, I found myself sitting across an expensive desk from a strikingly beautiful woman. My first thought was why would she go into her chosen profession when she could have been a high-end fashion model or something.
“Jonquinette. Lovely name.”
“Thank you.”
“What brings you to see me today?”
That was one hell of a good question.
“Dr. Spencer, what’s the definition of insanity?” I asked her, unable to meet her eyes with my own. “I know what I’ve heard.”
“What have you heard?”
“That insanity is doing the same thing over and over again expecting a different result.”
“Do you believe that?”
“No, not really. I believe that’s just something a self-proclaimed prophet made up to sugarcoat the term.”
She giggled. “Interesting thought.”
I waited for her to get her laugh out and then dropped the bomb.
“I think I’m insane. I think I’ve been insane for a very long time.”
As suspected, Dr. Spencer stopped smiling. “What makes you say that?”
“Strange things. Things I can’t remember.”
“I’m not following you.”
I knew discussing matters would be tremendously complicated but I was shaking like a leaf. I was scared, but the thought of walking out of her office and facing my life the way it had been for the past fifteen years was even worse.
“Nasty, vile things written in my handwriting that I don’t remember writing. People accusing me of things I don’t recall doing. I mean, all of them can’t be mistaken. Right?”
“All of them?” she asked.
“My daddy. People I went to school with. Everyone who’s ever accused me of something.”
“Could you please elaborate?”
I got up from the chair and started pacing the floor. “I’m sorry. I know this must make zero sense. It doesn’t even make sense to me and I’m right in the middle of it.”
“Right in the middle of what?”
I smirked. “Hell. Right smack dab in the middle of hell.”
“When did people start accusing you of things?”
“Second grade.”
“Second grade?”
I sat back down and folded my hands on my lap, trying to prevent them from shaking.
“Yes. It was the day someone beat up Brenda Morrison and two other girls in the bathroom. Brenda had two black eyes, three broken ribs, and a smashed knee. I’ll never forget the way she looked when they took her away in the ambulance.”
“And they said you did that to them?”
“Yes, but it doesn’t make sense. I was terrified of Brenda. She was the biggest bully in the entire school.”
“Why do you think they accused you?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “Brenda said I did it. So did the others. She said it was me, but it couldn’t have been. They said I followed them into the bathroom from the playground but I don’t even remember half of recess that day.”
“There were more instances after that one?”
“Several.”
“Please tell me about them, Jonquinette. If it isn’t too painful.”
“It’s painful, but that’s why I came here.” I finally looked Dr. Spencer in the eyes. “There was Mrs. Greer’s dog.”
“Mrs. Greer?”
“Our next-door neighbor when we lived in Florida. She was the nicest old lady and I swear I’d never do anything to hurt her. I’d never do that. Not ever.”
“But someone did?”
“She said I was on the porch complaining about Shadow, her poodle, barking. I never did that. I loved Shadow.”
“Whom did she tell that to?”
“My parents. She came over after…After…” I hesitated.
“After what?”
“After someone poisoned Shadow. It wasn’t me. I wouldn’t even know where to get any rat poison but —”
“But?”
I lowered my eyes. “My daddy found an empty can under my bed.”
“And Shadow was poisoned to death?”
“Yes. Poor thing.”
“And the next incident?”
“Seventh grade. Someone put hair remover in the shampoo bottles in the girls’ locker room.”
“They said you did it?”
“No, no one said I did it that time.”
“Then what makes you think you had something to do with it?”
“Three empty bottles of hair remover in my locker.”
“Oh, I see.”
“It just went on and on until—”
“Until what?”
“Until the really bad things started to happen.”
“What sorts of things?”
The tears started falling before I felt them coming.
“I can’t do this.” I wiped my tears with my bare hand. “I’m sorry but I just can’t.”
Dr. Spencer got up, walked around the desk, and started caressing my shoulders.
“Jonquinette, please continue. I can’t help you unless you confide in me.”
“I didn’t really come here to discuss my childhood,” I whispered.
“Then what did you come here to discuss?”
“The things that are happening to me now.”
“Like?”
