Chapter 7 Girl, Interrupted
Girl, Interrupted
LIVING IN THE WAR ZONE I CALLED HOME MADE ME cold. Cold and mean. If someone ever popped off at me, I didn’t say shit. I just swung. I just had so much anger. School, home, church. Didn’t matter. I was trained to go.
I ran away for the first time in fourth grade.
Somehow, I conned a classmate into taking off with me.
We ran away to a desert across the street from school and stayed there until dark.
She started crying and wanted to go home—but I wanted to stay.
I also knew that sleeping in a desert fort wasn’t something I could do, so I reluctantly bailed with her.
By fourteen, life at home was suffocating, and I just wanted out. I no longer wanted to be a human punching bag and couldn’t keep listening to Bill and Mindy arguing every fucking day. So I started running away for real. It didn’t matter where—I just ran.
I’d stay at one of my girls’ houses—anything to get away from those maniacs. Home was no longer an option for me, even if it meant leaving Baby Sis behind.
I’ll always be Baby Sis’s big sister, but you’ll notice she’s not too present in this book, and it’s for good reason: She’s just not really a part of my life.
I love her and I always will, but the fracture between Baby Sis and me was probably predestined from the minute she was born into that home.
I don’t think we’ll ever be able to overcome it.
Eventually, my parents got smart and wanted to cover their asses, so they started calling the cops and filing runaway reports on me.
It meant that if I had any encounters with the law when I was away from home, I would be brought right back to Bill and Mindy.
It was miserable. I never understood why they wanted a child they hated so much to come back home so badly.
At home, the fear that I might jet meant that the last shred of privacy I had got taken away.
They put a leather strap of literal sleigh bells on the front door so they could hear me coming and going, and eventually, nailed my windows shut.
Then they took my bedroom door off the hinges, and I was made to sit on my bed with my hands in my lap, staring at white walls for hours on end.
I was only allowed outside my room if it was to complete a chore. I was officially in prison.
When I was under their roof, every minute felt claustrophobic, like I was being strangled by invisible hands. With my door off the hinges, everyone could see into my room, it was like a fish tank, and I was the guppy everyone was staring at. I couldn’t get a second of peace.
* * *
I’D PRAY ALL THE TIME for an escape.
Why, God? Why is this my family? Why am I here?
As I rounded fourteen, the anger was just bubbling over. I had some height on me—and a lot of strength. I wasn’t easily pushed around. I’d even fight dudes if I had to—whatever I needed to do to protect myself. No one else did.
Mindy would constantly poke and poke and poke. Until one day, I saw red. She picked the wrong one to fuck with. I don’t remember what she was mad about that time—or if I’d even said anything to piss her off. But when she raised her hand to hit me, my voice got cold and low.
“You put your hands on me one more time, I’m going to fuck you up,” I said.
She took that as a challenge—and lifted me up off my feet and put my head through a door.
For all my hazy memories, I remember this crystal clear: Every amount of anger I’d pent up from years of her beating on me came tearing out of my soul.
I pulled myself up, turned and faced her, and just started whaling on her with every ounce of muscle I had.
I beat the shit out of her. I barely felt it when I connected over and over. She felt my wrath that night.
Of course, she played the victim card to my dad, widening the rift between Bill and me. But she definitely learned not to touch me ever again—and she didn’t.
But Mindy had another plan. She wasn’t going to give up control that easily.
* * *
“TIME TO WAKE UP, HONEY,” Bill said, shaking my shoulders.
I blinked my eyes open and looked around at my uncle B.
’s house in California. We’d shown up the day before after a long drive from Vegas.
We were going to Disneyland—a rare family vacation.
We never did anything together—especially the older I got. All work, no play.
Normally, I would have stayed in bed as late as I could, but not that day. I had a date with Disney. And something about the idea of our trip to the Happiest Place on Earth made me feel full of love—I was excited to spend the day with my dad and sister. Hell, maybe even my evil stepmom.
“Where’s Mom and Baby Sis?” I asked.
“They’ll meet up with us later,” Dad said. He was being weird, but I didn’t want to push it. We never got one-on-one time anymore. Mindy didn’t allow it. So I wasn’t about to question alone time with my pops.
The sun hadn’t even come up yet, but I finished my breakfast and ran upstairs to get dressed. I barreled back down and yelled “Ready!” Dad didn’t smile.
We got in the car and set off for Disneyland, hyper and excited.
An hour or so passed before the car slowed down and Bill turned into a parking lot. By then, the sun was up, and I could read the sign. It was some kind of hospital.
“Are we stopping here before we go to Disneyland?” I asked, confused.
“We aren’t. You are,” he said flatly. Dad led me inside, and it took about two seconds to figure out where we were. A mental hospital.
* * *
A SHRINK MET US AT the door—she’d been expecting me.
“Do you know why you’re here?” she asked. Her voice was kind, and she seemed nice.
“I’m rebellious and I don’t listen to my parents,” I said.
“And I’m always running away.” This wasn’t my first rodeo with concerned mental health professionals.
My parents had put me in front of counselor after counselor, trying to break my spirit and make me more docile.
Instead of asking me questions or trying to get to know me even a little, they’d just berated me to try to scare me straight. But the psychologist looked surprised.
“Do you know why you do these things?” she asked. I smirked.
“I hate my home. My stepmom is mean to me, and my dad doesn’t listen to anything I say.” Before I could say more, Dad chimed in.
“Doctor, we need to figure out what’s wrong with her. Maybe she has a chemical imbalance and she needs to be medicated. Whatever it takes.”
She raised her eyebrow at him, had him sign the last paper, and directed him out the door.
“Keep an eye on her. She’ll run away if she gets the chance.” No shit, Sherlock.
I wouldn’t cry in front of him, but with Bill gone, I was free to let go of the angry tears I’d been holding back. I was so stupid. I thought my dad was taking me to Disneyland, but instead, an orderly led me into a room to put on scrubs.
“Do you want to hurt yourself right now?” She looked at me so intensely, it was like she was looking into me.
“No,” I said. “No suicidal thoughts either.” I knew this game.
They led me into a brightly lit room without a TV—or much of anything.
It was a twenty-four-hour suicide watch, they told me, where I’d be monitored the whole time.
I sat down on the bed and tried to close my eyes, but the fluorescent lights dug into me.
I cried my eyes out. My life is over. I turned over and found the only thing to look at in the whole room—a Bible on the nightstand. I guess it was just me and God again.
I stayed in that room, thumbing through the Bible, trying not to go stir-crazy. Outside my door, I could hear voices that sounded like girls my age. I peeked out my window and saw into a common area—there were kids! They looked like they ranged from around eight to teenagers.
A girl with long blond hair and the prettiest blue eyes walked up to the window and glared at me through the glass. I waved and smiled, but it didn’t move her. I wondered if she could even see me. What was she looking at? The lights were on, but no one was home.
I draped myself across the bed and flipped off the camera they were using to spy on me. I was defeated. I had no idea what time it was. I made myself go to sleep. Tomorrow would be a new day.
* * *
BANG BANG BANG!
“Carter, wake up!” Someone was pounding on the door.
I rubbed my eyes and noticed that whoever was there had gone—and left the door ajar.
This was my chance to run. I walked out into the common room where I’d seen the kids the night before.
I slinked against the wall, watching them all eat breakfast and looking for an exit.
I could tell right away that these kids had been through some shit and were medicated out of their minds.
I saw the blond girl with the pretty blue eyes from last night eat her breakfast. Another girl who looked like Janis Joplin sat next to her and spotted me.
“Come sit with us! You gotta eat!” she called. I wasn’t hungry. I was looking for a way out. But I went over anyway.
“I’m Amber. This is Janey, Todd, Mike, and Sarah,” the Janis Joplin clone said. To my left, a kid banged his head against the wall. Janey, the blond one, looked like she was still on the best acid trip of her life.
“I’m Alisa,” I said. I couldn’t stop looking at the kid who was banging his head against the wall. Amber noticed and shrugged.
“They haven’t given him his lithium yet.”
“And this one?” I asked, pointing at Janey.
“She’s permafried,” Amber said.
“Permawhat?”
“Permafried. You know when you take too much acid?”
“No,” I said, “but I do now.” Amber seemed normal. And unmedicated.
“Why are you here?” I wondered, and then realized I’d accidentally said it out loud.
“I’m a cutter!” she announced proudly as she rolled her sleeves up for me to see the scars she had engraved in her arms. I’d never even heard of cutting.
“What about you?”
“I’m rebellious, I don’t listen to my parents, and I run away all the time.” I was used to repeating it over and over.
“That’s it? Nothing else?” she asked. It was like I wasn’t even good enough to be in the loony bin. “You’ll be outta here in no time.”
On cue, the psychologist from the day before appeared and waved me over. I left my new friends behind. Maybe I’d be told I could go home.
“How are you feeling today, Alisa?” she asked, looking over her glasses.
“Honestly? I’m confused, mad, hurt, and ready to leave,” I said. I snapped my arms over my chest in defiance. But she just smiled.
“I saw you talking with Amber. She’s a frequent flyer.”
“A what?”
“She’s been here numerous times, sweet girl. Just very disturbed.” I was getting tired of the chitchat. I wanted to move things along.
“Do I need to be on medication? Are you guys going to put me on medication?”
“I don’t think your issues will be solved with medication. I think you are just what you say you are: an angry child whose parents don’t hear her.”
I almost fell over. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. The psychologist agreed with me? Am I on Candid Camera? This couldn’t be real life.
“But we’re going to keep you for another twenty-four hours or so, just to make sure,” she said. Fuck.
For the next day, I went to group counseling and meals with my new crew.
They were doped up out of their minds, but I was surprised to realize they were cool—that we’d faced some of the same stuff.
Hypocritical parents. Addiction. Violation.
I was one of them: an outcast. We thought differently, and we were misunderstood.
But we didn’t think we had to explain ourselves to everyone else.
By the fifth or so day, I was almost starting to like my surroundings.
I’d always been curious about people, and I wanted to unravel them to understand how they worked.
I soaked up counseling sessions, and being around those other kids was super therapeutic.
I wasn’t alone. I wasn’t misunderstood. I was heard.
“Carter!” that same male nurse screamed. I jumped up and followed him to the psychologist’s office, where she sat at her desk smiling.
“Alisa, there’s nothing wrong with you. You’re just a teenager who doesn’t like her stepmother.
It’s very common. Honestly, I’m appalled that your dad even brought you here.
And you get to go home today!” she said, waiting for an excited response.
She dialed Bill’s number, and he answered with his usual “Yello?”
Hearing his voice made me want to rage. I scrunched down in the chair and blew my bangs out of my face.
“Mr. Carter,” the psychologist said. “After numerous counseling sessions and observation, I’m happy to inform you that Alisa will be discharged today. She won’t require any medication, and we truly believe that with the right counseling, we can get you guys back to a healthy, happy family.”
The psychologist and I sat in silence, waiting for Bill to answer. He took his damn time, and finally I could hear him over the other end of the line.
“I don’t want to come get her today. I don’t want her home. Are you sure she doesn’t need medication? I would like to keep her there longer if possible.” The psychologist’s jaw twitched.
“Excuse me, Mr. Carter? Am I hearing this right? You want us to keep your daughter in a mental facility?”
“Why not? My insurance will cover it,” Bill snapped. If shock treatment had been an option, I’m sure he would have gone for it.
“Mr. Carter. There’s nothing wrong with your daughter. And if you don’t pick her up today, we’ll have to involve the authorities,” she said.
“I’ll be there tonight,” my dad said. Click.
She and I sat in silence, trying to make sense of the call.
“It’s all clear to me now,” she said.
I shook my head in disgust. Sure, he’d fucked up by standing by time and time again while his wife beat me and treated me like a second-class citizen.
Sure, he’d fucked up when he chose to follow God and religion in a way that suited his wife and her need for control.
Sure, he cheated and watched porn and drank and did drugs and didn’t believe me when I confessed to being molested.
But in that moment—as he tried to have me locked away in a mental hospital with no end date—my dad broke my heart for the last time.
After that, I stopped waiting for him to get it right.