JOELLE

It was just a dream. Or maybe not? Joelle’s disease had become so fierce the last weeks that she couldn’t distinguish what was reality or a product from her aggressive ludicrous fantasies, as she wanted to call her hallucinations. But can you blame someone for wanting to name their so-called insanity a vivid child-like imagination? First month after she got out of another clinic and her life would lead her to seek out further help… But what could make this time different? It was an everlasting circle of treatments to something that could not be treated, but only make her even more numb by the end of the day. To the doctors, that meant that she was at peace and casted out of her demons. To her, that meant that she was becoming even more unaware of what was actually happening during the day and during the night her connection with reality seemed to lose signal between the ludicrous dreams and the nature’s sounds and screaming foxes of the Irish countryside. It was 4am that night, when she woke up to find that giggly little girl storming her bedroom. In the morning she woke up again thinking it wasn’t real until her eyes met the aftermath of the destruction. “It was a fox”, she said to herself. She wouldn’t be the first to become a fox midnight invasion victim in the countryside, but whenever did she close her window she couldn’t recall. Surely the foxes hadn’t. She breathes out. “I just forgot.” It’s an automated, straight-through motion like you lock your door when you get out of your house, but most of the times cannot recall you’ve actually done it, because you’re doing it without thinking about it. For a person with on and off treatment for a diagnosis of schizophrenia, Joelle had a pretty clear and thorough thought process. And when everyone tells you to ignore your instincts passing them on as psychosis… you eventually learn to do so.

It wasn’t an easy fall for the 23-year old dark-haired girl who had postponed her studies for another year to get treatment. Moving back to her apartment brought her back all the memories the pills were supposed to make her forget so she could make a clean start. Sounds familiar? But psyche’s traumas are buried in deep within that no matter how much you’ll try to erase them, even if you’re not conscious of them anymore, they’ve left that mark in you deep etched on your guts, a mark that cannot heal over time like a wound from a fall of a bike. A mark that is not visible, yet always there. Meanwhile, the stain of fresh blood on her creme colored sheets was pretty much visible. As she opens her mouth to scream she presses her own hand to it and holds her breath.

“Breathe in… Hhhhhhmm…, breathe out… Haaaaaaaaa… Count backwards. 5…, 4…, 3, 2… 1. Better? Yes… Yes.” Talking herself through her exercises after another panic attack made her feel even less sane, but it was still better than screaming her lungs out causing her neighbours to call the police again. Still laying up on her bed, she looks out of the window on the breaking of dawn to see a fox smiling at her before she disappears out on the woods again in a split of a second. She reluctantly gets up to face the inevitable situation of a red brooklet running down each leg and leaving its marks on the creaking wooden floor on the way to the bathroom. Getting your period in the middle of the night can feel pretty thrilleric… She used that word to describe a lot of situations in her life. As she got into the shower with blood running down her legs, she thought of the shower scene in the thriller Carrie. “I’d like to have the superpowers also, but no… just blood.”

As the Murphy law points out, the bell couldn’t find a worse moment to ring while she was mid-shower, scrubbing herself off the bloodstains. The water pressure was so good that day that she didn’t hear it. The woman outside the porch touched the doorknob to only find the door was open and reluctantly walked into the apartment. “Joelle?” She steps on something sticky and looks down her shoes to see the bloodstain. With her breath now cut she follows the bloodstains leading to the bathroom. As she opens the door, Joelle springs up and covers herself with the white towel which later realises to be a mistake…

“Miss Saigon! God, what are you doing here? Do you have keys to my apartment? Did I give- Oh- Did my aunt for God’s sake!”

“Sweetie, sweetie, sweetie…”, says squeezing her face to snap her out of it.

“The door was open. I heard strange noises overnight. I got worried.”

Joelle can’t seem to find her words. Miss Saigon sees the towel getting blood-stained as well. It couldn’t look more like Carrie, Joelle thinks when she also notices.

“Oh…”

“I’ll leave you to change and I’ll wait for you in the living room.”

“Close the door please!”

“Of course…”

“No, I mean the apartment door… If you haven’t…”

“Oh, yeah, I should have…”

Joelle closes the bathroom door and Miss Saigon heads to the front door of the apartment. She notices a package on the doormat and picks it up before she shuts the door closed.

After having a second shower, Joelle reaches for a tampon and puts the former white towel in a wash-basin with cold water and washing powder for hard stains. “Gets off red sauce, wine, blood, body fluids and… sperm? Yucks.” She then moves to her bedroom which is the room across that’s being separated by the hallway which leads to the living room, running, covering her naked body with her bare hands.

“I really hope she didn’t see me…” says slashing the door behind her in panic which would only increase her flow. The period-blood towel was enough embarrassment for one day, she thought to herself. Searching through her drawers for her special “on my difficult days” underwear, she finds a folded piece of paper. “In hide and seek you don’t win by staying hidden…” she reads. “What the-“

“Joelle, are you all right?”, calls out Miss Saigon, interrupting her thoughts.

“Uhm, yeah… Coming!”, she shouts.

Hide and Seek? She couldn’t even remember when was the last time she ever played that childish game. She would always hate it. Only her classmates would force her to play… and… Anyway, she didn’t have time to get lost in her thoughts anymore or Miss Saigon would break into her bedroom like the last time she had caught her in-between an episode. “You’re gonna be alright sweetheart, I promise you…”. She couldn’t seem to believe that this time.

She grabs a plain underwear from the open drawer, then puts on a sleeveless shirt and her go-to jean shorts. She quickly sticks the paper inside her right pocket and opens the door to make her way into the living room.

“There you are… Honey, your zipper...”

“‘Shit.”, exclaims the girl to herself. “I’m sorry…”

“No worries!”

“Hum, do you want anything, tea, coffee?”, calls she out zipping up, moving towards the kitchen.

“No, no sweetie, it’s all right!”, she calls out.

“Orange juice, apple juice…”, searching through her fridge.

“No, thank you, it’s all right.”

“Just a glass of water then?”, exclaims she rather quite imperatively.

“Sure.”, she smiles awkwardly.

Joelle opens the drawer and drops a glass which shatters on the counter.

“Shit!”’, curses she again.

“Joelle?”

“It’s fine!”, says getting another glass from the counter and fills it with water from the fridge.

“Thank you”’, says, taking a sip. “Oh, it’s cool.”

“Would you prefer half from the sink?”

“No, it’s okay…”

“I can take half of it out and-“

“Honey it’s okay!”

“Yeah… uhm… sorry.”

“Don’t say that…”

“I feel that’s all I can say anymore.” Miss Saigon drinks some water and puts the glass on the coffee table. “So, when do you think you’ll be returning to class?”

“I don’t think I can…”

“Joelle…”

“Miss Saigon, you know how much I’m fond of you but I can barely function here,

I am -”

“Don’t say it!”, she interrupts her.

“Sick. I am sick, Miss Saigon.”

“You’re not!”

“I don’t even know if I can be out here…”

“Out here?”

“In this apartment, in this… world…”

“World? Are you planning on going out on space?”

“I should have stayed in for good!”

“That’s nonsense!”

“It’s the truth!”

“Joelle, you’re a perfectly healthy girl with a perfectly healthy mind, I can’t stand you talking about yourself like that. Those places did not help you!”

“Well I can’t help myself!”

“Whatever’s going on, it’s not on your mind, it’s real!”

“Oh yeah? Like the little girl raiding my bedroom last night?”

“What are you talking about?”

“What am I talking about? Oh, so now I’m back to the loonies’ bin, aren’t I?”

“Honey no, talk to me…”

“Talk? Yeah, let’s talk… About why I’m seeing things that aren’t there, or doing things I don’t recall to, like leaving my front door open like that all night.”

“Well, obviously you didn’t!”

“Oh, so a little girl did break into the house last night…”

“I told you I heard strange noises myself…”

“Maybe it was all me… Maybe I was having another episode and passed out…”

“Maybe you were sleepwalking, and that’s neither psychosis or insanity!”

“Maybe it was a fox!”

“Maybe it was!”

“Oh, oh! Why can’t you just accept the fact that I am sick, Miss Saigon?”

“Because I can’t. Because I know you aren’t. Because I know you”, says caressing the girls’ cheek.

“No. No, you don’t”, says pulling away from her.

“I know there’s something about you Joelle. Something that you won’t tell me… or anyone else. And if you let something hurt you like that, it can drive you mad.”

Joelle remains silent. “I found a package. On your doormat.”