“Have a seat dear,” she chimed. I kind of thought she let me overhear the call on purpose, that’s the kind of therapist she was. She was trying to get me to distance myself from my parents, accept that I would need to make my way on my own. "Just let go,” she had already said a few times. That was fine with me. I had decided long before that I’d need to make my own way but I at least had hoped my mother would be around, like in the background of an interesting picture. Well, I finally did just let that go too.
As I sat in front of her, listening enough to nod or smile when she paused, I decided to devote almost all my time to my plans to evacuate the place from then on.
Twice a week I would go in and sit in front of Goon while she droned on about my problems and how I could overcome them. In reality, I was using this time to plot the specifics of my escape. I had developed a great ability to nod pleasantly to her when she thought she was making a point, like a little part of me monitored what she was actually saying in case she asked me a question. I didn’t want to miss it or she’d be onto the fact that I was paying about as much attention to her as my mother gave the background music at Macy’s.
It was a few weeks later that I made my first major mistake at PM. I had gotten friendly with one of the helpers---actually to help me get out of there. I figured I had to create some staff trust towards me, that would be key. So I got chummy enough with Taletha to actually end up telling her a few things about myself and one of them being that dream or vision I had of the thing with the lights outside my window. I wasn’t prepared for her reaction though. It was clear she was making more of it than it really was. She kind of jumped just a little and raised her eyebrows then tried to wheedle me into talking more about it from that point on--- no more like two friends, she was now keeping a distance, just watching,scrutinizing, just squinting slightly with those pale eyes like maybe sizing up a piece of fake gold jewelry she had taken for real. Clearly she had learned in her two week orientation that something to do with seeing things or hearing things was a big red flag in the wind that immediately had to be grabbed. The next day she seemed a little afraid, looked at me like seeing a strange insect all of a sudden, that she must identify before it bit her. “There’s no more to tell,” I told her when she asked about it again, “that’s it,” but you could tell she wasn’t convinced.
She tried to be nice but after a while her whole attitude changed. Well, I learned then to keep anything a little strange to myself---but she didn’t keep it to herself. Before you know it there I am in front of Goon who brings this up out of the blue in my therapy, calling it a vision and demanding how often I have these.