Page 92 of The Sun Sister

Fi’s deceptively gentle gaze appraised me. When we’d begun our therapy sessions, I’d felt that it didn’t matter what shit I spouted to her, because her soft voice (with traces of a European accent) and her hooded blue eyes had made her appear half asleep. How wrong I had been. That question, the ‘how do you feel?’ trope, had haunted me since my first therapy session here.

So howdidI feel?

Week one: in my initial forty-eight hours in the medical detox centre, my response had been, ‘Like I want to mainline vodka mixed with a couple of mollies, and twenty lines of coke. And then steal a gun so I can shoot my way out of here.’

I had been put on suicide watch, due to my ‘overdose’, and pumped full of medication that was meant to ease me off the booze and drugs. I don’t think I’d ever felt more rage and despair in my life than in those two days; it felt like no one would believe that it hadn’t been a suicide attempt and that I wouldn’t harm myself again.

Once out of detox and into ‘the dorm’, I was horrified to find out that I was basically back at boarding school with two roommates who snored, screamed in their sleep, broke wind or sobbed into their pillows (and sometimes a mixture of all those in one night). And why the hell didn’t a place that was costing more than the most exclusive five-star hotel offer private rooms?

Week two: I spent this feeling angry that the Twelve Steps of the AA programme meant I had to ask a God I didn’t believe in for help, and even worse, that to get clean I must subjugate myself to this mythical figure and His greater glory. And hating Fi for being so nosy about my life and how I ‘felt’ about it, when it was none of her goddamned business. On the plus side, I really liked one of my dorm mates, Lizzie, and the fact that there were people in group therapy who were obviously far bigger screw-ups than me.

Week three: this is when I started to feel relieved that the Twelve Steps had begun to make more sense when one of the guys in group therapy said he didn’t believe in God either, so instead he imagined a higher power – something far more powerful than we humans walking the earth could ever be. And that helped a lot. Also, I discovered that I loved the equine therapy, but I didn’t want to just groom the horses, I wanted to get on the back of them and race away across the Sonoran Desert. And that me and Lizzie had ‘bonded’, especially after the third roommate had left (she’d had serious body odour issues and slept with a cuddly rabbit she called ‘Bobo’) and that we were getting closer all the time.

‘So, Electra? Howdoyou feel?’ came Fi’s ubiquitous prompt.

Actually, now I thought about it, I feltproud, yes, proud that I hadn’t drunk liquor or done a line or swallowed a pill in twenty-two days.

So, that’s what I said, because I knew Fi liked positive feedback.

‘That is just fantastic, Electra. And so you should be. Like everyone here at The Ranch, you’ve been on a very tough journey, but you’ve stuck at it. Youshouldbe proud of yourself. I am,’ she smiled.

‘Thanks,’ I shrugged.

‘I know you’ve had a difficult time addressing the events that led up to you coming here,’ Fi began.

I knew exactly where she was going with this, and I felt the usual stab of anger and irritation.

‘Have you had any more reflections on your overdose that night in New York?’ she said.

‘No!’ I snapped. ‘I keep trying to tell all of you that it was an accident. I just wanted to sleep! That’s all I wanted! I was having a bitch of a time getting my mind to shut up, and I just wanted it to be quiet—’

‘Electra, it’s not that I don’t believe you, it’s simply that if there’s any indication that you would try to hurt yourself, it’s my duty as your therapist to protect you. Even though I’m happy that you’ve gained a new perspective, I want to talk about the fact that you’ve told me you find it difficult to open up to anyone about your feelings. As you’ve learnt during your time here, how we feel affects everything that we do – and that includes your ability to stay clean once you leave The Ranch.’

‘I’ve told you, I’m a private person. I like to deal with stuff alone.’

‘And I get that, Electra, I do, but by agreeing to join us here, you were accepting that you needed help from others. And I’m concerned that once you step back out into the “real” world, you won’t ask for it when you need it.’

‘We’ve talked about my trust issues. I guess it’s just that.’

‘Yes, and I accept that like any celebrity, it’s a natural issue to have. However, you’ve seemed particularly reluctant to discuss your childhood.’

‘I’ve told you I was adopted along with my five siblings. That we had a privileged lifestyle...there’s not a lot more to it than that. Besides, Pa always taught me never to look back. Even though that’s what therapy seems to be all about.’

‘Therapy is all aboutdealingwith the past, so you don’t need to look back any longer, Electra. And your childhood is two-thirds of the life you’ve lived so far.’

I gave my usual shrug and inspected my naked nails and thought how well they were growing now that I had stopped chewing on them. We then had what I termed a ‘battle of the silences’; it was a war that I knew I could win anytime. And I regularly did.

‘So, would you say that your father was the most powerful influence in your life?’ Fi finally piped up.

‘Maybe. Aren’t all parents?’

‘Often, yes, though sometimes it can be another relative or sibling who fulfils that role. You told me your father was away a lot during your childhood?’

‘Yeah, he was. But all of my sisters worshipped him, and as I was the youngest, I guess I followed their lead.’

‘I’d bet it’s a tough deal to be bottom of the pile of six girls,’ said Fi. ‘I’m one of four girls, but I was the eldest.’

‘Lucky you.’