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“Brie, you should come talk to me soon.”
Her gaze flits around the hallway, as if she’s worried someone will catch her talking to me.
“Hey,” I say, lowering my voice. “No one has to know. Just…come see me. Okay? I promise it will be our secret.”
She nods once before bolting inside the classroom.
I blow out a tense breath. I came to BMA to escape my past, and everywhere I look, that past haunts me.
Judgement
Ellis
How does one know they’re crazy?
This was a question posed in one of my psych classes, a discussion initiated to understand the fundamentals of declaring judgement. Others may think it’s as simple as a psychologist saying: you’re insane. Stamp a label on you. Send you off to a psychiatric hospital.
There are many micro steps between point A and B—and every one of them carries a hefty weight of responsibility for the declarer.
I found it interesting that no one—not one of my peers—was brave enough to tout they’d declare a patient insane. The fear of losing their license, or worse, retribution from a patient, made them question their sample assessments. Hones
tly, to me, it made them weak.
The only qualifying answer given was: if you’re still able to question whether or not you’re sane, then you haven’t completely lost all sense of reality.
Therefore, the patient must be found of sound mind.
I press the gauze into my palm as I watch the clock above my office door. The secondhand ticks ticks ticks down to the end of the school day. Impossibly slow. My hands burn from where I treated the fresh cuts.
I could clip my nails. Wear gloves. There are ways to condition myself not to inflict pain when my emotions soar. But, it’s part of my reality—a deeply ingrained characteristic of who I am. It’s a way for me to stay grounded to the present.
If we change too much of ourselves, I believe that’s how we start to slip away. Once our foundation is gone, any level of insanity can take root and make us question our reality.
Back in that group therapy…I mean class, I didn’t speak up. Maybe I should have. I didn’t agree with the majority or my mentor. I don’t think it’s as easy as sane or insane. On or off. White or black. And for Carter, the violence inside him might not be as simple as nature versus nurture. Taking a few pills to alter his brain chemistry and boom, he’s fixed.
Like me, that fiend inside him might be just as deeply ingrained. More than a trait, or characteristic. He could be hardwired to experience love and violence on a profound level. So much so that, maybe to him, they’re one and the same.
The part of me that wants to fix him wars with the part that aches to love him—bad parts and all. A strong desire to protect Carter from those who would lock him away or harm him rises up.
He’s why I’m here.
I didn’t know what my purpose was when I first sent my resumé around to schools. I wasn’t sure which direction I was moving in, where I would land. I simply followed the outline I had written for myself, with the help of Dr. Leighton.
She’s been my mentor since before I graduated from high school. She was there for me all through college. And she’s the voice inside me when I feel lost.
The final bell of the day rings, and I’m like one of the anxious students, leaping out of my desk chair to gather my satchel and bag so I can leave the school grounds before the crush of cars congest the streets.
I ignore the niggling urge to look for Carter. After his display in the hallway, I need to reevaluate…everything.
I plug my phone into my car charger and push it into the cradle as I steer onto the main roadway, heading out of the downtown area. I punch Dr. Leighton’s contact into my phone.
She answers right away. “Ellis, how are you? How is Black Mountain?”
Just hearing her voice makes me feel brittle, fragile. “It’s been…challenging,” I say. There’s no use mincing my words or trying to hide my emotions. Dr. Leighton is skilled in the art of reading me. “There’s this student,” I begin, and I delve into the difficult feelings Carter has brought on in just the short time I’ve started my career.
Dr. Leighton is quiet on the line as she gives my dilemma serious thought. Then: “Ellis, I think you know what I’m going to say.”
I grip the wheel, aggravating the cuts on my palms further. I’ve been driving aimlessly, following the winding road as it leads up the mountain.
