I felt as if the world had become a deep, deep pit. I was at the bottom of it, it was dark and the sides were smooth. There were no lights nor ladders. Each day an angel in the form of my mother would come and make me eat and hold me. I would cry and cling to her. I had no energy, no hope, no anything.

Charlotte’s Tale.
Part 8.
by Angharad

‘Life’s a bitch and then you die’. I had no idea who said it, but they were so right, at least if applied to my life. What had I done to cause this degree of misery? If there was a God, I really began to think that I hated him. How could he take my father away, just like that? How dare he? My dad was a good man who looked after us and did lots of good things for other people. He built roads and bridges all over the world, and they were good roads and bridges. He was an honest man, so why did he have to die?

Each morning started this way, me trying to bargain with God to rerun time to before my dad’s accident, so he’d be saved. It didn’t work did it, it never does. God doesn’t listen, at least not to me.

Maybe he thinks I’m some sort of freak, or perhaps I’m an abomination in his sight. That’s how they talk in the Bible, everything’s an abomination or beloved of God. I think I must be an abomination. Well, I’d get my own back, I wouldn’t sing anything religious ever again. God could go take a running jump, preferably off a very high, short pier, into shark infested water!

When I saw this in my mind’s eye, an old man in a white robe running and jumping off the pier, and the fins of the sharks circling below, I laughed. God was dead, like my dad, only this time it felt good.

I tried to think about the future. Mum encouraged me to think about something nice to do. Jane came down once or twice, and so did Simon, but I wouldn’t come out of my room. With Dad dead, and now God gone too, I had no future except pain. Hope had died with them, and so had my heart. Oh it still pumped blood around, I suppose, but there was no feeling there for anything.

Mum would come and sit with me each day. I felt like I did when I was in hospital. She would coax me to eat a little. I didn’t want to. I had lost weight, but so had she. I was so rapt in my grief, I couldn’t see how I was hurting her.

She was now the most precious thing in my life, if anything happened to her I would die, I would just die. My heart would stop, it would be completely broken, like it was made of glass.

I felt as if the world had become a deep, deep pit. I was at the bottom of it, it was dark and the sides were smooth. There were no lights nor ladders. Each day an angel in the form of my mother would come and make me eat and hold me. I would cry and cling to her. I had no energy, no hope, no anything.

Some days it felt as if it was all a horrible dream, a nightmare. Then I’d remember it wasn’t, I was in hell and I must have been very wicked. I was, I had killed God, had him eaten by sharks and I laughed, how I laughed. Then the doctor came again and gave me a shot of something.

He spoke to me as he was doing it, but I couldn’t understand. I wasn’t in my body anymore, I was outside it somewhere. I wanted him to cuddle me, but he didn’t, of course he didn’t, after all, I was wicked, evil. I had killed God. Evil people don’t get hugs, except from their mothers.

Everything went into slow motion and I began to feel myself falling, then blackness. As the light disappeared I felt my muddled mind trying to stay alive or awake, then I realised the doctor was sending me to hell, because I really was evil, I must be, then the blackness……

I awoke. I felt strange, my body felt strange, the room felt strange. I tried to concentrate to understand or at least to work out what was happening. I failed. Over and over again I tried to concentrate, but I’d either fall asleep or into some dreamy state.

How had I got here? Where was here? Who was I? I didn’t know. To say I felt confused was the understatement of the century. I couldn’t remember anything. The problem is, that without a past, the present or the future have no relevance. I didn’t think this exactly, I just experienced its effect, total disorientation.

I was lying in a bed, in what I assumed was a girl’s room. It was full of the stuff associated with young women, pictures of kittens, lots of pink things, a dressing table with makeup and perfume. I was wearing some sort of nightdress. It felt comfortable. Was it mine, was the room mine, was I a girl? I didn’t know and my mind refused to tell me, perhaps because it didn’t know or was jammed in some way like the hard disc in a computer. Some sort of virus or electromagnetic incident had jammed the hard disc of my mind.

How did I know this? I don’t know, but I did. I just lay there watching and waiting for something to happen. At times I felt anxious, what would happen if I stayed this way? Was I dying or even dead? It was certainly hellish. Well as I don’t actually know what hell is like, this might be it or somewhere similar.

I tried to move an arm or leg, they seemed no longer to be connected to me. That was weird! I had no recollection of ever moving them, yet knew at the same time that they had worked before, but before what? That was the bit I couldn’t recall. Was I paralysed? God, I hoped not.

Where did God come from? Who’s he when he’s at home? Words came into my mind, but their context seemed to have gone. This was beginning to frighten me. I slipped into the void again…..

This confused pattern was repeated several more times, like Groundhog Day, where did that come from? Somewhere in the recesses of my mind or memory, things were trying to work.

A woman came to see me. “Hello Charlotte, how are you sweetheart?” she asked as she kissed me on the cheek. She knew me, so I probably knew her, but I couldn’t recall who or from where. “Aren’t you going to talk to your old mum today?” she continued.

So this was my mother and I must be a girl with a name like Charlotte, some things were relatively easy to work out. So this was probably my room, in presumably our house. I was starting to orient myself, I hoped.

“Well you could say, ‘hello’ or something.” She said to me.

My mouth responded, “Hello.” It worked, now was that because she told me to or because I wanted to say it?

“Well is that all you have to say to me? I’ve brought you some breakfast.”

I just lay there, unable to move or speak.

“Are you al right girl?”

I just lay there.

“Oh my darling, what is wrong? They said just to let you sleep for a day or two, can you move or say something?”

I just lay there.

She put the tray down and kissed me, then hugged me, I felt the wetness of her cheeks from her tears. “I’m going to phone the doctor, don’t you worry, he’ll make you well again.”

I lay there some more, I could smell the tea and the cereal on the tray. I felt hungry. I wanted to eat, but couldn’t move.

My mother came back, “He’ll come as soon as he can.” She stroked my cheek. “Can you sit up?”

I sat up. She stepped back in astonishment. Then after a moment’s pause she said,” Get out of bed and go to the toilet, pull your nightdress up, sit on the toilet seat, have a wee, wipe yourself, pull the flush, wash your hands then come back here.”

I did as I was told like a robot, returning to the bedroom. She told me to get back into bed and to sit up. She told me to eat the cereal, which I did, then to drink the tea. I did that as well. Then lay down after she told me to, and drifted into an uneasy sort of dream.

The doctor arrived. I heard voices. He came and examined me, giving me instructions which I obeyed. I felt as if I was watching these things rather than doing them, almost as if someone else was controlling my body. It was weird.

He told me to relax, then after lots of things I didn’t understand, he said, ”In a few moments, I am going to count from one to three, when I get to three and clap, you will awake and return to your normal self, able to speak, move and think as you did before. You will also remember everything you knew before. One, two, three.” This was followed by a loud clap, which jolted me. I felt like I was falling, then I jumped, felt my whole body shudder and I could open my eyes.

I screamed. He hugged me and so did my mother. I began to cry and so did Mum. The doctor rubbed my back, and it felt nice. After an age, he said to me, “How do you feel?”

“Strange, what happened?”

“I’m not sure. I think you were in a state of catalepsy. It’s like a hypnotic trance, you were safe and would probably have come out by yourself, but I’m glad my effort worked.”

“So am I doctor. It was horrible, I didn’t know who I was, or where I was or anything. I couldn’t move or speak.”

“It certainly sounds horrible, but you feel okay now?”

“Yes, I do. Thank you.”

“You remember about your dad?”

“He’s dead isn’t he? I sang at the funeral.”

“You did, and most beautifully.”

“I killed God.” I said, tears starting to drip down my cheeks.

“How did you manage that?” he asked.

“I made Him jump in the sea and be torn apart by sharks. It was horrible. Am I evil?”

“No of course not, and I think you’ll find that God is a bit harder to kill than that. Many bigger people than you have tried, and failed.”

“Will He forgive me?”

“I’m not the best person to ask about that, but I suspect He already has. The question is, Do you forgive yourself?”

“I don’t know. It was an awful thing to do. I was angry because He let my dad die, He could have saved him. I wanted to hurt Him.”

“I think God will understand. Try not to worry about it, I’m sure it will be alright.”

“I hope so.” I said at this reassurance. Effectively, this wonderful man could have told me anything and I would have believed it. I loved him.

“Well if there’s nothing else, I have to go and heal the sick.” He winked at me as he said it.

“Dr Phillips, there is something else.” I felt myself blush as I spoke.

“What’s that Charlotte?” he smiled back at me.

“Will you be my father?” I felt tears roll down my face, burning my cheeks as they cascaded down onto the bed.

“Wow!” he said. He paused to think for a moment. “Hey don’t cry.” he added rubbing my hair. “I knew your dad and liked him very much. I don’t think anyone could ever take his place, and I wouldn’t like to try. So I can’t be your father, but, when you need to talk to someone about things you’d have discussed with your dad, you come and see me. Is that okay?”

I nodded my assent. It wasn’t what I wanted, but I understood what he was saying, and it would have to do. I just wanted someone to plug the hole in my heart and he seemed like a good choice. Sadly, it wasn’t to be.

He left and my mother went to see him off, I lay back on the bed and feeling exhausted fell into a deep sleep.

The doctors would say I was suffering from a reactive depression, I would describe it as feeling so low, that being in a cellar would give me altitude sickness. My mood and my activity levels were comparable to a deep mine, way down on my norms.

For the next week I sat about and when I wasn’t actually asleep, I felt like I wanted to go to sleep. Escapism, yeah I know, but that’s how I felt. I felt so low that I didn’t even have the energy to dream.

Without an appetite, I lost some more weight. This meant that without the falsies, I had no bust at all, what had been growing had disappeared. My nipples and areolas were still larger than a boys, but that was about all. It didn’t bother me too much, it was just one more thing and I wasn’t seeing any visitors.

Jane came several times and I refused to see her, the same with Simon. The last thing I wanted was to dress up and look good when inside I felt so bad. My mother was very worried about me, and Dr Phillips came a couple of times to try and encourage me to feel better.

If you aren’t hungry, it’s difficult to force food down simply for the sake of it. I heard my mum mention ‘eating disorder’ and ‘anorexia’ to the doctor, but he disagreed. However, I did hear the word ‘psychiatrist’ mentioned, and I said loudly, “I won’t see a psychiatrist ever again. They’re all crazier than me!”

Laughing, Dr Phillips said, “All doctors are a bit crazy, but you’re right, psychiatrists are a bit madder than most.” Then he put on his serious face, although to me, it was still a kindly, handsome one. “Look here young lady, if you don’t start to feel better soon, I’m going to have to refer you to someone because it appears I can’t help you.”

A sudden fear cut through me. Was Dr Phillips going to abandon me too. I couldn’t bear to lose him as well. If that meant getting better, I’d have to try harder, although I felt everything was outside my control anyway.

“How will I know I’m getting better?” I asked him.

“Your appetite will begin to come back, and you’ll start socialising again and making yourself look pretty. You know, starting to get back to normal before all this happened.”

“Will my boobs grow again?” I asked him.

“They’ve shrunk have they?” he asked, and indicated for me to show him. He very gently felt around my chest, my nipples immediately swelling under his touch. I think he blushed and quickly moved his hand away. “Hmmm,” he said, “I think that’s just reabsorption of fat, it’ll come back when you put some weight back on. Are you still taking the pills?”

I nodded my answer.

“I’m off now Charlotte, try and have a little walk each day, the fresh air and exercise will do you good, and try and eat a bit more unless you want to be flat chested.”

An hour later, Mum and I walked around the block and had an ice cream.

The next week, I walked each day, twice a day. I managed to avoid any contact with the Astleys, I wasn’t ready for them yet. Sometimes I thought company would be nice, but chickened as soon as I got near the phone. I was able to watch some telly without falling asleep and I read the odd magazine. Eating was a chore, but Mum was encouraging me with all sorts of treats and I think it probably gave me a bit more energy.

The following week I bumped into Jane on my twice daily perambulation. “Charlotte, how are you?”

“I’m okay.”

“Would you like to come round this afters.”
“I don’t know. I tend to fall asleep so easily.”

“Do come round, I’ll show you my I-pod. It’s really cool.”

“I don’t know, I…., I have to….”

“Go on, it’ll be good to have a chat. Say you will.”

“I don….”

“Pretty please.” She insisted, and I felt her greater energy and strength overwhelm me. I couldn’t resist any more so agreed to her invitation.

We hugged as we parted and my body felt weak and feeble against hers. I was also very aware of the difference in our body shapes. She was becoming quite curvaceous like her mum, I was like a stick insect. My encounter did nothing for my self esteem.

When I got home I felt exhausted. Mum didn’t take long to discover what had happened. “You don’t have to go.” She assured me.

“I know I don’t, but Dr Phillips did say he wanted me to go out a bit more. I just feel so ugly compared to Jane.”

“You are easily as pretty as she is.”

“ ‘Cept she’s got tits and I haven’t.”

“You could wear your false ones.”

“I don’t know, can’t be bothered.”

“Or we could nip into town and get you some skinny clothes, make it look as if you were deliberately being thin, like the super models are. If Kate Moss stands sideways, you can’t see her, but she always looks good in whatever she wears.”

The thought of shopping made me feel awful, but the cuppa and biscuit did give me an energy boost. I can never out girlie Jane, she’s too practised at the art, but being very thin may give me some advantage. As they say, ‘If you’ve got it flaunt it, if you haven’t flaunt that too.’

I allowed Mum to steer me around the shops and we bought a pink and black lycra top and some black stretch jeans. They were a size smaller than my usual one. She also managed to find me a bra which fitted and yet boosted my lack of bust, just enough to stay with the skinny look. Then I got my hair cut and blow dried, only a tidy up, but it was enough to make it much more shiny and the conditioner also gave it a little more body. While I was at it, I got a French manicure, which made my nails look much smarter, but they also felt very strange.

This morning Jane invited a rather scruffy malnourished girlfriend over to her house, this afternoon, a slim but tidy friend will visit. It will nearly kill me, but I’m blowed if she will gloat at my expense. I felt something return to me, a sense of self or something. I know I shouldn’t be so competitive with a friend, but this is serious, we’re girls.