Kitabı oku: «My Pear-Shaped Life», sayfa 5

Chapter 7

‘Pop on the scales, thanks Greta.’ Earlier that morning, Caroline had called Greta to the medical office.

‘No thank you,’ Greta said. There was no way she was getting on scales for anybody. ‘Why do you need to know my weight?’

Caroline said, ‘It’s compulsory, G. We have to monitor all your vitals, to make sure we keep you healthy while you’re here. Your body is about to go through some traumatic changes as you withdraw from the tablets you have been taking.’

Greta had spent most of her adult life avoiding scales. And she’d never weighed herself in front of anyone else. Wiping back tears, Greta stepped onto the black scales and saw the red digits move up and down. Greta pulled in her stomach, in automatic response to the shame she felt. She closed her eyes to avoid the number. Caroline didn’t pick up on social cues and called the number out loud as she wrote it down on her checklist.

‘An even 250 pounds.’ She made the number sound like it was an achievement. A nice neat and tidy number. Greta’s first reaction was relief – at least her parents were not there to witness her shame. Then she wondered if perhaps she had misheard the woman. Maybe she said ‘an even 150 pounds.’

Maybe not.

Caroline’s eyes locked onto Greta’s gut, which spilt over her too-tight leggings. And they judged Greta, who wanted to cry hot, angry tears of shame. But she pinched herself hard, to stem them. That number meant that she was twenty pounds heavier than she’d been less than a year ago when she joined a local gym. Back then, she’d been mortified when the scales read 230 pounds. But her personal trainer had smiled encouragingly and said with so much conviction that Greta had believed her, ‘Don’t worry, you’ll never see that number again.’

She was right, of course, but not in the way she’d hoped.

Greta realized with horror that she had morphed into her childhood nickname.

Big G in da house.

Fatter than before.

Caroline said. ‘It’s just a number. Try not to think about it for now. Focus on the thought that today is the first day of the rest of your life.’

‘How many people have you shovelled that pile of shit to?’ Greta said.

‘Don’t be so quick to judge. In my experience, it’s true for most.’

‘And in my experience, I’ve found that something wonderful never happens for most of us.’

Caroline shrugged then handed a tissue to Greta, who was seconds from not just tears but a whole ugly cry. But there was no way she was going to give into them in front of Caroline. She took a deep breath, wiped her eyes and said, ‘What’s next?’

‘It’s time for group therapy.’

‘If everyone starts singing folk songs, I’m out of here.’

‘That happens after dinner,’ Caroline said with a wink.

Greta followed her to the large hall where all group sessions took place. Rows of framed inspirational quotes lined the walls. Her eyes blurred as she read each one.

Stay Positive. Stay Focused. Stay Strong.

On and on they went, all with the same condescending and pretentious nonsense. This was Greta’s idea of living hell.

‘Sit anywhere you like,’ Caroline said.

‘Answer me truthfully. Am I dead? Is this my punishment and I’m really in the bad place?’

Caroline walked over and pinched her hard on the arm.

‘Ow!’

‘You felt that, you’re not dead.’ Caroline was actually laughing as she walked away.

Greta walked to the back of the room and took a seat nearest to the door.

‘What a crock of shit,’ she mumbled, reading the poster nearest to the seat she’d just taken. You never fail until you stop trying.

‘Not a fan of the wall art?’ Sam asked, sitting in beside her.

‘How’d you guess?’

‘The look of contempt on your face was kind of a giveaway.’

Greta would have to watch that. She made a note to take more care to cover how she felt in public. ‘I just find them dishonest.’

‘How so?’ Sam asked.

‘They’re empty words spouted by people who are in the most case full of shit themselves.’

‘I’ve always liked that one,’ Sam said, pointing to his left.

F.L.Y.

First. Love.Yourself.

Others will come next.

Greta told him: ‘You see when I see that, I feel obliged to redress the bullshit balance. It would be more honest if it said, “If you hate yourself, remember you are not alone. A lot of other people hate you too”.’

As Sam burst into laughter, he added, ‘You’re funny. Do that one over there.’

A bright yellow poster said:

You will succeed.

Just keep going.

‘That’s too easy. If at first you don’t succeed, then it’s probably never going to happen.’

‘I’d buy a T-shirt with that on it. And it pretty much sums up my life right now,’ Sam laughed. ‘Oh, oh, here we go.’

A tiny woman walked in and told them all to take a seat. She was so petite, she could have fitted into one of Greta’s pockets. She had masses of blonde curls that looked like they belonged on an Irish dancer about to launch into Riverdance.

‘That’s Noreen,’ Sam whispered. ‘She’s the main therapist here. She does the daily group sessions and also all the one-on-ones. She’s great. You’ll like her.’

Greta wasn’t so sure about that.

‘We have some new members today who joined us yesterday. I know it can be intimidating coming to group sessions, so for those who are feeling overwhelmed right now, try to relax. You can observe, take it all in until you find your feet,’ Noreen said.

Greta slouched down lower into her seat, feeling eyes on her as the room checked out who the newbies were. She had a peek herself, trying to work out who the other one was but she couldn’t tell. What she did note was the fact that everyone looked like they wanted to be anywhere but in this room.

‘Today I’d like us to explore the rock-bottom moment you experienced as part of your addiction,’ Noreen said. ‘We all have one. And we can’t hide from it. We have to face it, accept it and finally learn from it. Only then can we move on.’

No sooner had she finished this statement than Heather had her hand up.

Sam nudged Greta and whispered, ‘That’s Heather. She’s a therapy junkie and a classic oversharer. Noreen can never shut her up.’

‘I’ve had lots of rock-bottom moments,’ Heather boasted. But before she could launch into a litany of them all, Noreen cut in and asked her to only share her worst one.

‘It has to be the day my husband found out that I had sold my diamond engagement ring and replaced it with a cubic zirconia fake one that I bought on the shopping channel.’ Heather paused for dramatic effect and looked around the room to make sure she had everyone’s attention. In fairness, even Greta was eager to hear how this played out. It was like an episode of Jeremy Kyle.

When her husband had her ring evaluated for an insurance policy, the truth came out. ‘He went ballistic. He accused them of swapping the diamond out. He even rang our local radio station to complain when they refused to own up to the scam,’ Heather continued.

‘That’s bat-shit crazy,’ Greta said, just as the room went deathly quiet. Everyone turned to look at her.

‘Before you speak, remember to let your words pass through three gates,’ Noreen said. ‘Let’s remind ourselves of them.’

Everyone began to chant, ‘Is it true, is it necessary, is it kind?’

‘What the actual?’ Greta whispered.

‘It’s Rumi. We say it a lot around here,’ Sam said.

‘What’s a Rumi?’

‘He was a famous Persian poet.’

‘Oh, I must have missed his stuff in school,’ Greta said. Noreen looked at Greta expectantly.

‘Say sorry,’ Sam whispered.

‘Sorry, Heather.’ Greta apologized, but didn’t really mean it. ‘My words were not kind or necessary.’ She paused, before adding, ‘But they were true.’

The room giggled and even Noreen had a smile on her face. ‘Go on, Heather. What happened next?’

‘He threw me out. I ended up sleeping in my car, homeless.’

‘And that was your rock-bottom moment?’ Noreen asked gently.

Heather shook her head. ‘No. I deserved that. In fact, I almost welcomed it. It was the look on his face when he realized what I’d done that nearly killed me. My betrayal. I’d told myself for years that my drinking was not affecting anyone but me. I had it under control. But at that moment, I saw what I had done to him, and I’ve never felt shame like it.’

‘Excellent work, Heather. Thank you for sharing with the group.’

A chorus of ‘well dones’ and other platitudes of approval erupted around the room. Greta gulped down a lump that had appeared in her throat. She had felt amused by Heather’s story right up to the moment she mentioned her shame. That she understood. And there was nothing funny about that feeling.

Noreen looked around the room, ready to hear someone else’s story. Greta kept her head down low. She had no intention of getting involved in this conversation. She needn’t have worried because it appeared that now Heather had got the ball rolling, the group were all ready to spill their particular brand of beans. They held their hands up in the air, one by one, eager to prove that sharing is caring.

Eileen admitted to waking up in bed with someone who wasn’t her husband. Tim broke into his next-door neighbours’ house, looking for painkillers in their bathroom cabinet. Sam admitted to gambling away his house and savings. Rory woke up in a jail cell in Wexford, with no clue how he ended up there.

‘Many of us have done things when under the influence that we would never do with a clear head,’ Noreen said.

A sea of yeses filled the room. Not from Greta, though. She’d never done anything like that. Once again she felt smug and removed from her counterparts here. She wasn’t like them.

Liar, liar pants on fire. Greta pushed the thought down hard.

‘Be honest with yourselves. There is no point hiding from this. I’d like everyone to ask themselves if you have ever done something that you were ashamed of while under the influence of your addiction?’

Greta felt Noreen’s eyes rest on her. They seemed to be probing into her head, searching until they dislodged a memory, buried.

Dylan.

She’d avoided thinking about the incident she’d had with him six months ago. Despite Dylan’s efforts to discuss it with her, she’d made it quite clear that she would never do so. Now Greta could think of nothing else as flashes of that weekend demanded attention.

The Murder Mystery Crew were a social gang. Plus, as they all stayed in the hotel each weekend, it was inevitable that a party happened in one of the rooms. Greta wasn’t a big drinker, but she’d had more than her usual couple on this occasion. Seeing Donna play the part of Ruby Mae, wearing her costume, hurt. With every swish of that red saloon girl’s costume, with every swing of her hip, Greta felt … less beautiful. Less funny. Less talented. Less loved. Less her. So she decided to drown her sorrows in red wine. It worked for a bit. She forgot that she didn’t like herself very much and she partied hard with her cast mates. And when Donna decided it would be fun to tell everyone about Greta’s wardrobe malfunction, oh how they all laughed. They clutched their sides and howled at their funny fat friend who could no longer fit into her costume. And Greta let them make her body the punch line. She gave them permission to laugh when she laughed the loudest at herself.

When she went back to her hotel room, she took a pill to help her sleep. Thinking about this now, she realized that was a bit weird in itself. There was a time that a few drinks would send her to the land of nod as soon as her head hit the pillow. When had it become normal to her to follow that with sleeping aids too? That’s when things got weird. The next morning she awoke in bed, lying beside Dylan. She had no memory of how she got there or what they had done. Then Greta realized that she wasn’t even in her own room, she was in his. In her underwear. Shocked and horrified, she dressed as quietly as she could, then sneaked out the door, leaving him asleep in the bed alone. What had she done? Dylan was her friend and she’d jeopardized that. And it was only when she was back in her own room that the full impact of her actions hit her. Dylan had seen her body. No Spanx slip to hold everything in. Just Greta in her bra and knickers with all her lumps and bumps, ugly dimpled cellulite and stretch marks. She couldn’t laugh this one off.

She couldn’t face it either. So she did a classic Greta move. She shoved the memory down deep inside her, to sit with all the other painful and sad ones.

Dylan had tried to talk to her about their sleepover, several times, but she’d refused to engage. ‘If you value our friendship, you will never mention it again,’ she’d said to him. And that was that.

But here, in this roomful of strangers, with raw pain intensifying as each person shared their lowest points, Greta couldn’t shove the memory away. It tumbled around her mind, demanding her attention.

Noreen helped each person work through their rock-bottom moments, and she never showed shock or surprise, just gentle support and encouragement. And when she murmured the odd inspirational cliché, Greta found herself forgiving her. To her surprise, Greta found herself murmuring the odd word of encouragement to each person as they spoke.

Noreen raised an eyebrow in question to Greta to see if she would like to share anything. Greta shook her head vigorously. There was nothing she wanted to say. She just wanted to return to her room, lie down on her bed and find a way to fall asleep. It had been an intense morning and she was overwhelmed with it all. So much pain bouncing around this room.

Noreen said, ‘As you can see, rock bottom is different for everyone. For one person it’s the breakup of a relationship, for another it’s the loss of their home. Everyone here is unique, but we share something, me included. We’ve done things and said things that we would never have believed possible before our addiction. Because addiction changes us.’

Have I changed? Greta thought about the past twelve months and realized she no longer recognized herself. Who was she now?

Noreen continued, ‘But make no mistake. These moments you have shared here today were carried out by the addict in you. You have to own them. It’s the only way to make sure that they no longer define who you are. Not unless you let them.’ She looked around the room, making sure she made eye contact with every single one of them. ‘I’m proud of you all. You have all taken steps today to seek recovery.’

Greta felt a bit like a fraud. All she’d done was listen, so she wasn’t sure she deserved any praise. She remained in her chair as the others left the room and tried to work out what she should do next.

‘You’re shaking.’

Greta looked up in surprise. Noreen was standing beside her. ‘It will get harder before it gets easier.’

Noreen was an addict too. She might understand Greta’s inability to sleep. There must be something Noreen could give her, even half a tablet. Greta suggested as much to her. Noreen smiled and listened as Greta relayed her difficulty sleeping. The endless hours she had put in the night before. The shakes. Nausea. ‘So you see, I thought it would make more sense if you could tell Caroline or whoever to fill a prescription for me. Just to help me wean off the pills. I’d take them here, under medical supervision of course. That way you all can be reassured that I’m safe.’

Greta felt smug again. She had been articulate and reasonable. Not desperate in the least. When would she learn that whenever she felt smug, it usually meant that things were about to go any which way but hers?

‘No.’

‘That doesn’t make sense!’ Greta was outraged, then shoved her hands behind her back when she saw Noreen looking at them.

‘What doesn’t make sense is the fact that less than twenty-four hours into your treatment for drug addiction, you think it’s appropriate to ask me for drugs.’ Noreen was still smiling.

‘And what doesn’t make sense to me is that you would expect me to do this without any support. It’s cruel. Inhumane even.’

Noreen’s smile slipped away at that point. ‘You need to return your brain to its normal function, without the need to take chemicals to make it work. Until you do that, you won’t be able to sleep.’

‘But you don’t understand. I cannot sleep without my pills. The only thing that gives me peace is the sleeping tablets. Everything else is messed up.’

‘From what I’ve heard, the tablets didn’t solve your insomnia. They just made life a whole lot worse.’

‘I wouldn’t say worse,’ Greta countered, not liking how this conversation had turned.

‘According to my notes, you almost killed yourself. I wouldn’t call that fine. Was that your rock-bottom moment Greta? When you were pulled from the bath?’

Greta had no answer to that.

‘You’ve forgotten how to look for the beauty in your life. It’s there, hidden amid the chaos and mess. Can you let me help you find it again? At least be open to the possibility that rescue is possible. That you can get out of this?’ Noreen asked.

Greta found herself nodding once. A silent, small gesture that maybe it was time to finally look for help. Noreen glided out of the room, leaving Greta and her shakes behind.

Chapter 8

Greta scrambled backwards across the single bed, screaming, as the man moved towards her. If he managed to reach her, there was no doubt in her mind that he would kill her. Her back slammed hard against the cold wall and he disappeared. She reached for the light and switched it on, her heart pounding so fast that she could feel the vibrations in her chest. Her pyjamas were wet through, her body drenched in a cold sweat. She’d had a variation of this same nightmare ever since she was a young child. Ever since the advert. The fear was sometimes paralysing and other times, like just now, she would scramble and claw her way backwards, to escape his gnarly hands, as they reached out to her.

Her body ached, not just from the emotional onslaught of terror but also from the hours of non-stop puking she’d endured the previous evening and night. Yesterday had been one of the worst days of her life. She suspected much worse was to come.

There was no way she could go back to sleep. She longed for her iPad or phone, wishing she could while away the hours until morning, scrolling through social media. But without either of them to distract her, that left her with only her thoughts. She was never comfortable with them, which left her in a right pickle. She’d had the same recurring nightmare, on and off, for as long as she could remember.

Some nights she didn’t remember much about the nightmare, she just awoke knowing that she was terrified. Others, she could remember every moment in precise detail. The unknown hooded man trying to kill her was tall. He wore a long hooded black cloak. Yet, no matter how close he got to her, she never saw his face. It was always blank, as if someone had scrubbed his features away.

She decided to leave the light on and even though it took her an hour to fall back asleep, she eventually did.

Later, she managed to sit through Noreen’s group session. This time it was about self-deception. Greta felt every word land uncomfortably in her gut. Did she lie? To herself? To others? She decided that if she did, they were only white lies, so they didn’t matter. Or did they?

She thought too about when Noreen had asked Greta what she preferred to be called, G or Greta, after the first group therapy session. She had lied and said she didn’t care. Greta hated the name G. She’d said as much to her family ages ago. She asked them to stop calling her Big G. But the very fact that she admitted she didn’t like the name made her brothers cling to it even tighter. That’s how they rolled in the Gale house. And her mother had thrown her eyes to the heavens muttering about notions again. Which was the worst offence any Irish person could commit, as far as her mam was concerned. When Aidan joined the local gym in an attempt to get a six-pack, he’d had notions. When Ciaran came home with chia seeds to sprinkle on top of his porridge each morning because some girl had told him to. Notions of the highest order. And when Greta had got headshots taken for her actress portfolio. She looked brilliant, with a bit of airbrushing and a soft filter. Notions eleven.

She figured it was easier to shut up and let the Gales continue to call her Big G. Was that self-deception? Greta didn’t think she was very good at rehab. All she did was confuse herself.

Noreen’s voice interrupted her thoughts, and she was pulled back to the group session again. ‘Remember, there is a big difference between giving up and knowing when you have had enough.’

Should Greta give up her dream to be an actress? She’d now had nearly a quarter of a century of disappointments as she tried over and over to make her star shine once more. Were her moments over?

Big G

A has-been in da house.

Washed-up.

Literally.

Greta couldn’t imagine doing anything else but acting. She’d had the bug ever since she was a little girl and wasn’t sure she could give up now. She’d tried all the usual after-school activities as a kid. Soccer, piano, Irish dancing, gymnastics, GAA. But all they did was make her feel inadequate, because she never quite made the grade. Greta remembered her teacher once saying to her parents, smiling, ‘She’s just not athletic, is she?’ And although there was no malice in the comment, it hurt the seven-year-old Greta all the same. She felt like she was failing her family, her teacher. Herself. But then her mam sent her to drama club. Greta had shuffled in to class, expecting to fail. But instead she’d found her voice, her heart, her dream, herself. Her coach told her that she had it, whatever it was. That when Greta performed, she believed her. Greta had swelled with pride and she knew that this was what she wanted to do for the rest of her life. Nothing else mattered but acting. It was her everything.

Once the group session was over, everyone went to the gym for yoga. It was Greta’s first experience and it wasn’t a pleasant one. As she lay on a mat, all she could smell was feet around her. And she was sure Rory farted too, although he did a big job of waving his arms around, feigning innocence. Greta quickly discovered that she didn’t have a flexible bone or muscle in her body. Her body spasmed about five minutes into the downward dog. And when the instructor pushed in her stomach, telling her to find her inner core, she very nearly puked again, all over her gym shoes. She felt Caroline’s eyes on her, taking in everything, and when Greta left the room, Caroline followed her.

‘I’m going to be sick,’ Greta said, running into her bathroom. She begged Caroline to leave, embarrassed. But Caroline stayed and helped her to bed when her body had expelled everything left inside. She placed a cold compress on Greta’s forehead and gently told her that she’d get through this. That better days were ahead.

Since she arrived at rehab, Greta had wished she had died in the bathtub on a few occasions. But never more so than right now. She couldn’t get away from the voice in her head telling her over and over again how weak and useless she was. The voice that constantly relived her shame. She prayed for an end to her misery until finally her body was quiet, and she fell asleep. The hooded man from her dreams stayed in the shadows and somehow she managed to get through the night.

Halfway through her first week, a card was slipped under Greta’s door. It was an appointment for her first one-on-one with Noreen. She felt like she was being called to the principal’s office, which was a nice room as it happened, with a large mahogany desk sitting in front of a large bay window, overlooking the garden. It was pretty out there, with a twenty-foot weeping willow tree in the corner, a bench underneath it. Noreen stood up to welcome her then she motioned Greta to take a seat. It was a soft comfortable armchair, similar to theirs at home. Greta was relieved to see a large blush velvet cushion, which she placed on her lap. If a seat was missing a cushion, then she’d place her handbag on her lap. A well-rehearsed trick to hide her stomach when she sat down. She had accumulated a stockpile of ways to hide her body over the years.

Selfies, taken at the right angle, only of her head, never her body.

Sleeves. God forbid her wobbly arms might be on display.

Oversized jewellery to distract people from her oversized body.

And she always stood behind someone or something in photographs. Hiding, Greta was very good at.

‘Have you been out to the garden yet?’ Noreen asked.

‘I’ve gone for a short walk most mornings before group therapy. I’ve been feeling ill so I’ve not managed much more than that.’

‘Now that you’re feeling better, you should expand your horizon a little more. Follow the path to the end of the garden. You’ll see a gate. Head out through that, and you’ll end up at our beach, which is only accessible from this house, so it’s totally private.’

‘I’ve never really been the outdoorsy type, but I’ll give it a go.’

‘I’m interested to hear about what you feel is the event or defining moment that tipped you into addiction. Have you any thoughts on that?’

‘I don’t know,’ Greta said, and she wasn’t being difficult. She really didn’t know. Events and timings were all muddled up in her head.

‘In my experience, people don’t start taking pills unless there’s something else going on. We need to work out what that is for you. You said that you hadn’t been sleeping well for nearly a year before you began taking them?’

‘My mam says that I’ve never been a good sleeper. My brothers were never a bother for her, but me, I’ve always been difficult. So I think it’s been an issue for me for most of my life. Obviously the past year or so it’s gotten out of hand. It’s always been the same, Big G, being different.’

‘I can’t imagine what that must be like. What do you do during those times when you can’t sleep?’

‘I watch TV. Catch up on social media. Play games on my iPad. Sometimes I cry.’ Greta meant that as a joke, but it didn’t land like one.

‘I want you to be honest here and dig deeper. Is there any event or time that you think could have triggered the insomnia?’

‘No. I can’t think of anything.’ She pushed away her hooded man.

Noreen looked disappointed. She wrote something else into her notebook. Greta had no idea what the woman wanted from her. ‘What do you want me to say? That I had some big childhood trauma, which I can blame my problems on? My parents are nice. I come from an ordinary, sometimes pain-in-my-ass family. None of this is their fault.’

‘So the fault is all yours?’

‘Yep. Big G takes a bow. She managed to screw this up all on her own.’

Noreen scribbled something in her notebook at that, then looked up and said, ‘Why do you do that? Call yourself Big G.’

‘It’s my nickname.’

‘I understood your nickname was simply G. Short for Greta.’

‘My brothers call me Big G.’

More scribbling in Noreen’s notebook. ‘And is that how you see yourself? As big?’

Greta looked down at her stomach that swelled over her leggings. She’d seen pregnant women who had smaller stomachs than she had. ‘Well yes. Because that’s what I am. You can hardly disagree with that. I’m grossly overweight.’

‘I’m not sure I’d call you grossly overweight,’ Noreen said. ‘What I am sure of is that you are very hard on yourself.’

‘I’m honest, there’s a difference.’

‘And how long have you struggled with your weight?’

‘Since I was old enough to be aware of my size. So I guess for a long time.’

‘And have you tried to do anything about it?’

‘I’ve been on every diet that has ever been invented. From cabbage soup to no-carbs, only carbs, vegetarian, you name it. I’ve joined most of the slimming groups at some point over the years. I even joined the gym last year and signed up to a personal trainer.’

‘And how did those diets go?’

Honestly, for a supposedly intelligent woman, Noreen asked the most ridiculous questions. Greta pointed to her large stomach and said, ‘How do you think?’

‘You are a harsh critic.’

Was she? She didn’t know about that. ‘I just say it like it is. Every time I started a diet, I thought, this time it will work, this time I’ll get that bikini body.’

‘Who says you don’t already have one of those?’

‘I’d be happy if I could just wear a pair of skinny jeans with a T-shirt tucked into the waistband. Rather than my usual frenzy to find a baggy swing T-shirt that can be worn without clinging to my tummy. Surprisingly hard, I might add.’

‘So is it just about how you look? You want to lose weight to feel better about your appearance?’

‘No. It’s more than that. I want to be healthy too. I’d like to bend over without a stabbing pain in my ribs. And more than that, my size is affecting my profession. There are limited roles for fat women. Thin is in. Size zero is the hero. Fat is not all that.’

‘I can only imagine how hard that must be in your job. For most of us, it’s impossible to conform to societal standards of beauty. But when your job is in the public eye, it must be even harder.’ She looked through her notes, then said, ‘When you hear the word “fat”, how does it make you feel?’

‘The word fat has haunted me my whole life,’ Greta sighed.

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘My brothers, my mam and dad, they are all thin. All of them. But as soon as adolescence hit, I piled on the pounds. And my dad hated that. He’d nag me. “You’re getting chubby G. Don’t eat that G, it’ll make you fat.” Blah, blah, blah. It’s a shaming word.’