Don't Be Afraid Read Free

not good for me. They turn me into a zombie . . .” It was difficult to string words together when the sedative was pulling me down, down.
    â€œIt’s your mind that tells you that, and remember what the doctor said? Your mind is playing tricks on you,” he explained patiently, like a million times before. “And even if this crazy idea of yours was true, if the medicines were bad for you – which is rubbish – look at the alternative!”
    I nodded, pretending to agree. I was so tired, so tired. I wanted to go home. I wanted to sleep. I wanted him to stop talking, but at the same time I wanted to listen to his voice forever, because it tethered me to something , it stopped me from sinking.
    â€œThe doctor explained,” he continued, placing a warm hand on my forehead, slick with cold sweat. “It’s just the side effects in the first few weeks that make you feel rubbish, then the medicines start to work and—”
    â€œPlease, Angus. Just take me home.”
    He sat back and took his face in his hands. He was exhausted, I could see it. I closed my eyes, so I wouldn’t see any more. My Angus, what I was putting him through.
    He gave a heavy sigh. “I’ll speak to the doctor and see if I can take you home. But you need to promise me you’ll take your medicines.”
    Silence.
    He didn’t understand. He didn’t understand how those medicines made me feel. How many times I’d cried because I wanted to get better so badly, but I couldn’t take those pills, I couldn’t put myself through all those horrific side effects. When I first told the psychiatrist about them he changed the medication, and he promised me the shaking and the sweating and the anxiety would not be as bad, and they would last only a short time. But by then I was too terrified to take them again: they were poison.
    I couldn’t take them.
    The doctors were wrong and Angus was wrong.
    â€œIsabel. If you promise me you’ll take your pills, I’ll do my best to get you home,” he repeated.
    I had to get home. I wanted it enough to lie, not only to the doctors but to Angus too. I would have said anything.
    â€œI promise,” I said, with my eyes still closed.
    â€œFine. I’m going to see if I can find your consultant. A Dr Tilden, they told me.”
    After a few minutes Angus was back. He looked terribly upset, even more than before. He sat on my bed and I saw his face working, like he was trying to break something to me and he didn’t know how.
    â€œLook, Isabel . . .”
    â€œThey won’t let me go home,” I said, in quiet panic.
    â€œI tried to convince Dr Tilden to let you go, but he said he needs to keep you in at least for a week, to keep an eye on you.”
    â€œWhat? One day. One day at the most,” I said. “No more! I’m not staying any longer than that!”
    â€œListen. Bell, listen.” Another deep breath. “He told me about your care plan, and it’s going to be tough.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œYou’re going to be assigned to a psychiatric team. They’re going to come and see you every day, and phone you several times a day—”
    â€œWhat? I can’t have that! I don’t want them in my house! I don’t want strangers to phone me!”
    â€œBell, listen, try to understand. It’s for your own good . . .”
    I laughed a short, bitter laugh “No, it isn’t.”
    â€œWhy do you think they would do it then? Because they think it’s fun? Because they hate you? Because they have some weird agenda? It’s all in your head, Bell! These people want to help you. And so do I. Please, please, accept their help!”
    In my confusion, I was convinced that there was only one way out of this: taking the lying up a notch. And if I insisted enough, if I were adamant about it, they would have to believe me.
    â€œIt was an accident. I was