Losing It (3 page)

Dear Jo,

‘Whatever the challenge, whatever the test, whatever you’re striving for, give it your best.’ That’s Miss Haddock’s latest school motto.

P.S. Sorry, can’t help on the general knowledge front.

P.P.S. I’ll see what I can do about books.

Dear Issy,

The answers are – $10, Tom Sawyer, and Libya.

I’m slowly getting to know the staff here. There’s a Samoan nurse called Bruce who whistles all the time and another woman called Morag who has such a strong Scottish accent that I can’t understand a word she says. Leon calls her ‘mean old Morag’, which kind of suits. I
like the nurse aides best. They’re more down to earth. My favourite is Dot. Remember how I told you about the accident with the pasta? Well, that’s her. She doesn’t seem to hold that against me though, which is a relief.

And then there are the counsellors! Veronica is the one we have most often. Some of our discussions get pretty weird. They must have a laugh thinking up stuff. Like, yesterday Veronica had a copy of
Dolly
magazine and there was a photo of some girl in a bikini. The title of the article is ‘I Think I’m Fat, Do You?’ and what you think is supposed to reveal stuff about your personality.

Hmmnnnn…

Of course, it’s obvious that the girl in the photograph IS fat and shouldn’t wear a bikini but you’re not supposed to think that because you’re supposed to think there’s nothing wrong with being fat. It’s part of the therapy. Like, if they convince us there’s nothing wrong with being fat we will all turn into dumplings and roly-poly happily home. Fat chance!

Anyway, Veronica uses the bikini girl as a discussion topic.

And the discussion goes like this.

Tegan first. ‘That girl looks just like Amanda from pony club and she –’ Blah, blah, blah completely off the subject…

Then it’s Caroline, who studies the photograph for a moment before saying exactly what the rest of us think. Namely, that the girl has two chins, no waist, poxy thighs
and would be miles better off in a kaftan than a bikini.

Ingrid (who is one of life’s genuine sweet people) says good luck to her and people should be able to wear
whatever
they like. Kara says nothing, just sits there, picking some imaginary fluff off her jumper and being careful not to touch the pages of the magazine in case of contamination.

When it comes to Leon he just rolls his eyes and says personally the woman in the photograph doesn’t do
anything
for him, bikini or no bikini. Then Veronica says that personal attraction isn’t the object of the exercise here, Leon, and poor Leon goes bright red.

Interesting.

My guess is that Leon’s probably gay. (He’s definitely got the voice for it.)

Anyway, then we get onto an article about friendship, which sparks off a miserable discussion because no one seems to have a friendship worth talking about. Except for me, of course.

Do you realise, Issy, that we’ve known each other almost half our lives? And in all that time we’ve only had one argument (well, one bad one), which we both promised never to mention again. I think that must be some kind of record.

And to celebrate I have written a poem. Well, actually, it’s more of a work in progress because as you can see, there are still a few gaps.

Luv from,

Jo

P.S.

A bit corny, I know, but I’ve been feeling a bit corny lately. Must be this place.

P.P.S. Veronica has this thing about writing. She reckons it’s therapeutic. So … well, the thing is, I’ve decided to have a go at writing to Mum.

Dear Missing Persons Department,

I am trying to track down a person by the name of Miranda Morrison. She was last seen six and a half years ago wearing blue pyjamas with yellow ducks on them and driving a white car. My brother Matt was only four when she left and I was nine. Anyway, now I’m fifteen and I would really like to get in touch again and would appreciate your assistance.

Yours sincerely,

Johanna Morrison

Dear Miranda,

I am writing to

Dear Mandy,

Remember me?

Dear Mum
,

How are you these days? I know we haven’t seen each other in a while but I’ve been thinking about you loads. I thought you might like to know how I’m doing. Actually, things aren’t so hot at the moment. Nothing I can’t deal with.

Well, to be honest,

Dearest Mother,

I am writing from the local nutfarm.

Dear Mum,

Well here I am at a camp for gifted and talented students.

We are here to get special help because the education system has been failing us. There’s been stuff in the paper about it lately, you may have noticed. ‘Special needs’ works both ways these days and sometimes it’s just as hard being bright as being thick.

Anyway, I know we haven’t seen each other in a while but I thought you might like to know what’s been
happening
in my life over the past few years. (More on that later.)

We are doing general knowledge at the moment. We have to know the answers to really difficult questions like: What does U.S.S.R. stand for? And what New Zealand
scientist was one of the fathers of nuclear physics?

(Union of Soviet Socialist Republics and Ernest Rutherford, in case you were wondering.)

It was Dad’s idea for me to come here. To tell the truth I reckon he just wanted some time out. He gets pretty stressed these days. (Probably comes from living with his ‘gifted and talented’ offspring!)

Actually, I bet he and Matt prefer it when I’m not around. It’ll be just like flatting with no female in the house (apart from our cat, Sushi, that is). Matt is pretty cute for a brother. I mean, he can be annoying sometimes but overall he’s pretty cool. We get along mostly. His one annoying thing is creepy crawlies. He’s always finding little insects and stuff and putting them in jars with holes in the lid, where they usually end up dying of suffocation. His latest craze is worms. He tried to make a worm farm the other day by digging some worms out of the garden and putting them in a shoebox with his plastic farm toys. Cute, huh?

Anyway, you can’t go anywhere without him finding something to bring home – like some old sheep bone, or a piece of driftwood, or a smelly old mussel shell that ends up stinking out his bedroom. Perhaps he should be an archaeologist when he grows up.

I have no idea what I should be. Sometimes I think just growing up will be a mission. One thing I’d like to do is travel. My best friend Issy and I fancy backpacking. Whenever we go past a backpacking place we say ‘that’ll
be us one day’ (with dreadlocks and Jesus sandals!). Then, after we’re done with backpacking we’ll probably get barmaiding jobs in London, meet famous rock stars and live happily ever after. Either that or come back here and be hairdressers. No, actually, scrap the hairdressing (I’ve done my dash with that for now) – Issy can be a scientist and I can be a famous writer.

Neither of us wants to get married and have kids, that’s for sure. Bor-ing!

It’s very quiet at this camp. A bit slack actually, because I’m not allowed visitors yet, which makes it difficult and sometimes lonely. Some of the others are a bit strange but I guess that’s what happens when you’re gifted and talented.

Anyway, I’ve prattled on enough.

I hope you are well.

Love from,

Your daughter Jo

Learn meditation.

Iyengar Yoga classes available on CD.

Feeling Angry?

1. Admit your feelings.
   
2. Work out WHY you are angry.
   
3. Find some form of immediate release (exercise, pillow bashing etc.).
   
4. Express your feelings to a trusted friend.
   
5. If something needs to be said, say it!
   

Dear Mum,

I’ve been in this place for nearly two weeks and it’s hard work. It’s not easy being gifted and talented. In fact, some might see it as a handicap. We do a lot of group work. Our
therapist
teacher likes to give us things to work on. She’s into stuff like positive thinking and having goals and taking things one day at a time. Her favourite saying is ‘Even the longest journey begins with the smallest step’. Pretty obvious when you think about it. Her other favourite saying is something to do with weeds just being flowers in the wrong place. I think she must be into gardening.

Some of the kids have had pretty interesting lives, which is probably why they’ve ended up here. There’s a guy called Leon who is really nice. He’s into ‘old school’ music. Bob Dylan is his all-time favourite. I told him we used to have his
Greatest Hits
. There’s a stack of vinyl records in the cupboard at home but we don’t have a turntable any more. Dad used to play this song by James Taylor, called ‘Fire and Rain’. And there was another one called ‘Time in a Bottle’. What a sad voice that guy’s got. (James Taylor, I mean.) I quite like him as well.

We still have some of your gear at home, like clothes and that. Once I found a box of sewing stuff with patterns and fabric. Unfortunately I’m not that good at sewing. I made a skirt when I was in Year Eight but I put the zip in upside down and the waistband inside out. My friend
Issy’s mum (who has just recently been promoted to school principal) had to fix it up.

Ingrid, Tegan, Kara, Caroline and Leon are the people in my group.

You’d like Ingrid. She looks like Britney Spears. And she’s a runner. In fact, she might be going to the Commonwealth Games if she gets selected. She has her own coach and everything. Tegan is horse mad and never stops yakking.

We all get on pretty well, most of the time.

Your daughter,

Jo

Dear Issy,

These are the suckarse rules.

If you weigh less than 43 kilograms you are allowed to do bugger all. You’re not allowed visitors. You’re not allowed in the common room. You are not even allowed to wash your hair – so you lie here feeling (and smelling) like stink. And no one is allowed to talk to you, not even the nurses!

You are not supposed to write letters either, which is why this is not actually a real letter but just a figment of your imagination.

My Contract
This contract has been designed to help me stop vomiting, maintain my potassium levels and reach a discharge weight of 50 kilograms.

Currently I am vomiting several times a day. My
potassiums
level are low and I weigh 42 kilograms.

I agree to be on special unit until I reach a goal weight of 45 kilograms. A nurse will be with me during this time. This nurse may talk to me, help me with my records/
contracted
activities etc., but nothing else that can be considered a privilege. I realise this is in my best interest.

I agree to be on total bed rest (bed baths and bedpans, no walks) until my weight increases. I will work towards the privilege of being allowed off my bed. While I am on bed rest I can listen to my radio, read books and magazines, talk to a special nurse and complete records. I understand that bed rest will enable me to conserve energy and restore some body weight as well as controlling my vomiting behaviour. I understand it is for my own good.

For every twenty-four hours that I don’t vomit I will do a negotiated activity: e.g. Watch
Shortland Street,
make a phone call, write a letter, etc.

Signed,

Johanna Morrison