Chapter Four
Don't Believe The Psych!
I couldn’t think what to say. The beanbag chair became uncomfortable and I began to rub my thumb in circles on the palm of my other hand, it was a nervous habit of mine.
“Take your time Naomi and start from the beginning. Whenever you’re ready.” Dr Blanchard sat across from me on a beanbag that matched mine. I think the beanbags were supposed to help her patients relax but I just felt stupid. Now that I was here and going over recent events in my head, I just wanted to laugh at myself. I kept trying to find a starting point to the conversation but everything sounded hilarious in my head. I felt a giggle bubbling in my chest but I smothered it down. Crikey, if I did start laughing she would definitely think me a loon!
“OK so, I’ve been reading this book, well it’s a manuscript actually and anyway, there’s this character in it, Joe, and he’s… well kind of amazing, perfect really,” I paused for breath, “I mean I really like him, his character I mean.” I paused again and ran my tongue nervously along my bottom lip, Dr Blanchard sat squished in her beanbag, listening politely. Her expression was neutral but I bet she was wondering what the hell I was jabbering on about. “Look, I probably just need some sleeping tablets or something, I don’t know?” She still didn’t speak. “It’s just that I did something I shouldn’t have, I didn’t mean to, I just… I was practicing that’s all and things got a bit out of hand so, I don’t know…maybe it’s the guilt making it happen. Do you think?” I asked Dr Blanchard.
“The guilt is making what happen exactly?” She wasn’t looking at me anymore but was scribbling something down on her pad.
“The visions.” I stated.
“Can you tell me more, Naomi?”
“I keep seeing him. Hearing him. Weird stuff is happening and I think I’m having some sort of mental breakdown.”
“Seeing who?” She was still scribbling.
“Joe.” I said simply. Dr Blanchard finally looked up and cleared her throat.
“So, you think you’re seeing a fictional character, is that right?”
“Yes.” I said.
“And you feel guilty because you did something? Can you tell me what?”
“Well, I re-wrote the manuscript, the original. I changed it to…” oh Christ! How could I say ‘to include myself’ without sounding like the biggest narcissist in the world? I didn’t sound crazy, I just sounded like an idiot. Well, here goes nothing!
“…to include myself.” I cringed inwardly.
“Because you like Joe so much?” Dr Blanchard asked.
“I suppose so.” I muttered at the floor. The doctor’s pen flew furiously across her notepad, the constant scraping noise of pen on paper began to irritate me.
“I see. How does that make you feel?”
“Ridiculous.” I stated. Dr Blanchard nodded without even looking at me and continued to write more notes. I’m going to ram that bloody pen where the sun doesn’t shine, I thought.
“Naomi, can you tell me what happens when you have a vision? Do you pass out? When does it happen exactly?”
“No, I’ve never passed out. Um let me think, I had the thing on the notepad with the names,” I began ticking them off on my fingers as I recounted the incidents, “I was asleep then but I saw it when I woke up, I’m not sure if that counts?” Dr Blanchard smiled at me and inclined her head to signal for me to continue. “Then I heard him and saw him at the coffee house that time but… Oh! My neighbour saw him too, at least I think she did. She saw a man with silver hair outside our building.”
“Joe has silver hair?”
“Yes. Salt and pepper I think it’s called.”
“Mmm. Please continue.”
“Oh and I think I heard him speak once when I was falling asleep.” I counted off three so far. “The time in the shower when I, ugh…” Oh dear God, shut the fuck up Naomi!
“When you what?”
I swear my cheeks were on fire. I shook my head. “Nothing, it doesn’t matter.”
The doctor put down her pen and leaned forward, as much as she could do, in her beanbag. She looked almost bent double. I fought another urge to giggle.
“Naomi, if this is going to work, you have to trust me. You came to me for help but I can’t help you if you’re holding back. I can assure you, whatever it is you think you can’t say, I’ve heard it all. The human mind is a complex thing, it can make you think all sorts of weird and wonderful things. Whatever you need to tell me to help you feel better, just say it.” She ended her sermon with a reassuring smile. Although I didn’t as much feel reassured as patronised. Suddenly, I didn’t want to share my most intimate ‘Joe’ experiences with her.
“No, really. It’s nothing. I made a mistake with that time.”
She nodded at me again and wrote something else down. That damn pen would most definitely be visiting somewhere unpleasant very soon.
“OK, anymore incidents…that you feel you can share?”
My eyes narrowed into a frown. Sly bitch.
“I saw him, face to face. In my flat. He spoke to me…in Italian.” I added. There, put that in your pipe and smoke it! The irony of the smugness with which I’d delivered my admission wasn’t lost on me. Somehow I’d gone from needing her to confirm that I’d been hallucinating, to wanting to prove her wrong, to prove to her Joe was real. Or maybe this was just another sick trick my subconscious was playing on me. Maybe I really was going crazy!
“What did he say?”
“I’ve no idea, I don’t speak Italian. He did say my name though and asked if I was alright.”
“But you don’t speak Italian.”
“No, he said that in English.” Was she insinuating I was lying now? My foot began tapping on the floor in rapid succession, the speed of my thumb circling my palm increased.
“Are you anxious, Naomi?”
“A little yes.” I shoved my hands under my legs.
“Why do you think you feel like that?”
“I don’t know! You tell me? You’re the fucking psych!” I blurted out.
“Are you feeling angry right now?” She had assumed a neutral, relaxed pose, her pen and pad were on the side table and her hands rested palms down on the beanbag next to her knees. I didn’t reply. “Do you think you’re angry at me?”
I shrugged, “Maybe.”
“Is it because I’m not telling you what you want to hear?”
“What do I want to hear?”
“I think you’re hoping I tell you that it’s all OK and that you just need some rest, that Joe isn’t real and you’re just under a lot of pressure right now. Am I right?” She waited for my reply but none came, “The thing is Naomi, there are clearly some issues or you wouldn’t have come back to see me. It’s been over a year since our last session, I’m concerned that your ex-husband’s engagement may have triggered off your depression. I remember you had a difficult time dealing with your divorce. Here’s what I think, I think the news has had a deeper impact on you than you realise. The fact that your fantasy man has silver hair, suggests a yearning for stability. The hair colour represents the older, wiser generation. Joe is fictional, which means he is reliable, he won’t betray you or let you down. He is always there when you need him. He’s as attractive as your imagination can make him and he’s devoted to you,” she paused to take a breath, “I think you’re creating the illusion of Joe to counteract the insecurity you’re feeling right now and that is not healthy.”
“So you’re saying I’m using Joe as an emotional crutch?” I asked.
“For want of a better phrase, yes, I’d say that seems very likely.” I hated to admit it but what she said sort of made sense, “I’d like you to come back and see me next week. I’ll go over my notes and then we can discuss the issue further and see how to progress. How does that sound?” I blew out a breath and just nodded. “In the meantime I’d recommended you get out and socialise, be around friends and family and make sure you rest, obviously,” she smiled, “maybe take that holiday to New Zealand too,” she added as an afterthought.
I wiggled my way out of the beanbag chair with the help of Dr Blanchard, she was obviously an expert at getting out of the damn things. I still felt ridiculous. I thanked her and made another appointment with her secretary on the way out.
On my way back home, I mulled over her observations. The more I thought about it, the more it made sense that I would use Laney’s book and Joe as my support. Hadn’t books always been my means of escape? I guess I had been quite upset about Iain after all. I needed to get back in touch with Immy and ask her about visiting again. Hopefully Skype wouldn’t be an arse this time and I could find out what she’d been shouting at me for the last time we’d spoken. I really should speak to Mum and Dad too, see if they were still willing to shout me a plane ticket. Mum would probably give me the ‘I told you so’ look but I suppose I could stomach it when the prospect of a three-week holiday on the other side of the world was on offer. Besides, if it got me out of the doldrums it’d be worth it. They weren’t so bad as parents go, I wasn’t being fair to them at all, and they loved me and had always been there to catch me, even in my darkest days after Iain.
I began to feel excited about visiting Immy and couldn’t wait to get home to Skype her. I didn’t even pause for coffee when I got in but went straight to the laptop. The ringing sound virtually sang from the screen and my brain flashed back to the last time I’d sat at this desk to speak to my sister. What had she been pointing like a mad woman at? I wish the sound hadn’t have screwed up, it’d had bugged me not knowing. Of course I’d lied to Dr Blanchard about not passing out after a vision because, that’s exactly what had happened when I had seen Joe in my flat. I realised now that I must have gotten myself in such a state, hyperventilating, that that’s what caused me to lose consciousness shortly after. I wasn’t going to let anyone be privy to that little nugget of information though, I didn’t want to look too much like an idiot, admitting you were in love with a made-up person was bad enough.
No one was picking up at Immy’s end. I let it ring a couple more times then hung up. Checking the time, I realised she was probably asleep. Disappointed, I called Mum on my mobile, again, no answer. I sent her a quick text saying to call me when she was free and found myself at a loss what to do next. There’s was no escaping the huge backlog of work I had. It was with great reluctance I conceded to the task and rooted out the list of jobs I’d fallen behind on. My business accounts also needed updating, I despised accounts, tedious but sadly necessary. Did I really have to ‘adult’ today? This was going to need coffee, lots of coffee.
The walk to Starbucks was quite pleasant, the heatwave had dissipated a little but the weather remained warm and dry. A light breeze blew making the leaves on the trees dance and strands of loose hair tickle my face. At the coffee house I bought a large latte and a brownie, which I happily munched on the way home. Not exactly great for my waistline but treats were essential when facing an afternoon of number crunching and proof reading. I’d chosen one of my most boring jobs, a local business directory, to proof. It was one of my tightest deadlines so I would just have to knuckle down and get it done. I made up my mind that I’d finish proofing Laney’s manuscript, as soon as possible with no more self-indulgent rewrites. Then I’d tell her I was unable to accept any future books. I needed to do some damage control with Laney, the last email she had sent hadn’t exactly been friendly. Freelance work was hard won and the last thing I needed was an author sending out negative reports about my professional work ethics. Dr Blanchard was right, I’d been using Joe as a crutch to counteract all the shit that wasn’t working for me in my personal life. It was time to get back to the real world and sort myself out. No Joe today. Maybe no more Joe, ever.