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“Those bastard nurses. They’re poisoning the fucking water!”
Grimacing, I shake the memory away.No, I can’t allow the past to consume me.
And then, other memories come flooding back. I see myself at eighteen years old, on my first day at university. I was so carefree back then; so happy and excited to be living away from home for the first time and making new friends in my halls of residence. One guy in particular, Dylan, was especially friendly. He was popular and good-looking and I felt so flattered by all of the attention he showed me. I only saw him as mate, nothing more. He wasn’t really my type, but he made me laugh and helped me to settle into student life by introducing me to his crowd. For three months, uni was great—the best time of my life.
And then one night, walking back to my halls of residence, feeling slightly drunk from the SU bar, Dylan offered to escort me home safely. Looking back, I was so naive, with no real experience of men or how to fend off unwanted attention. I knew Dylan fancied me, but I never allowed it to threaten our friendship. I couldn’t see the signs that were staring me in the face.
When we got back to my room, Dylan made a heavy pass at me. He pinned me down on the bed, smothering me with drunken, sloppy kisses, trying to hitch up my skirt. Terrified, I begged him to stop, begged him to get off of me, but this only made him mad. And then he started to get violent. He knocked me about, punched and kicked me, told me I was a whore and this was what I deserved for leading him on. In the end, I managed to fight him off. I clubbed him over the head with a lamp and finally—finally—the bastard got the message that I wasn’t interested.
Dylan never forgave me for spurning his advances. Shaking with rage, he left my room, and the very next day, started spreading false rumours about me all over uni. He told everyone I was a slapper, an easy lay, and that I was stalking him after a one-night-stand (that never happened). My so-called female friends all began shunning me and everywhere I went on campus, people pointed and laughed.
For a few weeks, I tried to put on a brave face, attending lectures as normal, pretending everything was fine, but inside I was falling apart. In the end, I couldn’t take it any more, and had a complete mental breakdown. Tearfully, I phoned my dad and begged him to pick me up and take me home.
And I never went back. Ever. I dropped out of uni completely and hid myself away in my bedroom, surrounded by the happy childhood memories of life before Dylan. Before the attempted rape. To block out the past, I sought solace in everything that helped me to forget that painful period in my life. Those wonderful Disney movies. My dolls. Living with my father. It was a coping mechanism. And it’s worked. I barely think about Dylan now. Except for when I hear his fucking voice on the radio.
Dr Wong’s gentle voice pulls me back to Earth. “So, how did you find your time at St Ann’s? Do you think your treatment there was successful?”
“Yes,” I say. “My anxiety attacks stopped and I started to sleep better …” My voice trails off.The flashbacks never stopped, though.
She chooses her next words carefully. “After you were discharged from St Ann’s, were you ever offered any counselling for the … ordeal you went through?”
“Yes, I attended regular therapy sessions until about three years ago.”
“May I ask why you stopped attending?”
I shrug. “ I didn’t feel I needed them anymore. We weren’t making much progress and anyway, as I said, the anxiety attacks had stopped so I thought I was okay.”
Dr Wong writes some more notes. Then, chewing the end of her pen, she asks me if I would ever consider going back into therapy.
I shake my head. “Not at the moment. I don’t think I’m quite ready to take that step.”
“Okay. If you do change your mind, let me know.” Closing her folder, Dr Wong reaches to a wall-mounted medicine cabinet and takes out two green boxes.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“Another two months supply of Thurlax.”
“I don’t think I want them.”
“Why not?”
I remain silent.
“But I thought you said they were working? You said you’d seen an improvement.”
I hesitate. “Can Thurlax cause hallucinations?”
“No, not that I know of. Why?”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. Have you been having hallucinations?”
“I-I don’t know. Maybe ...”
“What sort of things do you see?”
“Scary things. Things that make me question my sanity.”
