Rachel's Holiday
Page 70
‘What about psychotherapy?’ Vincent demanded. ‘Surely we don’t learn enough about ourselves in the two months we’re here to last us the rest of our lives?’
‘Good point, Vincent.’ Josephine beamed. ‘Well observed. Each one of you will have to change a lifetime’s behaviour when you go back out into the real world. On going psychotherapy, either group or one-to-one, is vital.’
‘Stay away from pubs,’ Misty interjected passionately. ‘And stay away from the people you used to drink with, because you’ll have nothing in common with them. That was my downfall.’
‘Take it from Misty,’ Josephine said. ‘Unless you want to end up back in here in six months’ time.’
‘Go to lots of AA meetings,’ Mike suggested.
‘Thank you, Mike.’ Josephine tilted her head. ‘You’ll all find AA or GA a great support when you get out.’
‘You could take up lots of new hobbies,’ suggested Chaquie,’to fill the time.’
I was enjoying this session. It was exciting helping a person plan their new life.
‘Thank you, Chaquie,’ Josephine said. ‘Have a think about what you’d like to do, Clarence.’
‘Well…’ he said shyly. ‘I’ve always…’
‘Go on.’
‘I’ve always wanted… to learn to drive. I kept saying I’d start soon, but I never got anything done because when it came down to it, I always preferred to drink than to do anything else.’ Clarence looked surprised at what he’d just said.
‘That!’ Josephine hissed, her face aglow, ‘Is the most perceptive thing you’ve said in all your time here. You’ve recognized a fundamental feature of an addict’s life. Maintaining your habit is so important you’ve no real interest in anything else.’
Just as I felt smug about having loads of interests – parties, going out, clothes, enjoying myself – Josephine said ‘And I’d like you all to remember that celebrations and going to pubs, nightclubs and parties are not interests in their own right. They’re merely peripheral to feeding your addiction.’
She looked directly at me when she said that, her intelligent, blue eyes merry and shrewd. And I hated her as I had never hated anyone. And, believe me, I had hated plenty.
‘Is something wrong, Rachel?’ She asked.
‘I see,’ I spluttered, gripped with fury. ‘So going to a party makes you an addict?’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘Yes, you did, you said…’
‘Rachel,’ she was suddenly very firm, ‘for a normal person, a trip to a party is just that. A trip to a party. But for an addict, it’s a situation where their drug of choice, whether it be alcohol or cocaine, is available. It’s interesting that you heard it the way you did…’
‘And I hate that word,’ I ejaculated.
‘What word?’
‘Normal So if you’re an addict you’re abnormal?’
‘Yes, your responses to commonplace life situations are abnormal. An addict uses their drug instead of dealing with life, whether it’s good or bad.’
‘But I don’t want to be abnormal,’ I burst out. What the…? I thought in surprise. I hadn’t meant to say that.
‘No one wants to be abnormal,’ Josephine said, looking at me with cherishing eyes. ‘That’s why an addict’s denial is usually so powerful. But here in the Cloisters you’ll learn new responses, normal ones.’
Shocked and confused, I opened my mouth to set the record straight, but she’d moved on.
Logically I knew she was a stupid bitch and that there was nothing at all wrong with having a healthy social life, but emotionally I felt beleaguered. I was worn-out. I constantly seemed to be explaining or apologizing simply for being me and living my life my way.
Usually I just shrugged off any of the Cloisters’ codology that allegedly pertained to me, but that day I couldn’t locate the strength. Careful, I warned myself, with a premonition of fear. Don’t leave yourself open, they’ll break you down if you let them.
*
As I sat in the dining-room that evening to write my life story I felt strange. At home, as if I belonged. How I had the temerity to feel almost OK, I’ll never know. Between being ditched and stitched by Luke, with the dreaded questionnaire yet to come, things were grim. But like people who managed to live fulfilled and happy lives on the side of a volcano, I sometimes managed to switch off from my unviable situation. I had to. I’d go mad if I didn’t.
Misty wasn’t there, which helped. She always made me feel edgy and angry.
I sucked the end of my pen and looked at Chris, especially at his thighs. God, he was delicious. While I had the pen in my mouth I willed him to look at me. I reckoned it was a fairly provocative pose. But he didn’t look. Then the end of my tongue went numb from the taste of ink. Yuk! Anxiously, I wondered if my teeth had turned blue.
Since the previous day I’d watched Chris closely to see if Helen had supplanted me in his affections. He hadn’t been unfriendly, the usual banter and the occasional gift of physical contact. But was I imagining an infinitesimal slipping away of his interest in me? So small as not to be visible to the naked eye. Perhaps I was simply extremely paranoid, I soothed myself.
I tried to focus on my life story but couldn’t help being drawn back to look at Chris again. He was playing Trivial Pursuit with some of the other inmates. Or at least trying to. Arguments kept erupting because Vincent suspected Stalin of learning off all the answers. He swore he’d seen him going through the cards and studying them.
Davy the gambler was begging them to play for money. Matchsticks even.
The bickering reminded me of my family. Except the inmates weren’t as vicious, of course.
It had started to snow; we left the curtains open so we could see the soft flakes fluttering against the window.
Barry the child was dancing round the room, doing Tai Chi, his slow, graceful movements soothing to watch. He was really beautiful, like a dark-haired cherub. And he always seemed upbeat and happy, in a trancey world of his own. I wondered what age he was.
Eamonn waddled in and nearly tripped over Barry.
‘What’s going on?’ he demanded. ‘That’s dangerous, you shouldn’t be doing that.’
‘Good point, Vincent.’ Josephine beamed. ‘Well observed. Each one of you will have to change a lifetime’s behaviour when you go back out into the real world. On going psychotherapy, either group or one-to-one, is vital.’
‘Stay away from pubs,’ Misty interjected passionately. ‘And stay away from the people you used to drink with, because you’ll have nothing in common with them. That was my downfall.’
‘Take it from Misty,’ Josephine said. ‘Unless you want to end up back in here in six months’ time.’
‘Go to lots of AA meetings,’ Mike suggested.
‘Thank you, Mike.’ Josephine tilted her head. ‘You’ll all find AA or GA a great support when you get out.’
‘You could take up lots of new hobbies,’ suggested Chaquie,’to fill the time.’
I was enjoying this session. It was exciting helping a person plan their new life.
‘Thank you, Chaquie,’ Josephine said. ‘Have a think about what you’d like to do, Clarence.’
‘Well…’ he said shyly. ‘I’ve always…’
‘Go on.’
‘I’ve always wanted… to learn to drive. I kept saying I’d start soon, but I never got anything done because when it came down to it, I always preferred to drink than to do anything else.’ Clarence looked surprised at what he’d just said.
‘That!’ Josephine hissed, her face aglow, ‘Is the most perceptive thing you’ve said in all your time here. You’ve recognized a fundamental feature of an addict’s life. Maintaining your habit is so important you’ve no real interest in anything else.’
Just as I felt smug about having loads of interests – parties, going out, clothes, enjoying myself – Josephine said ‘And I’d like you all to remember that celebrations and going to pubs, nightclubs and parties are not interests in their own right. They’re merely peripheral to feeding your addiction.’
She looked directly at me when she said that, her intelligent, blue eyes merry and shrewd. And I hated her as I had never hated anyone. And, believe me, I had hated plenty.
‘Is something wrong, Rachel?’ She asked.
‘I see,’ I spluttered, gripped with fury. ‘So going to a party makes you an addict?’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘Yes, you did, you said…’
‘Rachel,’ she was suddenly very firm, ‘for a normal person, a trip to a party is just that. A trip to a party. But for an addict, it’s a situation where their drug of choice, whether it be alcohol or cocaine, is available. It’s interesting that you heard it the way you did…’
‘And I hate that word,’ I ejaculated.
‘What word?’
‘Normal So if you’re an addict you’re abnormal?’
‘Yes, your responses to commonplace life situations are abnormal. An addict uses their drug instead of dealing with life, whether it’s good or bad.’
‘But I don’t want to be abnormal,’ I burst out. What the…? I thought in surprise. I hadn’t meant to say that.
‘No one wants to be abnormal,’ Josephine said, looking at me with cherishing eyes. ‘That’s why an addict’s denial is usually so powerful. But here in the Cloisters you’ll learn new responses, normal ones.’
Shocked and confused, I opened my mouth to set the record straight, but she’d moved on.
Logically I knew she was a stupid bitch and that there was nothing at all wrong with having a healthy social life, but emotionally I felt beleaguered. I was worn-out. I constantly seemed to be explaining or apologizing simply for being me and living my life my way.
Usually I just shrugged off any of the Cloisters’ codology that allegedly pertained to me, but that day I couldn’t locate the strength. Careful, I warned myself, with a premonition of fear. Don’t leave yourself open, they’ll break you down if you let them.
*
As I sat in the dining-room that evening to write my life story I felt strange. At home, as if I belonged. How I had the temerity to feel almost OK, I’ll never know. Between being ditched and stitched by Luke, with the dreaded questionnaire yet to come, things were grim. But like people who managed to live fulfilled and happy lives on the side of a volcano, I sometimes managed to switch off from my unviable situation. I had to. I’d go mad if I didn’t.
Misty wasn’t there, which helped. She always made me feel edgy and angry.
I sucked the end of my pen and looked at Chris, especially at his thighs. God, he was delicious. While I had the pen in my mouth I willed him to look at me. I reckoned it was a fairly provocative pose. But he didn’t look. Then the end of my tongue went numb from the taste of ink. Yuk! Anxiously, I wondered if my teeth had turned blue.
Since the previous day I’d watched Chris closely to see if Helen had supplanted me in his affections. He hadn’t been unfriendly, the usual banter and the occasional gift of physical contact. But was I imagining an infinitesimal slipping away of his interest in me? So small as not to be visible to the naked eye. Perhaps I was simply extremely paranoid, I soothed myself.
I tried to focus on my life story but couldn’t help being drawn back to look at Chris again. He was playing Trivial Pursuit with some of the other inmates. Or at least trying to. Arguments kept erupting because Vincent suspected Stalin of learning off all the answers. He swore he’d seen him going through the cards and studying them.
Davy the gambler was begging them to play for money. Matchsticks even.
The bickering reminded me of my family. Except the inmates weren’t as vicious, of course.
It had started to snow; we left the curtains open so we could see the soft flakes fluttering against the window.
Barry the child was dancing round the room, doing Tai Chi, his slow, graceful movements soothing to watch. He was really beautiful, like a dark-haired cherub. And he always seemed upbeat and happy, in a trancey world of his own. I wondered what age he was.
Eamonn waddled in and nearly tripped over Barry.
‘What’s going on?’ he demanded. ‘That’s dangerous, you shouldn’t be doing that.’
