It's
growing inside me. I can feel it moving about. When I explained
this to Dr Harris, he looked from me to his computer screen and back.
Playing for time, I thought. Most likely, he was wondering how to
direct me to talking therapy without appearing to belittle what I
said. I decided to make it easy for him.
'You think I need to see
a shrink,' I said.
'I wouldn't put it like that,' he said. 'I'm
not saying it's all in your head, but I do think we need to examine
the situation from all angles. Talking to someone might be a good
first step.'
'And then?'
'If it seems like there may be a
physical problem, we can refer you to a specialist.'
A
specialist in what? I wondered. I sighed. I probably sounded
impatient. I didn't mean to.
'You're probably right,' I said. 'I'm
just worried about how long it'll take. The whole process, you know –
' At this point my body jerked, the way bodies do when they're
falling asleep, only I was wide awake. It happened a lot. I could
feel whatever it was moving about, pushing its way between my right
lung and my ribcage. It'd just caught a nerve or, at least, that's
how I explained it to myself. I never got to see it, but I always
imagined it as being like a small rat. Whenever it moved, I could
feel what felt like tiny claws scrabbling against my viscera. 'It's
here,' I said, touching my chest. I can feel it.'
The doctor's
demeanour changed. These were physical symptoms. There were things he
could do. He examined my chest. He took my pulse, my temperature and
my blood pressure.
'Well,' he said, once he'd finished, 'I'm not
quite sure what to say. Everything looks pretty normal.'
I wasn't
sure, either. I wanted to tell him how, if I sat quietly, I could
hear its voice, talking to me, or perhaps to itself. I wasn't sure.
Nonsensical things, mostly. Individual words and phrases. Sometimes
they coalesced and, when they did, what it had to say was disturbing.
It hated the darkness. It wanted to see and hear again. It was
looking for a way back, it said, although where to wasn't
clear.
#
Harris recommended a counsellor. I went along
for a few sessions, but it didn't go anywhere. Matt was okay as
counsellors go, but it was obvious from the beginning that he was
convinced the whole thing was in my head and couldn't bring himself
to think otherwise. I have to admit, in the end, I stopped turning up
for appointments. I got sent text reminders, but ignored them.
Fortunately, the situation resolved itself. Having whatever it was
moving about inside me often made it difficult to sleep. One night I
lay awake, twitching more than usual. I could feel it moving around
between the skin on my neck and my trachea. It often found its way up
there before heading back down into my thoracic cavity. It's no
use, it said. It's no use. It sounded tired. They were, I
think, the last words of whatever it was. As I lay there, I could
feel it's movements got fainter, more sporadic. Finally they stopped
altogether.
