Read Online Sarah Vaughan is Not My Mother: A Memoir of Madness by MaryJane Thomson - Free Book Online Page B

won’t lactate.”
    â€œBut I find all these drugs so constipating.”
    â€œWe can give you a laxative.”
    â€œSo what’s Haloperidol?”
    â€œIt’s an antipsychotic. It will help your disordered thinking. It does make you slightly stiff so we will give you some Cogentin for that. Lamotrigine is a mood stabiliser. It will help keep you level but you will still be within the normal range of emotions.”
    As much as I hate taking psych drugs I welcome the idea of a new drug, because over the years I’ve had some that put you in a pretty vegetative state. Anything has to be better than those.
    â€œWill it zonk me out?”
    â€œNo, neither of these pills are sedating, but we are going to give you a Zopiclone at night to help you sleep and give you a break from the voices.”
    I look slightly alarmed. “But I don’t hear voices. I am a person of faith: when I’m talking I pray to God.” This is another of my standard responses.
    â€œDo you hear a voice?”
    â€œI don’t hear a voice. It’s more like someone is speaking through me.”
    â€œHmm. Oh well.”
    â€œSo when do you think I might get unaccompanied leave?”
    â€œWhen you are stabilised on the new medication, so please talk to your mother when she comes today. She is worried about you.”
    Dr Aso starts to get up out of his chair. I stand up and say, “Thank you.”
    Waris follows me out. “Well, that wasn’t so bad, was it? Make sure you have some lunch, sweetie. Your hands are shaking.”
    â€œYeah, just have a cigarette first.”
    I go and sit under the tree in the sun. Nola comes over and starts speaking. “How did that go?” she says, wiping her glasses on her T-shirt.
    I’m quite exasperated and tired from the talk. “They reckon I’m schizoaffective, don’t like the way I dress.”
    She looks at me, surprised. “What do you mean they don’t like the way you dress? You look great. You just don’t dress like everyone else.”
    I pick a blade of grass and ponder what she’s said. “Yeah, maybe,” I say, taking the cigarette smoke right into my lungs and holding it down, wishing it would make me high. It certainly relaxes me. I can feel the sun heating me up; my goose bumps from being in a cool, air-conditioned room are starting to go away.
    Nola sits down beside me. “Might have my third cigarette of the day,” she jokes.
    â€œYeah, well you don’t want to have seven all at once. You never know when someone might fuck you right off,” I joke back.
    â€œI would like to get out of here pronto but they’re not letting me,” she says. “I haven’t been here a week yet. What’s for lunch today?”
    â€œI don’t know,” I say. “I never remember from one day from the next; they all seem to run together in here.”
    â€œTell me about it—it only gets worse. How old are you?”
    â€œTwenty-six,” I say. “Been in and out of here since I was twenty.”
    â€œYou don’t want it to become a pattern for your life and be like me, fifty and still coming in,” Nola says.
    I move away a bit, feeling uncomfortable with her being so close. “Well, that’s what they say happens,” she says. “You see heaps of people just become regulars, in and out, in and out.”
    I’m keen to talk to my voice so I excuse myself. “Got to go to the bathroom.” I leave Nola under the tree and walk back through the smokers’ room. Lester’s there. I say, “Hello.”
    â€œHey, babe, how are you today?”
    â€œI’m all good, bit drained, just had meeting with doctors.”
    Lester yells into his earphones, “Get back! Get back!” He starts rambling about something.
    I leave, go to my room, lie on the bed and notice a little sunlight shining into my room. It eases the pain I feel. I