"She hasn't been the same after the accident" My aunt confessed, worry and fear laced in her tone.
I flinched besides her, causing both her and the doctor to look my way. I refused to meet them in the first eyes. I refused to look into the pity that was saved just for me.
It wasn't that I was unfamiliar with that sentence.
It was that I was tired of hearing it.
Ever since the accident, people had been walking around me, like I was so easily shattered. Like saying the wrong thing could cause my world to fall apart.
Didn't they know my world was already broken?
Weren't they aware of the fact that my world no longer existed?
That it could never be repaired.
They were always so careful about what they said to me. What they said around me. They thought that if they said something wrong, that I would spiral into self loathing.
Maybe depression.
Didn't they know that I was far too gone?
Didn't they know that depression and self loathing was a step in the right direction?
Because maybe then I'd actually be able to feel something.
Maybe then, I wouldn't feel so numb.
"I'm aware that you're worried about your niece, Ms Harte. But what you need to understand is that Miss Hunter has experienced a traumatic event. I'm afraid to say it, but there's a very small chance she'll go back to the way she was a few months ago"
The doctor was about 29 years old. He had blonde hair and brown eyes. I wasn't particularly fond of him. Then again, I wasn't fond of many doctors. They were all the same. They were either unsympathetic or too sympathetic.
There was no in between.
Doctor's visits always made me nervous. They always had me feeling queasy, always leaving me a sick feeling in my stomach. It wasn't that I was afraid of the doctors, well not in the sense of feeling pain.
More in the sense of being afraid of what they'll say.
Over the past few months I had been visiting the doctors almost twice a week. They were always checking to see if I was physically damaged.
It was only last week they thought about checking my mental health.
So that's what I was here for. To see how I was doing.
To know if I was crazy or not.
And of course, my aunt being the worrier she was, spent the entire first half of the visit expressing her worries about me. But they were always the same. They were always along the lines of 'She's been acting differently' or 'She hasn't been eating' or 'She barely leaves her room', oh and the infamous 'When will she say more than three words per day?'
Of course, I was beginning to get sick of the smothering and the worrying, maybe even suffocated.
"I think you should be sat down, when I say this" The doctor continued, mostly looking at my aunt who was all but pacing in his office. She lifted her arm, to place her fingernails between her teeth, chewing them out of nervousness. The doctor then turned to face me, almost forcing me to stare into his dull brown eyes. "I don't want you to be too worried about the next few words that come out of my mouth"
Yes, because that sentence made me feel much better.
"I've never seen a case like this" he started, keeping the eye contact with me. I broke the contact with him, and looked down at my lap. My hands were at my sides, I brought them together and began fumbling with them, clenching and unclenching my fists, desperate to feel some pain. To feel something.
I was terrified of finding out what happened, what was wrong with me. But deep down, I knew. I knew that after the accident I couldn't be a normal girl. That the accident would always follow me, throughout my life.
I saw all of it coming.
But I still braced myself for the news.
"It looks like Juliette has developed claustrophobia" He said, sending me a pitiful smile.
I took a deep breath in, and closed my eyes as I exhaled. It made a lot of sense. It gave an answer to why I couldn't share the sofa with someone else without feeling dizzy. It explained why I couldn't even touch somebody for more than a few seconds without not being able to breathe. Having the compelling need to run outside and breathe.
It explained why even the thought of elevators, cars, busses or small rooms made me feel as if I was going to faint.
It now made sense to why the doctors office had seemed bigger than it usually was.
I wasn't in the same office. They moved me because of my claustrophobia.
I looked across to my aunt who looked as if she was going to faint. She took a deep breath before deciding to speak, after the three minutes of silence. "I—I thought claustrophobia was genetic, or developed as a child" she was stuttering, and she was clearly terrified.
"There have been a lot of speculation about how claustrophobia is developed. Some say it is developed as a child, if a child of a claustrophobe parent witnesses a certain anxious reaction to a place or an experience, they may develop it through witnessing or mimicking the behaviour" the doctor who sat in front of me began. It was quite clear that he was holding back all the information. Either all the information about claustrophobia or the information about me.
Either way, I was desperate in finding out.
"My sister, nor her husband, were claustrophobes" My aunty said, her voice coming out weaker than ever.
"I checked her medical history" He started, going through a pile of sheets, all with J.H written on the top of it. "Juliette have you ever witnessed a panic attack due to lack of space?" He questioned, his eyes burning into mine
"No" I replied weakly
"Have you ever experienced a panic attack due to lack of space?" His pen was in his hand as he began to write notes on the pink sheet of paper which read 'Juliette Hunter' on the top of it. There were a list of typed sentences, the questions he was asking me, I was guessing. He had written 'no' besides the first sentence.
I began by shaking my head, but stopped myself half way, realising that I had. I cleared my throat, sore from not speaking, as I replied directly to his question. "Recently, yes" I started "in my childhood, no"
"That's what I had figured" he muttered, placing the pen between his teeth, as he tucked the pink sheets away, under a file that read my initials. "It seems" he continued, removing the pen from in between his white teeth, and placing it behind his ear. "That after the accident, Miss Hunter had been traumatised to the point of developing claustrophobia"
I didn't expect otherwise. I mean, what other reason would there be, behind developing claustrophobia. It would also explain my irrational fear of cars, which now seemed perfectly rational.
"But that's all right?" My aunt's voice finally spoke up. I was wondering why she was being so quiet, but as soon as I tuned to meet her eyes I immediately knew why. They were swollen to the point of tears being able to escape from the sides of her eyes, they were beginning to turn into a soft shade of red, probably from all the rubbing she had done to prevent the tears. I almost immediately felt sympathy for her. She hadn't known about me being forced into her care, but not once did she complain.
And I couldn't but help but feel extremely guilty.
"Sorry?" The doctor asked, switching his eyes from me to her.
"That's all right? You said you'd never seen a case like this. The claustrophobia is all right?" She asked, her hands now trembling, her voice deeper due to her swelling vocal chords.
"I'm afraid to say, it's not" He answered, keeping professional throughout the entire thing, but deep in his eyes you saw the sympathy he felt towards me. "I thought, maybe the claustrophobia was all, I mean— it wasn't uncommon for fourteen year olds who had been through such a traumatic experience to develop claustrophobia, but unfortunately, there was more. Juliette, it pains me to say that you have developed a series of mental disorders through the accident"
It felt as if the entire world stopped spinning. Or as if it starting rotating faster. I couldn't tell. It was as if someone had purposely done this to me, had spitefully made my life miserable.
I couldn't help but wonder if I was such a terrible person, to deserve something I wouldn't wish upon my greatest enemies.
I didn't even want to think about my aunt's reaction, but I was sure it was nothing short of almost fainting.
"Juliette, I don't want you to worry. I don't want to stress you out" the doctor quickly amended. Or attempted to.
"Am I depressed?" I whispered, feeling my throat pain as I began to speak. I felt as if In couldn't breath. It was as if my entire throat began to swell up, causing panic and fear to reach my brain as I began hyperventilation to cope with the pain. "Am I dying?"
"No, don't say that!" It was now my aunt who snapped at me in response. "I'm sorry" she whispered after she saw how taken aback I was due to her tone.
I didn't want her to apologise.
"What's wrong with me?" I asked, after a minute of contemplating whether to ask, or whether to remain in the dark.
At least then I could pretend it didn't exist.
"My colleagues and I examined your case and decided to diagnose you with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, or PTSD as it is more commonly referred to as. Along with that I believe you have a rare case of anxiety, which usually accompanies claustrophobia, and panic attacks which usually accompanies PTSD and claustrophobia." He started
I had to remind myself to breathe, I had to force my heartbeat to slow down, and I had to stop my hands from shaking harder than they already were.
"Juliette, I have prescribed some medicines for you to take daily. They have the specific instructions on the box, but I want you to take them everyday, without missing it once. It will keep your panic attacks to a minimal and should help with your PTSD. I want you to visit me once every two weeks, and I am recommending a therapist for you to visit." He said, typing stuff up onto his computer. I continued playing with my hands, digging my long nails into my palms, adamant on feeling something.
Feeling some pain.
I was so sick of feeling numb.
"You will get better Juliette. This will get easier" he muttered, continuing to type up my prescription.
I knew, straight after the accident. Straight after I came out of the hospital. I knew that my life would never go back to the way it was. That I was never going to be the happy, bubbly, sarcastic, witty girl I once was.
I knew that I was broken.
Broken beyond repair.
