Losing It (13 page)

Dear Jo,

Dad really wants to see you, Sis. Me too.

Love,

Matt

P.S. I made nachos this week but they were too hard to wrap so I had to eat them myself. We used extra-hot chilli beans!! Yuck!

Baked beans

The musical fruit

The more you eat

The more you toot!!

Martin Wainwright farted all afternoon.

P.P.S. Please find enclosed my latest fossil. Dad reckons it could be a moa’s tooth. You can keep it as a lucky charm if you like.

D,

In group therapy Veronica asked me something that fair took my breath away. We’d been having this discussion about responsibility when, out of the blue, she turned the focus on me. (That’s how she operates. She’ll leave you alone for ages, then wham! It’s full-on interrogation.) In front of everyone, she asked if I blamed myself for Mum leaving.

Does a bear shit in the woods? I thought (which is one of Dad’s favourite sayings). But I didn’t say that. First, because it’s not the kind of thing you say to Veronica and second, because I’ve never told anyone the truth before and I wasn’t about to spill my guts in front of the likes of Caroline and Kara.

But she made me think.

She didn’t wait for an answer. She just bowled on with another of her theories.

‘It’s very common,’ she said, looking around the group.

What is? I thought. Telling your mother you wished she were dead and then waking up to discover she’d taken you up on it? Yeah, right. I bet that’s happened to loads of people.

‘Blaming yourself,’ said Veronica, like she was reading my mind, ‘is a natural reaction. When parents leave (as in scarper, die, or get divorced), it’s common for kids to blame themselves. It happens a lot. And sometimes our feelings get out of control. And sometimes eating
disorders
develop as a way to control these feelings.’

Seems like she had it all sussed. She liked to talk about ‘our’ feelings as though it applied to her as well.

I shrugged and tried to look like I wasn’t sure what she was on about. But inside, my heart was going thump, thump, thump because she’d hit a nerve. I could see she was trying to be helpful and I could see she might even have a point. But I couldn’t bring myself to admit she was right. The truth was, I couldn’t bear the thought
of anyone else knowing. I’d been working on my defence system for so long that I wasn’t about to let down my guard. Well, not here, anyway.

She seemed to take the hint and carried on about a bunch of other stuff, including the fact that mental illness is sometimes inherited. Great! I felt myself go red as a beetroot when she said that because I could tell she was meaning me.

‘But that doesn’t mean you’re stuck with it,’ she said, as if she were talking about a bad case of acne. ‘Mental illness, just like physical illness, can be treated. And, with the right treatment, it can also be overcome.’

Then she prattled on about how we shouldn’t take responsibility for things beyond our control. And then she turned the spotlight on me again.

‘You’re a tough cookie, Jo,’ she said, only this time I knew she was right. That’s what hacked me off most. I
was
a tough cookie. At least I used to be.

D,

It’s raining outside. Pissing down, in fact. And it’s getting colder too. There was a frost last week. Normally I love frosts. Dad used to tell cute stories about Jack Frost. I knew they weren’t true but it was nice to pretend. In the winter, it was my job
to get the ice off his car windscreen in the morning. You had to get the water temperature just right because if you used cold water it froze again and if the water was too hot the windscreen could crack.

Last winter dad bought me ‘toe socks’ from the Two Dollar Shop. Two dollars for a pair of socks! Far out! He thought he’d done so well but they were actually the most uncomfortable things to wear. My toes felt itchy and bunched up inside them. I didn’t tell Dad that.

Hey, I can see Veronica from up here. She’s getting out of her car. Nice coat. Bet it’s new. I can’t remember the last time I had something new to wear. Maybe it was the toe socks. Trouble is, I feel fat in everything I put on. Even my toes feel fat these days.

Later:

Dot started back today. It was good to see her again and I have to say she’s looking better. Her hair is cut differently, softer round her face and she’s had streaks put through it. She’s been up north visiting her daughter, Leah. I feel really sorry for Leah because I keep trying to put myself in her shoes and I’ve decided I don’t know what I’d do if I found out Dad was cheating on Mum. On the one hand you’d want your mother to know the truth and on the other hand you’d be thinking how devastated she’d be when she found out and how you shouldn’t be the one to tell her. Also, you might be hoping it’d all kind of fizzle
out so maybe she’d never have to know.

One thing I’ve learned is – you should never tell your mother bad things because you never know how she will react.

P.S. Leon and Tegan had a wicked argument today. Tegan was talking about the way her dad treats her mum and how he doesn’t understand anything about horses and how difficult things are for her mum and everything. Then suddenly Leon flies off the handle. He says how come it’s always the man’s fault and why do males get blamed for everything, like when something goes wrong in a marriage for example. He was getting so fired up about it, I think he must have been talking about his own mum and dad.

Dear Jo,

Got my maths paper back this afternoon. 43%!!! My worst mark ever. Bummed out in algebra. My brain turned to slush. Hope I get to do a resit before Mum finds out or she’ll blow her top! (Apply yourself, Isabelle. Extend that lazy mind of yours, girl.)

Had mufti day yesterday to raise money for the new gymnasium. Tim wore three-quarter pants with long socks
and looked (gulp!) like he was auditioning for
The Sound of Music
!!! Hmmmnnn … What do you think?

Luv,

Issy

Dear Issy,

Three-quarter pants with long socks, huh? Hmmnnn … let’s see. Sometimes you have to put these things in perspective. For example, if you compare it with world hunger or suicide bombers I’d say it wasn’t that
important
. But if you were thinking of forming some sort of relationship with the guy then you might have to seriously reconsider!! Especially when you couple it with his Jellytip fetish.

Jo,

I never said he had a Jellytip fetish!!!

Issy,

Sorry. Just teasing.

Colson, Francine.
— On 7 July, 2005, as a result of anorexia, aged 28 years. Loved daughter of Alice and Bill Colson. Loved sister of Bernadette, Angeline, Thomas, Phillip and Andrew. Loved grand daughter of
Harrison
and the late Eileen, also cherished grand daughter of Ted and Dorrie Parks. ‘Forever in our hearts.’

A service for Francine will be held in the Church of the Holy Name on Thursday. In lieu of flowers, donations to the Eating Disorders Association would be appreciated and may be left at the service.

Hey…

Even when you know someone is dying it’s still a shock when it happens, especially when the person is just 28. You just can’t believe you won’t see them again. Ever. Ever. Ever. Ever. Ever. Ever. Ever. Ever. And even if you say ‘ever’ a million times it’s still not enough. And even if you didn’t see them a lot in the first place it’s still a hard thing to get your head around. Not existing. Here, then not here. Vanished. Disappeared. Gone. Gone. Gone. Forever and ever and ever…

There was a photograph of Francine in the newspaper. At first I thought they had the wrong person. Like, I thought the paper had made some dreadful mistake and put in this photo of some movie star or something.

God, how embarrassing, I thought. Because the Francine in the paper looked like Catherine Zeta Jones in the
Woman’s Weekly
. She had this bouncy black hair and well, she looked amazing.

Veronica said the photograph was taken five years ago, before she got sick. I couldn’t believe it. It was like Francine had become a completely
different
person and it made me feel ill just thinking about it. So what happened? How did that lovely Francine in the paper end up dead in hospital? How??!!!

No one here knew the ‘other’ Francine. We all
presumed she’d come from some weird place. Like maybe her parents were religious fanatics or druggies or heavy metallers or something. Except that ‘Alice and Bill Colson’ sound like regular people and the Church of the Holy Name doesn’t sound too much like a religious cult.

In the end we decided not to go to the funeral. It was Caroline’s idea to hold a memorial service of our own.

The idea seemed to catch on. Leon said he’d play his guitar and I asked if it’d be okay to read something. Before the service I went for a walk around the hospital grounds. My legs felt weak and shaky. Hard to believe what an inside person I’ve become especially when I used to be such a tomboy. The air felt cold between my teeth like I’d been sucking on ice and I shivered so much my bones felt like an old rattly skeleton.

In Cutler Street Dad had a glasshouse where he grew tomatoes. When they got to a certain point he’d take the plants out to ‘harden them up’ outside. Well, that’s what I felt like – one of those plants. Like I needed a few days in the sun to harden up.

I folded my arms to keep warm and sat down on the park bench to think about what I was going to read. I’d never spoken at a memorial service before.

So where do you start and what should you say?

Dear Francine,

I don’t know you very well at all but …

Dear Francine,

What happened?

Dear Francine,

We only met a couple of times but I’ve read your poems and I’ve seen you round the place. It’s hard to imagine you gone. I mean, it’s really hard to believe.

When I look at your photograph I want to cry. I was thinking … maybe the rest of us should make a pledge. Maybe we should promise ourselves to get well for you. Because then your dying won’t be for nothing. And maybe your parents won’t be so sad if they know that.

Anyway, I’d like to say – rest in peace, Francine Colson.

It doesn’t say everything but it’ll have to do.

This is what happened at the service. Caroline made a kind of altar on the sideboard in the ‘common room’. She knew Francine best and besides, she is always happy taking charge. We lined up our candles in a row behind a photograph of the Francine we knew (white face, black clothes etc.). Veronica pinned some poetry onto a
corkboard
.

‘Let me be weightless and airy and light – and maybe I’ll find peace tonight…’ (Strangely, now that she is dead, her words make a weird kind of sense.)

Veronica said a prayer. Then she told us some stuff about Francine’s life. Like she was born in Sydney and came to New Zealand when she was three and she was a good netball player and she liked acting and she’d even been deputy head girl at her school. Deputy head girl?! It was hard to get your head around.

She made Francine’s life into a kind of story, which I guess, when you think about it, is what our lives are. Such a sad ending though. Veronica didn’t actually talk about the way she died. She didn’t have to. It hung over us all like a shadow.

Leon played ‘Knocking on Heaven’s Door’ by Bob
Dylan
, with hardly any clunkers. His voice is amazing. Then he blew us away by singing a song he’d written himself. It was all about making your own kind of music and being true to yourself and it made me want to cry because Leon looked like one of those old school folk singers and I felt so proud of him and it was like I had a golf ball jammed in
my throat the whole way through.

When it came time to read my letter I was shaking like a leaf. I got to the bit about Francine’s parents and I lost the plot. God knows what I sounded like.

After my letter Ingrid read a poem but she dropped the book halfway through and couldn’t find her place so she had to sit back down. Kara didn’t say anything. She just sat there with her feet in a straight line chewing her fingernails. And Pip did much the same.

When it was over, Caroline passed around a bowl of black grapes because apparently black grapes were about the only thing Francine ever ate. So we put them in our mouths and went through the usual tortuous process of swallowing. Mine sat like lead in my stomach. Kara peeled the skin off hers and nibbled. It was all so frustrating to watch and that’s when I had this experience. I don’t know how to describe it. It was like looking down on myself – sort of detached. It didn’t last long but for one brief moment it was like I could see things differently and it was scary because I could see how I must look to other people. How we all must look. Like, imagine if someone dropped in from another planet. And there we all were – scared to eat. It hit me like a slap in the face. Scared to eat. WHY???!!! How come? How bloody come? At that moment life seemed completely bizarre.

And then I just felt shattered. And exhausted. And sick to death of everything. Like I’d just been run over by a ten ton truck.