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400 pages, ebook
First published January 1, 2018
“The world needs more kindness.”
'"Anyway, then I was there [in the greenhouse] and the storm was there and I realized just how not normal it was that I'd run out into the garden. And my head felt like it was burning and screaming and full of insects that were exploding one by one behind my eyes..." Another tear bubbles up and jumps down my cheek. "And I realized that I'm not very well again," I gasp, needing more air. "And I'm not sure I can go through that again."' (p17)*
'The thing is, it sounds good. It sounds like it could work. I mean, a month. A whole month. Of intensive treatment. I could improve. I could learn how to not feel like this again. This could be it. This could be the silver bullet. The magic pill. The miracle cure. The thing that actually does it. And just that thought - the thought this could all go away. The thought that I'd finally be able to feel normally, as opposed to EVERYTHING or NOTHING... The thought is more than enough to make me smile.' (p27-28)*
'Hannah give me a strange look. "Is it true? You haven't been diagnosed?"
I feel my face blush.
"Umm, I assume I have," I bluster. "But I don't know what it is."
Jamie grins and talks with his mouth full of egg. "You've got something weird and new that they haven't figured out yet?"
I shake my head. "I doubt it. But I wouldn't know. I don't want to know."
Lewis - the wispy boy - talks to me properly for the first time. "Why not?" he asks. [...] I look back at him and shrug. Then shrug towards the whole table." "I just don't."
Jamie nudges me in the side with his elbow. "Ooo, mystery girl." I roll my eyes again. "Hardly. It's just my choice. I mean, obviously I have issues. Because I'm here and all. But I don't want a label on me in case I use it as an excuse for not trying to get better, or for just being a dick or..." Everyone really is staring. Oh God, have I offended them? "I mean...it's just not for me." I try to smile. "But, whatever works for everyone else is great." (p88-89)*
'Then, without really thinking, I circle a second one.
I am out of balance.
Because even though I won't let them tell me the official label for it, I know this is the truth. I know it is not *normal* to swing from euphoria to suicidal in one earthly rotation. The enormity of that presses down on my skull, travels down my spine, sends tingles of dread firing out through my frail, human body. I shake my head violently, trying to dislodge it. Because I am here to fix this. I am here to balance myself out. Here to heal. Here to get rid of this. It's ruined me three times, but not any more. Not again. I will get rid of this poison inside me.' (p111)*
'I hardly slept. My body just knew it wasn't where it normally sleeps (in a homemade bunker under my desk). I sweated and twisted in my sheets and kept thinking I heard noise and taking out my earplugs just to check.
"Why do you need to check?" the CBT therapist once asked me. "If you can't hear the noise with your earplugs in, then why does it matter that it's there?"
"Because it matters," was all I could say. Because trying to use logic to explain anxiety is like using a banana to open a locked safe.' (p86)*
'Sophie sniffs. "I thought I would be okay because I've been doing so much better, but, like you all turned and looked at me at exactly the same time and it... I sound crazy." She lets out a crack of laughter but none of us laugh back. Because it doesn't sound crazy. Or illogical. Or weird. Or any other words she's worried we're feeling. Because all of us here, in this little stable, holding pitchforks and mucking out alpacas, we all know it doesn't have to be logical, know that logic has nothing to do with it.' (p260-261)*
'"Maybe people like you and me are just prime numbers," I tell him."We don't neatly divide into a world that demands order. And they keep trying to find out why, and what makes us the way we are, but they can't."
"They keep trying to divide us into two," he adds, his voice heavy with sleep.
"Yep, and call us crazy when we don't. And give us therapy and meds and freaking alpacas until we can be moulded into something at can at least pretend it divides nicely into the world."' (p223-224)*
'"I obviously have not been the person to diagnose you and I know your diagnosis is still uncertain..." And before I can stop him, before I can shout out "NO" before I can wave my arms in the air and scream "DON'T DO THIS" he says, "but in my professional opinion, you may have [redacted] and..."
And I zone out because I'm screaming inside and my fists are clenched and tears are in my eyes and I can't I can't I can't undo this. I can't unhear what I've just heard. It's like hearing a spoiler for your favourite TV show but so so so so much worse. Dr Jones has noticed me screaming, even though I'm very quiet, and she's clocked on.
"Albert!" she interrupts quickly. "Olive doesn't want to know her diagnosis."
His face falls. "Oh no, Olive, I'm sorry."
"IT'S IN MY NOTES!" I scream. I actually do scream. "YOU'RE MONITORING MY FUCKING HEART RATE AND YET YOU DON'T READ MY NOTES." And I'm up and the chair has been kicked across the room and I'm quite sure that I did it because they're calmly telling me to calm down and I totally zone out for a moment or two. I only remember blackness and crying and the words.
[Redacted]. [Redacted]. [Redacted].
A label. A diagnosis. Who I am boiled down to a catchy title that will probably be called something else in fifty years time because eventually, with time, all titles get politically incorrect. They pick up the chair and sit me on it and keep saying, "Sorry, sorry" but it's not like saying sorry undoes anything.' (p210-211)*
'"The thing that really gets me," I half interrupt. [...] "Is that they're NOT SURE. I always kind of trusted that they knew what was going on, you know?" My arms flail around so much around the bed I almost knock him off. "Do you not find that strange? That there's no, like, test for these things? It's not like diabetes where they can count the insulin in your blood, or a tumour where they can shove you in an MRI scan and bulgy bits all light up. How do they even decide on this stuff? I mean the whole idea of [redacted] was decided by what? A bunch of men in a room wearing white coats, VOTING on what symptoms make it a condition?"' (p220-221)*
'And maybe, just maybe, none of us would be here if life had been easier or fairer or righter or happier or less scary. And maybe it's not about how to mend us now we've all gone mad, but figure out why we've gone fucking mad in the first place. And then MAYBE society should ensure that sort of thing doesn't happen again. Because it's all very fair training psychologists to sit us down and get us to talk about our awful upbringings, but why aren't we trying to stop awful upbringings? I mean, I guess society TRIES to stop bad things happen, but they're doing SUCH A BAD JOB AT IT, JUST LISTEN TO WHAT'S HAPPENED TO GABRIELLA. And...and...
Oh God, I can feel this thought blooming. Like on those nature programmes when they shove a camera onto a flower seed and show footage of it growing really really fast. I feel the roots go into the earth and I feel the stem start to grow and I feel the leaves unfurling and the petals turning pink one by one.' (p240-241)*
'"I didn't need your research anyway. I know what got me here already. SUBSTANCE ABUSE."
Gabriella, unbothered by his anger, steps closer to him. "But WHY did you start abusing substances, Jamie?"
That's when the top blows off his volcano. "BECAUSE I'M IN A BAND!" he shouts and Sophie squeals. "I'm not traumatised or poor or abused, okay? I just smoked a shit ton of weed because I'm in a band and that's what people in bands do. I'm just a selfish idiot addict. How are you going to save the world from selfish idiots? Because I'll tell you what..." his voice lowers to almost a growl. "I don't think absolving myself of all responsibility for the bad decisions I've made in my life is going to make the world a better place. In fact I think it's going to make it a worse one. Yeah shit happens, yadda yadda. But I'm the reason I'm here. I'm the reason I'm like this. And I'm the reason the moment I'm out of here I'll probably go straight to my dealer and buy an ounce, smoke it and probably start tripping out again. Letting people off is not the answer."' (p254-255)*
The
Human
I
Always
Hate
Most
Is
Me.
"#KindnessIsContagious"
I'm sketching all over the pages now. Elizabeth's fading to background as I let self hatred truly engulf me.
I ruin everything.
Because i'm a bad person.
While struggling with the world and herself, Olive still had such a sassy personality it made me laugh and say oh yeah i can relate to this and that.
"Maybe its a good sigh? Ill condemn my madness to Room 101 for ever."
Mum looks sad for a moment. "Oh, Olive, you're not mad. You're just....."
"Happiness challenged"
"no..."
"Coming down with a touch of insanity?"
"No..."
"Mentally high maintenance"
She laughs at that one. "Just open the door already"
"Kindness," Sophie says. "The world needs more kindness"
"And what about kindness towards yourself?" she says to him. "How much quicker would we recover if we were compassionate towards ourselves? If we forgave ourselves? If we gave ourselves a bit of slack?"
" And i was thinking that true compassion is more than just 'trying to be nice to people'. I reckon most people try to be nice anyway' or at at least think they're nice but something is still obviously going wrong." She steps forward and the sun hits her pale face, making her shine almost translucently. "I think real kindness, real compassion, is having the strength to stop and see where another person is coming from. To try and work out why they're being the way they're being. It takes time and patience. It not as easy, but that's real kindness"
" Together snowflakes can form avalanches"
"Please be kinder to yourself. Life is hard enough, and recovery is hard enough, without you beating yourself up for being you"