Page 43 of Kill Me

“Okay. I won’t lie, I’m a little nervous. My mum rarely gives me an option, so I was under the impression I didn’t have a choice and that you would make the decisions regardless of what I want.”

“That’s not entirely true. Your mother does have power of attorney, but you can petition against that if you wish. It just means that the time you spend here will be longer. If that’s something you want to do, all treatment will cease, including the administration of your medication so as not to risk a lawsuit.”

“So my options are to give you permission or suffer from the pain until I can fight the decision in court? Could I leave?”

“We would need a permanent address and someone capable of looking after you for that to happen, and it seems your parents no longer want you home. They’ve strictly forbidden us from contacting them at any point in regard to you unless it’s in the event of your death.”

“Sounds like a hell of a choice. Pick door one, and I suffer. Pick door two, and I suffer.”

“I can advise you on my suggested method of treatment for you, but I cannot force you. I will need you to sign some papers before treatment commences so that we can cover all of the legal mumbo jumbo and make sure we are both protected.”

“My mum told me you were going to give me ECT treatment.”

“And how do you feel about that?”

“Scared. Based on previous experience, I tend to be an anomaly and achieve the rare side effects like I’m collecting Pokémon.”

She laughs to herself. Fine lines crease in the corners of her eyes when she smiles; her eyes sparkle, making me feel even more at ease.

“That’s to be expected. The horror stories you see and hear about this procedure online are not accurate, though. Very rarely does ECT go wrong. It’s a tried and tested method of treatment for people with mental health disorders.”

“Well, that’s the other thing. I’ve spent so much of my life exaggerating illnesses, making up symptoms, or bare-faced lying that I no longer know what diagnoses are true and what ones are not.”

“We in the professional field call that Munchausen's syndrome.”

“Munch, what?”

“Munchausen’s syndrome. It’s a factitious disorder where an individual will feign, induce or exaggerate illnesses in order to gain attention and sympathy.”

“And you think that’s what I have? You think I’m lying about it all?”

“I think that you believe that the things you say are wrong with you are wrong. And I believe that you believe that you are disabled and living a limited life. Like hearing the voices. I believe you think they are real. Same with the pain you experience. I know you had an accident, but I think you like the attention you get from people when they ask you about your health. I would go so far as to say you probably caused the accident yourself for that exact reason. From the information I’ve been given from your mother and brother, it seems like empathy and sympathy have become somewhat of an addiction to you.”

The information she’s giving me rattles aimlessly around my brain. I have what? So, I’m not actually sick? If I’m not actually sick, why do I feel all the pain I feel? Why do I struggle to walk? Why am I unable to use my body as I would have before the accident?

“So, long story short, I’m fucked in the head, but there’s nothing physically wrong with me? You think I would deliberately walk in front of a car? For what? My mother’s love?”

“We don’t like to say those things here, Quinn. Munchausen’s is a mental health disorder. Hence your being admitted to Saving Hearts for treatment. We want you to get better. We want to be a stepping stone in that journey for you.”

“What causes it?”

“Emotional trauma, or illness during childhood, can be a trigger. Especially if you received prolonged medical treatment. I see you also have a diagnosis of Borderline Personality Disorder, which is also really common for sufferers of Munchausen’s.”

“Well, there’s definitely been a lot of trauma, but I can’t remember prolonged treatment other than after my accident. Or my first suicide attempt. But I wasn’t treated nicely. I don’t see how that would have resulted in me lying for attention. I know my mother has always taken me to the doctors at the drop of a hat for any little instance. Everything was always an extreme.”

“Well, that’s different from the history your family has given me. But that’s what we’re here to figure out.”

“Why, what have they told you?”

“That information is confidential to avoid further instances of you fabricating your symptoms.”

“So, you’ve already made up your mind about me?”

“Not at all. I need to get to know you as a person, as a patient, and read through your medical records to see what matches and what doesn’t, and then we can move forward and get you into recovery.”

I slump back in my chair in defeat. What’s the point? No one ever listens to me. They always want me to agree with what they say. That there’s nothing wrong with me and it’s all in my head. But it’s not. I live in my body all day every day. I know how it feels. I know how my brain races. I know how the voices in my head torture me, refusing to leave me alone.

*gasps* How can you say that? We just like to play with you, Quinny.