Elizabeth Flock - But Inside I'm Screaming

“Yes,” she gasps as Larry reaches for the device tucked beside her in her chair. He holds it up to her mouth and gently calms her down enough to get her to take several inhalations. As Lark’s breathing returns to normal, Larry moves away.

“Are you back with us?”

Lark nods, still slumped.

“I want you to know we all support you.”

“Yeah, we do,” Melanie interrupts. “I know how you feel. I know you hate your dad—I hate my father-in-law. I thought about getting him a gift for Father’s Day this year but I blew it off. Screw him. He gets me the cheapest presents for my birthday, so screw him. I love the Sharper Image catalog. That’s where I usually got him something but I didn’t this year. Besides, I was here. I mean I am here,” she laughs, “so I said to Elwin, I said, ‘if your father—’”

“Melanie? I’m sure Lark appreciates your support. Now, maybe someone else has something to say?”

“Lark?” Kristen practically whispers. “I know we’re not close friends or anything, but if you want to talk you can come to my room. I’m not having visitors this weekend so I’ll be around.” Kristen begins to cry.

“Why are you crying?” Larry moves toward Kristen.

Boy does he have his hands full today.

“I don’t know. I don’t know.”

“Are you sad that you’re not having visitors?”

Isabel feels envious. Her parents are visiting for the first time, and while part of her is excited about it, the other part dreads it immensely.

Kristen blows her nose. “It gets so lonely here on the weekends.”

“Yeah, and the food’s not as good.” Ben nods in agreement.

“I hear that,” Larry says. “Things are slow on weekends on purpose. We feel time off from group sessions and individual sessions can be useful for patients. Sometimes it can give you time to think, time to write in your journals, time to process everything.

“Getting back to Lark, though. Isabel? It looked like you wanted to say something.”

With Kristen sniffling, Melanie seething and Lark bandaged up in restraints, Isabel can think of only one thing to say.

“Hey, Lark, if you want to inhale my secondhand smoke this weekend, I’m all yours.”

She hopes that behind the wall of dirty hair Lark is smiling.

“Isabel, Dr. Seidler and I spoke on the phone a few minutes ago and I wanted to talk to you about our conversation.”

Isabel’s heart is speeding up as she searches Larry’s face for clues.

“What’d she say? Do I have to go in again tomorrow? Because I’ve got to tell you, I’m just going to refuse it. I’ll get on the phone with my attorney and I’ll sue this place for malpractice if I have to—”

Larry is holding up his hands as if to say “I surrender.” “Hold on, hold on. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here. Calm down.”

Isabel’s stare is unblinking.

“Now. Dr. Seidler told me that you and she talked about this—that electroshock is one of the most effective forms of treatment—”

“Blah, blah, blah,” Isabel interrupts. “I don’t fucking care how effective it is. I’m not doing it again.”

Don’t cry. Do not cry.

“What you’re experiencing here is a common side effect of the treatment—wait! Before you interrupt me again, let me tell you that many patients experience aggressive irritability following their first treatment. That’s precisely why Dr. Seidler is recommending a second round. To curb the irritability and to therefore receive the top benefits of the treatment.”

“By irritability you mean belligerence,” Isabel shoots back. “You, this place, no one allows any of us to stick up for ourselves. The minute we do it’s off to the soft room.” Her arms sweep a large arc of frustration in one direction and then another. “Or it’s ‘Hey, have some more ECT. It’ll shock the irritability out of you.’”

Suddenly Isabel is overcome with exhaustion. Larry is watching her carefully.

“You know what? I give up,” Isabel says as she collapses into a nearby chair. “You and Seidler…you know I don’t have the energy to fight…so forget it. I give up.”

Larry moves a chair close to hers and sits forward in it. “It’s fear you’re really feeling, isn’t it? Not irritability. Not anger. Fear. Am I right?”

Silence. Isabel looks down at her lap.

“I can imagine you’re scared.”

“You can imagine? What? You can imagine what it’s like to go from having everything to having nothing? To being treated like an infant sometimes and an inmate others? I can’t even count how many times I’ve traveled, alone, mind you, to foreign countries to cover pretty dangerous stories—wars, even. And yet I can barely take two steps out of the unit without someone telling me to sign myself out.

“I’ve interviewed heads of state, presidents, CEOs, you name it—all of whom treated me with dignity and respect—and now I can’t even shave my legs without some lesbian nurse ogling me.

“I’ve had to become an expert on dozens of subjects, different cultures and a handful of medical breakthroughs, and yet I am not allowed to request that electrodes not be taped to my temples. Don’t tell me you can imagine what I’m feeling, Larry. You have no idea what this feels like.”

It is Larry’s turn to look at his lap.

“You’re right,” he says without looking up. “You’re absolutely right. I have no idea what it’s like to be in your shoes.”

Then he looks up, straight into Isabel’s frightened eyes.

“But I think, then, that it’s safe to say that you, Isabel, have no idea what it’s like to be in my shoes.”

Isabel tilts her head ever so slightly. Touché.

“You probably don’t realize how frustrating my job can be. How tough it can be to see patients suffer, to not be able to reach them, help them. And yes, it is equally difficult to see some patients make significant strides—” he gives Isabel a knowing look “—only to sabotage themselves by refusing the very treatment that is helping them.”

Silence.

“Just give it one more shot, Isabel. Then, if you don’t want to do it anymore you can take it up with Dr. Seidler. One more time.”

The knock on the door is loud.

“Time to go, Isabel!” A man’s voice. Isabel sits up in bed, alarmed.

“What?” she scrambles out of bed and jumps to the door. “What is it?”

She opens the door a crack and pokes her head out. An orderly is checking his watch.

“I’m here to take you over to the medical facility,” he says briskly.

Shit. “Um, I’ll be right there.” She closes the door and frantically scans the room. The window.

I could fit through it…I could climb out the window and run away. Shit. They’d find me. Plus, where would I go? Goddammit.

Reluctantly, she crosses over to the small chest of drawers and pulls on a pair of shorts, looking at the window as she buttons them up. She takes a deep breath to counterbalance the shallow ones.

One more time. One more time.

“Okay.” She closes the door behind her and follows the orderly down the hall and out of the unit. They walk in silence. Isabel concentrates on synchronizing her steps with the orderly’s.

Left. Left. Left, right, left. Left. Left. Left, right, left.

“The jelly’s cold, remember,” the nurse describes each step of the process. “I just…have…to…fix…the…suction…cups…to…each…side. There! We’re all set.” The nurse backs away and Dr. Edwards moves in to double-check that everything is in place.

Isabel watches Dr. Edwards fiddle with the dial of the electroshock machine.