“We’re nearly done.”
“Okay. Do you react to unseen stimuli?”
“Can you give me an example?”
“Erm, well, if I hear a stupid opinion on a radio show I’ll probably say, ‘What a stupid opinion.'”
“What is there to elaborate on? I can react to something I can’t see, I can’t see the idiot on the radio.”
“Right. But does the radio exist, is the radio real, is the radio show real?”
“Does anything exist? Are you real? Am I?”
Dr T breathes out through his nose, long and hard, like an exasperated horse.
“I also react to music. I might tap my foot, or dance, or sing along, or say ‘Lennon would be turning in his grave’ in response to a particularly abysmal set of lyrics. I can’t see music. Can you? If you can then maybe I should be assessing you.”
“I think you’re missing the point.”
“Not at all. I’m just answering your poorly-devised psychiatric questionnaire the best I can.”
At this point I look over Dr T’s shoulder, through the window and begin to wave frantically, smiling, then giving a thumbs up and a wink. I regain composure.
“Sorry about that, doc. You were saying?”
He turns and looks through the window. He stands up to get a better look, craning his neck to see who I was so happy to see. There is nobody there.
“Who were you waving at?”
“John, the groundskeeper. Lovely bloke, have you met him? I went to school with his daughter. I guess Spring must be here since he’s mowing the lawn. I really love the smell of freshly cut grass, don’t you?”
He looks at me for a moment too long before writing some things down.
“Do you hear voices?”
“Do you hea-”
“Just kidding, doc. Of course I hear voices.”
“What kind of voices?”
“Gosh, how long have you got?”
“Take your time. Tell me about the voices you hear.”
“Loads of different types.”
“Well, firstly, if someone is talking directly to me, I can definitely hear them. Also if I’m watching tv or a movie I can hear those voices too. Same with music, lyrics, radio. I’ve told you this already, doc. Oh, but I must admit I do eavesdrop whenever possible. I know it’s impolite, but I love listening to stranger’s conversations on the Tube or in a shop. Although if the train is noisy then sometimes it’s hard for me to hear everything. But I’m not deaf in the slightest, I have perfect hearing so yes, I do hear voices.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Ohhh, sorry, of course, I hear your voice just fine, doc, despite the lawnmower outside. Crystal clear.”
Doc closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose while I pick at the skin around my fingernails and wonder if he’s ever had a romantic relationship with any of his patients.
“Any other voices that you hear that may be worth mentioning?”
“Wait, are you referring to the little Lego man who lives inside my head who is telling me to strangle you with your charming paisley tie until your eyes pop out of their sockets, and then use those blue-handled scissors there to sever your optic nerves, take your eyeballs home, varnish them, turn them into earrings and sell them on Etsy? Apart from that I can’t think of anything. We’ve covered conversations, music, tv and film, haven’t we? Oh, and theatre!! I rarely go to the theatre but when I do I make sure to have good seats so that I can see the actors and hear their voices.”
“Do I need to call security?”
“I don’t know what you need, doc, that’s something you really have to work out for yourself.”
“Is the little Lego man talking to you now?”
“Yeah but I’ve put him on mute for a minute. It’s hard enough to hear your voice while John’s outside mowing and singing Elvis!”
Doc looks outside at the vacant, unmown lawn, then back to me. I am smiling broadly.
“Is that it? Can I go now?”
“I suppose so.”
“I’ll send you a copy of the report for this assessment sometime next week.”
“Smashing. Looking forward to it.”
I wink at him and slip out the door.
When I receive the report in the post a week later, it makes for interesting reading. He described me as “obviously highly intelligent” “pedantic” “manipulative” “unhelpful.” This was my favourite line, “Patient is detached but her presence is imposing.” He said that I had threatened him. He said I need to be reassessed by someone else because he couldn’t be certain which of my answers were true and which were “jokey fabrications.”
But he was happy to release me because he has decided that I do not suffer from schizophrenia.
And with that, the little Lego man piped up and said, “Well played, girl, very well played,” and I smiled and said, “Thank you.”