Freedom of Sketch

Momster

I have a million reasons to hate Dr. Fox. And Meredith.

Right now, one reason is this: "family therapy" with my mother, or as I refer to her sometimes, "The Momster."

"Leave your fantasy world for five minutes and think about what all your antics have done to me, how they're affecting my life. There's nothing quite like getting a phone call in the middle of a busy workday because your daughter decided to pierce her own lip in algebra class." The Momster enjoys dragging the past into the present. She flexes her sharp talons.

I punctuate my sentences with frustrated blows to an overstuffed throw pillow. "I. Was. Bored. God, compared to the other kids, I'm a saint! Isn't that better than getting a call saying that I started a meth lab in my locker!?"

"Sometimes I wish you did drugs," my mother snaps, avoiding eye contact with everyone.

"Can you explain this... this thought?" a very puzzled Meredith inquires. She and Dr. Fox share a nervous glance.

I strangle the pillow. "What!?"

My mother cleans her sunglasses with the hem of her cranberry-colored blouse. "If she were doing drugs, I could blame all of her nonsense on that. But she's always sober when she acts out, which means that these problems come from inside her, inside her mind." She tilts her head and looks at Meredith. "I always thought this was normal teenage rebellion, but look at where we are now."

I jump to my feet. "YOU PUT ME IN HERE!"

Meredith runs her finger over her chair's nail head trim, pressing until her fingernail turns white. "Shiloh," she warns.

"What else was I supposed to do?" The Momster licks her long fangs. "Wait around until the police show up at the front door? Until I get a call to come down to the morgue to identify your body?"

I bury my face in my hands. "Oh my God, are you for real?"

"My blood pressure has gone up since you started high school. You're destroying my health. You've probably shortened my lifespan by a good decade or so, you know."

"Then why aren't YOU the one in the hospital!?" I scream.

"Because I'm not the one with a screw loose!" she snaps back, stretching her batlike wings.

Meredith is ashen-faced. Her blood pressure has probably gone up since this session started. "I don't think shouting is going to help anyone here," she says, holding her hands up for peace.

"Would you rather have a daughter like Miss-Perfect-Brooke?" I say. "She totaled the car her parents bought her for her birthday, racked up like $5,000 in charges to her dad's American Express, and lost her virginity under the bleachers-"

My mother rolls her eyes. "Why are you going to waste our time and bring up some other kid? This is not about Brooke, this is about what you are doing to me."

"I'm reminding you it could be worse!" I shriek, pounding my fist into my thigh until my knuckles turn angryred.

The Momster whirls on Dr. Fox. "Why are we wasting time here? What's wrong with her? What does she have?"

"NOTHING!"I scream.

The psychiatrist clears his throat and longingly looks at his clock. "Well, by DSM standards she's a little young to be diagnosed... but I believe Shiloh has an emerging personality disorder-possibly borderline-and I also see some symptoms of bipolar illness. The core of borderline personality disorder is emotional instability, but that's also a characteristic of bipolar illness, so there's some further testing and evaluation needed at this time."

My mother looks triumphant. "You know, I was doing some research and I read a lot about borderline personality disorder. It fits her perfectly. Especially with the fact that she's so manipulative."

"Excuse me!?" I yell.

The Momster: "This disorder explains so much."

Sensing danger, Meredith edges in. "BPD patients often inherit the disorder from one or both parents, and not all of them are manipulative. They are very intelligent individuals in a lot of mental pain. They've been described as 'emotional burn victims'."

Me: "Ha! I got it from you, Mom!"

"Are you kidding me? This is most definitely from your father's side."

Dr. Fox: "I'm not pointing fingers at anyone. Besides, Shiloh is seventeen and her personality is still developing. I merely suggested BPD because she exhibits traits. Our priority is treating the symptoms with an aggressive combination of medication and therapy. Therefore, I'd like your consent to start Shiloh on a mood stabilizer."

"Whoa," I protest, "and are you not planning on asking me if I'm okay with this?"

Dr. Fox straightens his tie. "All right, how do you feel about trying a mood stabilizer?"

The Momster coughs sparks of fire.

I stand up and cross the room, stopping at one of the two windows that flank the doctor's desk. I look out between the dusty white blinds and see the crowded parking lot. About a dozen different vehicles huddle beneath a sheet of frost. The sky is crammed with wall-to-wall clouds, creating a claustrophobic landscape that reaches beyond the steel fence and trimmed hedges. "Do you really think it will help?" I ask, my breath fogging the windowpane.

"I do, very much so," says Dr. Fox.

I hesitate, then sigh. "Okay. I'll try it. But if it gives me any weird side effects, I'm refusing."

"Fair enough," my psychiatrist responds. "We'll monitor you closely in case you have an undesirable reaction."

I can sense The Momster's vicious glare burning holes in my back.

"I'd like to go now," I say to the glass.

"Okay," says Dr. Fox.

Meredith's gentle voice wanders from the dark corner. "You're under quite some stress. Maybe talk with one of the techs or patients you trust?"

I laugh and make for the door. "Trust? I don't trust anyone."

***

But there is one person I haven't reached out to.