🧐AUTHORS NOTE: ***triple stars denote the start and end of a flashback or memory***
"Morning Sydney, It's Daisy. How are you feeling? It's a beautiful Christmas Day outside. Would you like to talk to me today, we could take a walk?"
My psychiatrist, Dr Daisy Fields, the most cloying human that ever breathed, even her bloody name is cutsie! Every fibre of my being bristles whenever she is near, absolutely everything about her makes me angry. Her voice is saccharin sweet, clearly contrived in my opinion, a transparent and naive attempt to make me open up to her and spill my guts. She is around my age, has dark hair that could rival any shampoo models in terms of its lustrous shine and volume yet she always chooses to wear it in a neat low bun at her nape, she carries an over the shoulder plain black satchel and dresses like my nan did in the 1970's, all very bohemian, lots of tie-dye prints, bell sleeves and crochet!
She is physically beautiful with clear porcelain skin, a small button nose and full wide lips. When she smiles, which is incidentally all the fucking time, she displays the whitest, straightest teeth and tops that all off with the most perfectly aligned dimples I've ever seen. She exudes kindness, confidence and honesty.
She is the epitome of perfect happiness.
She is a life goal!
I HATE HER!
My distaste for her is surely clear in my absolute refusal to talk to her for the past few weeks, or to talk to anyone else here for that matter, yet she still comes twice everyday, her positive and joyful vibe combined with the stench of her horribly sweet perfume really starting to make me nauseous.
I have chosen to remain mute for a number of reasons, the first being that they will not tell me what happened that night, the second their refusal to tell me anything about Yanni, not how he is, why he isn't visiting me here, what he can remember? What happened?
I have nothing. I need him. I don't understand why, but know beyond doubt that he is what will make this all better. He will make it make sense, help me understand. I told them that on day one when I arrived...
*** "Get Yanni, I need him to help me... he can help me.....please!? He can make it all better, he can, you'll see, just get him to come. Please let me see him! Why won't you let me see him?? What's wrong?
Where is he? Tell me. TELL ME!!
TELL ME WHERE HE IS! WHY ISN'T HE HERE? YANNI!!
HEEEELLP MEEEEE.... help me.... Yanni..... you've left me alone, please....I neeeeed you!" ***
They didn't listen.
Considering that they are infact 'professional listeners' paid to hear what you say, they are, in actuality, pretty fucking shit at HEARING what is said.
People accuse us journalists of bending the facts, sensationalising stories to sell papers, and it definitely happens, some news outlets reporting more tenuous content than the 'We lie about everything' channel, but these guys!?
They pick up tiny insignificant threads from what you say, twist them together into a thread of half truths then use it to tailor together a few minor but accurate details to create for you a 'Jumper of diagnosis'.
They choose to hear and respond to the bits that fit the narrative they have for your life.
YOUR LIFE... but these arrogant strangers know better?!
I don't think so!
I'm not helping them to categorise me into some neat little box, tied up with a bow of medications and therapy sessions. No thanks. I don't want it, and I don't need it. I need Yanni, plain and simple. I need Yanni, and until he is sitting infront of me I will not speak another word. To anyone!
I refuse to acknowledge her and continue to stare out of my small window at the limited but indeed spectacular vista. It is as Daisy says, a beautiful day.
The distant buildings are wreathed in a halo of mist, the tops of the very tallest are obscured from view by blindingly white fluffy clouds, the mid morning sun reflecting off of the tiny water molecules in the air and casting a hazily ethereal rainbow across the scene below. From my position in the window seat I cant see the grounds surrounding this building. In the middle distance is what looks like a suburban housing estate, rooftops glistening as if decorated with crystals, the areas where the suns rays strike are deep, dark browns and reds, the warmth of the sun evaporating the moisture from that spot.
Maybe I would like to go outside for some air? Yes, I think perhaps I do want to go for a walk, but can I tolerate her long enough for her to accompany me? Is it worth it?
I hope so.
Lifting my head from its current position on my knees I turn to look at 'Dr Daisy', simultaneously swinging my legs down and around until they meet the floor, our bodies now parallel as I stand and take a step towards her.
She shows only the tiniest flicker of shock but it's there, I saw it! Her eyes momentarily widened, the 'contestant in a beauty pageant' smile faltered for the briefest time and her whole body arched back fractionally... she was scared!.....but she recovers quickly and clasps her hands together over her chest as if about to pray.
Or maybe to feel her own heart pounding?
Or to perhaps form a physical barrier between us?
I'm sure I will not care to know the answer to those wonderings in a few seconds, but for now I enjoy the small victory that is knowing I scare her.
A vile little demon whispers in my ear and I respond, taking another step towards Daisy, my face impassive but my intent undeniably clear. She swallows hard and extends her right hand for me to shake, which of course I don't, but the tactic pays off... I have stopped walking!
Point to Daisy!
I contemplate what it would be like to choke her? To squeeze her neck so hard that her eyes bulge from their sockets, her cheeks red, hands clawing at my arms, her face frozen in fear as saliva drops from her lips and blood starts to run from her nose.... until she stops!
Unmoving. Limp. Served her purpose!
I am struck by a lightning bolt of clarity and memory and I silently fall to the ground, Daisy just managing to catch my head a few centimetres from certain brain injury!
I can't breathe! My body won't move at all, frozen but limp, my eyes are fixed on the dusty skirting board ahead of me. I am suffocating, my lungs renouncing responsibility for their part of the job called 'keeping Syd alive!'
My hands are at my own throat, nails digging into flesh as I continue to struggle for life. My vision blurs and the focus is off, the image of the wooden architrave reducing in size, becoming a pinhole at the centre of a glaring white nothingness.
*** A split second flash of a woman with terror in her eyes, hands up defensively.... ***
Nothingness...
*** Another brief flash of vision. A man above a woman on a bed... ***
Then another, this one with accompanying dialogue,
*** "PLEASE!!! HARRY.... please.... don't!!" she croaks as the man above her places his large hands over her tiny fragile neck and begins to squeeze. ***
More nothingness!