Sarah Vaughan is Not My Mother: A Memoir of Madness (12 page)

“Fiona can't have one because she didn't come,” Alicia says.

When I get my Coke I think twice about drinking it, but I am pretty thirsty so I decide I can get Fiona one later when Waris takes me out. I hate breaking promises.

I sit on a chair at a table by myself, staring at a painting on the wall. I don't much care for conversation with the others: with no hearing aids in I can't hear very well in a noisy room. I just sit and sip my drink and stare at the picture and the other people, drinking their hot coffees on a hot day.

As we head back to Wellington I scour the streets looking for signs of my family, my real family, but I can't see any Africans. I see a mark coming up on my leg and I figure it must be a lesion. When we get back to Wellington, the letters on the billboards start jumping out at me again. I look at the advertisements as if they have been made for me. I see an Air New Zealand one and think I am meant to fly away somewhere, if only I could escape.

I look over at Rachel and see her talking to Alicia, who is driving. I can't hear their conversation as they have their backs to me. I'm trying to pick up a sign of some sort as to what to do about Rose. I read the number plates and try and descramble the letters and the numbers so they make sense, and when I read the personalized number plates I see them as messages to me.

We pull up back at the ward. I wait for Mark to jump out, and feel repulsed to see stains on the back of his pants. I take my time getting out. Louis jumps out before me and says, “Thanks.” I think to myself, that was the only word he uttered all afternoon.

 

Back in the ward I head to the yard for a cigarette. It's about 4.30. Lester and Fiona are at the table. I'm excited to see some normal people. I walk over quickly and say to Fiona, “Sorry, I couldn't get you a drink. They wouldn't let me.” I fossick in my pocket, pull out the paua shell and give her that. I feel bad that I didn't get Lester anything. I sit down and roll a cigarette and ask him how he's doing. “I'm better now, babe. It was full on having that fight with Stephanie. Nearly got physical.”

“Not cool how some people get treated in here,” Fiona says.

I say, “Yeah, know what you mean. You have to watch certain nurses; they can get on a power trip and be Nazis when it comes to meds.”

Suddenly I feel my pain coming on.

“You right, babe?”

“Nah, my pain's come back.”

Fiona puts her hand on my back and says, “I'll go get the nurse.” After she leaves, I say to Lester, “What are you going to do? You can't just let them get away with it.” I am still angry about Lester being injected.

“There's nothing I can do, babe. If I get before a judge, what would I tell the lawyers to say?”

“I think you should write down exactly what happened while it's fresh in your mind.”

“But, babe, I don't want to. It'll make things worse for me. I don't want another one of those injections.”

I see Fiona and Waris walking towards us. “Oh my darling, you're in pain,” Waris says. “I go get you something for it, and remember, you will see a doctor tomorrow.”

“You're so lucky she's your nurse. She really cares about you. A lot of them do,” Fiona says.

Waris has been my primary nurse the last few times I have been in the ward. She says I respond well to her, which is true. I find her easy to get on with: she is generous and kind to everyone.

Waris comes back with some pills. “I suggest you lie down, sweetheart. I go get you a hot-water bottle.”

I say goodbye to Lester and Fiona, and Waris walks me to my room. “I like your hair,” she says. “It's not your beautiful blonde hair but it's nicer than before. Still don't think your mother will like it, but it's your choice.”

I lie down on my bed and Waris goes to get the hot-water bottle. I take off my boots, turn on my side and look at my pictures. I start fretting about the pain and the blood: there seems to be lots of it. I go to the bathroom and look in the mirror and the voice says I am bleeding from everywhere. I go back to my room and lie down again.

I start to get drowsy. Waris comes in with the hot-water bottle. “Can I go buy some smokes later?” I say. I seem to be forever asking for things.

“We'll see how your pain is. If not, we'll go in the morning.” I look at how much tobacco I have left and say, “It will have to be the morning, seeing as I am running low.”

When I am in this state I smoke incessantly because it helps control my anxiety. If I don't smoke regularly I can fall into a state of panic. I don't know what I would do in a hospital that has smoking bans. I can smoke up to fifty a day.

I look over at my boots and they look angry. Sometimes hallucinations like this can be so threatening they make me scream and run away. All kinds of things can appear: animals, patterns, shapes, even people. I also get happy hallucinations where I see God, or a friendly spirit sweeping through the trees. These can give me a feeling of euphoria because I am so enchanted by what I see. I never tell anyone about these hallucinations because they are something special and unique to me.

I figure that God is angry with me and I had better ask for my cell phone. “Hey, Waris, would I be able to grab my phone off you?”

She sits down on my bed. “What you want that for? You trying to get drugs?”

“No, no drugs. Just want to get in touch with a friend who said they might come and visit.”

“Not Rose again? She threatened to call the police last time you were in here. I see you now have a different person as your next of kin. You can't contact Rose again.”

I look at the wall and it still looks menacing. I'm trying to persuade her, so I say, “I'll just have the phone for a bit and then I will give it back.”

“Okay, but MaryJane, I don't know if these people you hang around with are the kinds of people who should be coming to visit you. They make you unwell when they give you drugs.”

“The person I'm texting doesn't give me drugs.”

“Well, I will be watching you. I get you your phone later. I think you should rest now until dinner.”

“Okay, Waris.”

My eyes start to close and my memory goes back to the last time I was in here. I sent Rose heaps of texts telling her I was Jesus, and she got in touch with the ward, telling them I had texted her. When I am ill, I text people excessively—not everyone, just certain people. I do it because the voice creates a story of a life I am leading and puts these people into the story. There is always a part of me that is in reality, and on a conscious level I know they are not going to help me but I do it anyway.

Usually I just send messages filled with biblical language, trying to get the person to see me a certain way. I don't understand that the messages can portray me as unwell. I don't see myself that way. I don't see myself any way. I just act on impulse and brace myself for the consequences.

I am aware that texting Rose is risky behavior but I am also being told to do it quite sternly and repetitively by the voice. As I drift off to sleep the voice says it will talk to me later. The codeine relaxes me and eases my anxiety. I sleep deeply until Waris comes and wakes me for dinner. She bends down and picks up the bread off the sheet. I grab a tomato, my last one, and go and have a smoke. Lester and Fiona are not out there. I figure they're at dinner. As usual I want to avoid the crowd so I sit and smoke about three cigarettes in the empty yard, then I lie down on the bench and watch the clouds drift over my head. For a change I don't think of much; I just relax and enjoy the feeling.

I must have been lying down for a while, because when I get up I'm hungry. I go to the dining room and get my tray. The menu is curried chicken and rice. I grab a slice of bread and chop the tomato on to it. I sit in the empty dining room. The cleaners are working in the kitchen. I stare out the window and look at the tree. I have a sensation on my third finger, which means the voice is telling me to face the tree—my third finger means three, or tree—so I face the tree, which I understand to mean truth. I have also mapped out the minutes and hours of the day on my fingers, so when I get touched on my index finger, for example, it may mean I have to go somewhere or do something at one o'clock. These sensations on my fingers validate what the voice is saying.

I eat a bit of rice and decide I don't feel like it so I eat the bread and tomato. I start thinking again about the phone. I am not aware of the time but I start to get a bit stressed. I go and find Waris. She gives me the phone reluctantly and says, “I want it back.” I go into the lounge and look for the newspaper. I see it sitting on one of the couches. I sit down and pick up the crossword section.

Sitting and looking at the crossword section is something I picked up on my last stay in hospital. All day and night I would sit and look at the crossword and the letters. I even drew my own alphabet and that was how I had a conversation with the voice, until the voice developed and I could actually hear it. I would sit in bed and ask questions as to what I should do, and my head would get led to letters, sometimes fast and sometimes slow. To an observer it would look as though I were just reading something, the same page day and night. It came as a comfort to be communicating with someone. Slowly I got better at reading the letters and hearing.

For a brief time the communication would stop, so I don't completely trust the voice and I want to be sure of what I am doing and whom I am talking to. I'm not completely sure the voice I'm talking to is, in fact, Rose. I look at the letters and let my eyes get led. The letters say “It's Rose” and “You can text me.” I feel my heart rate picking up so I go and have a cigarette.

Fiona is in the smokers' room talking to Nola. I say, “Where's Lester?”

Fiona smiles. “He's in bed.”

Nola is drilling Fiona on her rights under the Mental Health Act. Fiona seems preoccupied so I step outside. I have the phone in my hand and I start thinking about possible texts to send. I decide I won't send the message tonight. I will do it tomorrow when I have had time to think about it. I'm petrified Rose will get the cops on to me.

I finish my cigarette and go and lie on my bed. The voice starts speaking to me. “I had to say that about the police because your life was being threatened if you kept texting me. You were bought by a gang and I had to buy you back so I'm allowed to be friends with you now. You're a very important person. You're a prophet.”

I put the phone in the drawer beside my bed. The voice says, “When are you going to text?”

“I will text tomorrow. I don't feel like it tonight.”

My mood has sunk. I just want to sleep but it's still light. I lie on my bed and close my eyes. Waris comes in with my meds. I take them. She sits down on my bed and asks me how I am.

“I'm all right.”

“What's wrong?”

I can't really tell her so I say, “Guess I'm just tired.”

“Well, the codeine will do that. Why don't you get right into bed and get some rest.” She helps me get into bed. I pull up the blankets and close my eyes.

“Night, darling.”

“Night, Waris.”

I start feeling drowsy even though it's not yet nine. I just want to switch off for the day.

 

When I wake it's near six. I go out to the smokers' room. The coffee trolley is being wheeled in by Shelley.

“Good morning.”

“Morning,” I say, half asleep.

Lester and Hemi are in there. Mark is waiting at the door. I walk in and sit down. I can't say much as I'm very sleepy. I get a coffee and take it back to my room. I tell Lester I will talk to him later.

I get back into bed and the voice says, “Morning.” I say “Morning” back and ask what it has been doing all night. The voice switches to Rose. She says, “I came in and visited you to make sure you were still breathing. You know you're dying.” I sit and ponder this for a bit. “So I'm slipping through the cracks,” I say.

I hope to do this. In my mind I am just a ghost, travelling through. My diseases will go uncured and I will die. Being in an institution can make you feel alone and forgotten, as though you are all just chucked together to fiend for yourselves, cast-offs that society doesn't want to know about.

I say to the voice, “I've done a good job. When do I die?”

The voice starts sobbing and says, “Three years. Your mother needs you. She wants you to return home where she is. She will hide you and protect you. If you keep doing your music you may live longer.”

I start to feel my chest tighten. I think I'm having a heart attack. I roll over and rest my fist between my heart and the bed to apply pressure. I'm in lots of pain. I start praying to God to give me a heart attack that will kill me because I can't bear staying in here any longer.

“You have only three months to live,” Rose says. “You must text me. I don't want you to die in here.” I get up because I don't want anyone to come in and see me like this. It's 7.15 and I wonder if it's too early to sing. I decide to have a smoke first.

In the smokers' room Lester is now screaming into his ear plug, “Come on, come on.” He puts his arm out and points to the chair. I don't really feel like sitting there but I do. I roll my smoke and he stops screaming and asks me how I am.

“Good. How are you?”

“Fantastic, darling, fantastic.”

He resumes screaming.

I get up and start having an argument with the wall, hoping if there are any baddies they will hear me. “So you gonna cover it up, run away with it all,” I shout.

The baddies are a gang who I believe have recorded me on video and exploited me for pornography to make money. I generally try not to think about this but when I get angry it comes out. I also believe they have run away with my art and photography and used it for their own purposes. These thoughts have hung around for years.