Into the Velvet

Nineteen Days After

"Do you hate me?" Sami asked. "It's okay if you do."

"I could never hate you."

She slumped against her seat. It looked uncomfortable, as most hospital seating did. I was being discharged, and Sami had chosen this inopportune moment to pay me a visit. Tearful and apologetic, she'd stumbled around the hospital blindly, unable to find me in my room. Carrying a box of chocolates and a bear.

She found me sitting in the waiting area. My little overnight bag by my feet.

"Why did they kick you out of your room?"

I shrugged. "I guess they really needed my bed. I'm not in critical care anymore. So I'm just waiting for my parents."

"I would've come sooner," she explained, frowning, "but my mom saw a segment about you on the news, and she thinks that the evil eye is upon you. I had to sneak out."

I snorted, then felt guilty. I didn't want to accidentally insult Sami's belief system. "Maybe she's more right than wrong. I feel pretty cursed right now."

She winced. "It's that bad, huh?"

"Very."

My time as an inpatient wasn't over. Last night, I'd been in talks with my psychiatrist about my treatment plan.

"Am I crazy?" I'd asked. "I've had time to think it through. What happened to me wasn't within the normal range of my symptoms. I think I've progressed to something worse."

Dr. Munni had been adamant in her stance. "I'm cautious about changing anything in your treatment. We don't diagnose young people with dissociative identity disorder lightly. It can have a damaging effect on your identity and sense of self — and since you're still growing, that kind of stigma can last well into your adulthood."

"So what do I have? What's next?"

She looked down at her file. "We'll keep you on mood stabilizers. They'll keep working as long as you remember to take them. Your current diagnosis stays as it is. Once you're transferred to our psych unit," she stopped to give me a pointed look, "if you choose to be admitted, they'll treat your generalised anxiety disorder and dissociative symptoms with a mix of different therapies. Due to the... nature of your admission, I've referred you to Kathryn."

Anxious knots had tied up my insides. I didn't want to talk to anyone I didn't trust. "Who's Kathryn?"

"She's the leading child psychologist in the unit. She'll assess the best way to treat you, and come up with different methods to ensure that you make the most progress. She's very good."

I couldn't help it. I reacted in anger. "I don't care if she's good. I'm not a child!"

Dr. Munni seemed wearied. "Legally, no. You're an adult, but you're also an adolescent. Technically, you exist somewhere in the middle of the two. If we're going to treat you, it's important for us to keep that in mind."

The story was always changing. What was I? I was always 'old enough,' until I was 'too young.' All grown up, but not in the ways that counted. Existing in the liminal space of one state and another.

I looked at Sami now with a discerning eye. "Sami, do I seem like a kid to you?"

She turned to me in surprise. Giving me a once over. "No. You seem like Louise. Do I look like a kid?"

She didn't. Sami has always been keenly aware of herself. "You don't," I answered. "But why does the world insist on reducing us to children? It feels like a slap in the face — we're made up of so many layers, and the world still wants to diminish us."