IT IS LATE IN THE AFTERNOON BY THE TIME I MEET Dr Ebbs. I’ve had a bad feeling about today since I woke. I sense change and change isn’t a good thing, it’s unpredictable.
When I arrive, he has my case notes closed. On top of them is his jotter from yesterday, but that, too, is closed. I assume talking will be the order of the day, but it surprises me that he doesn’t want to write anything down.
‘Hello, Ellie.’
‘Hello.’
I sit down, join my hands and I wait. He smiles and draws in a deep breath to initiate conversation.
‘How are you today?’
‘Fine.’
He smiles again.
‘You look tired.’
I don’t answer him.
‘Ellie, I have been going over some of the background history here in the file.’ He makes a hand gesture towards the closed case notes.
My blank stare does not unsettle him.
‘You were committed to St Michael’s in 1995.’
He coughs.
‘At that point you had been married to Joe for, what, almost ten years?’
‘Sounds right.’
‘How would you describe your relationship? After all, ten years is a long time.’
‘I’m here longer. That time has flown.’
He ignores my sarcasm. ‘It says here that it was Joe who signed the committal papers.’
‘That’s correct.’
‘And how did that make you feel?’
‘I felt nothing, he did the right thing.’
‘No anger towards him, disappointment even?’
‘No, all the anger and disappointment was for him alone. I understood that.’
‘Ellie, if I am being completely honest with you, my main concern here is that you have made very little real progress since you arrived here. Do you feel we might have let you down?’
‘Perhaps I don’t want to make progress.’
He leans back in the chair like he did the day before. It is one of those reclining types. My chair does not recline, it suits me fine and reflects how I feel, rigid.
‘Why not?’
‘Because.’
‘Because what?’
‘Because I don’t, didn’t—’
‘Didn’t?’
‘Don’t.’
‘I want you to be truthful.’
‘What is the truth, Dr Ebbs? Sometimes we think we know the truth, but we don’t. One man’s truth is another man’s lie. I’m sure you’ve heard that one before.’
‘Well, yes, the truth is subjective but, for now, what I want to know is your truth.’
‘Ah, my truth, now that is a little bit tricky.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘Because, Doctor, I haven’t worked that particular part out yet.’
‘Well, let me ask you something else then.’ He can tell I’m irritated. He’s playing his cards carefully. ‘How have you found your time here at St Michael’s?’
In truth, his question isn’t any different from any other question I have been asked in the past. So I’m surprised at my outburst.
‘Well, let me see. Initially, when I wanted to kill myself, I found it most annoying, awkward even. Later it became quite acceptable, more suited to my needs. And now? Well, now I am used to it and it’s just fine. ’
I knew my big mouth would get me into trouble.
‘And why does it suit you just fine?’
‘Fine, like truth, is subjective, Dr Ebbs. One man’s fine is another man’s hell.’
‘Indeed.’ He thinks long and hard on this, as if he respects what I have to say.
‘You went missing for some time before the fire?’
The fire again. I close my eyes, more out of frustration than anything else. He picks up on this immediately.
‘Is your distress because of the fire or because we are talking about it?’
‘The fire means nothing.’
‘Nothing?’
This surprises him. I wait. I have already said too much. He leans forward again.
‘Do you know, Ellie, there is a saying I learned a long time ago, it has always stuck with me.’
I hold my stare. This gives him encouragement, it seems.
‘It says the mad are more sane than you think, and the sane are more mad than you know.’
‘Do you think I’m mad?’
‘Do you?’
I don’t answer. He raises his eyebrow, but it does not deter him.
‘I suppose it tells us, Ellie, that people are not always what they seem.’
‘People are seldom what they seem.’
‘Indeed, you’re right. People are seldom what they seem.’
He pauses again.
‘Would it be fair to say, Ellie, that your marriage was an unhappy one?’
‘Not always.’ I am surprised at my honesty.
‘You and Joe, you came from very different backgrounds?’
‘He was a good man, but I wasn’t good for him.’
‘The circumstances before you came here to St Michael’s, they must have been difficult for you both.’ He says this more as a confirmation than a question. ‘It is a hard thing losing a child, a hard thing for anyone.’
‘Yes.’ The fact that I have answered surprises me. I feel uncomfortable, out of my depth.
‘Ellie.’
‘Yes.’
‘I want to help you.’ His words are said softly, but with directness. It feels unnerving. I don’t answer, I don’t want to.
‘I would like you to try something for me. Would you be willing?’
‘I don’t know.’