takes me a second to decipher it, but, in a way, it’s endearing.
She gestures toward the door. “Come in, come in. Let’s get y’all settled.”
Without her medication, as time wore on, Petra Amundsen began to see things in the basement that she knew could not possibly be there.
At first, she told herself that it was just from stress and lack of sleep.
But then the walls began to melt and she realized that—u nless she got her pill s—t hings were onl y going to get worse.
Her nightmares first began four years ago when she was seventeen and her parents were going through their divorce. The dreams kept getting more frightening for about six months, until finally, they began to invade her waking life.
That’s when she started to wonder if she was going crazy.
At first she tried seeing a counselor, but she didn’t like it. Then she went to a hypnotist, which was really weird and a little unsettling, since after she woke up from her trances she wouldn’t remember what had happened during them.
When she watched the video recordings of her sessions, she could hardly believe some of the things she’d said and done while she was hypnotized.
In the end the sessions hadn’t really helped.
In fact, in that last one when she had the hallucination about the snakes attacking her and she woke up in the middle of her trance—remembering everything—it might have actually made things worse.
Now, based on the passage of time that she was able to track from the cycles of light and darkness passing outside her window, she figured it was Sunday evening.
The deadline was tomorrow night.
You’re never going to make it, a voice told her. You haven’t gone this long without medication, not since—
“Stop,” she said aloud. “I’ll be okay.”
No, you won’t. You know how these things go, how important it is for you to—
“Stop!” she ye lled, even though she knew the voice wasn’t an y more real than the dripping concrete on the walls that encompassed her as she walked in circles and circles and circles around her small, enclosed room.
While Sue Ellen makes supper, we each contact our parents to let them know we’ve made it here safe and sound.
Mom, who hasn’t sent the photos of Grandpa yet, tells me she’s going through some old albums, scanning in pictures, and will email me later tonight. “What are you looking for, exactly?”
“I’m not sure. I guess send them all.”
After having a little too much of Sue Ellen’s fried chicken, green beans, and sweet— very sweet—tea, we drive over to Northern Georgia Tech, which is only a couple miles away, so I can get checked in for the camp tomorrow and throw my stuff in the dorm room where I’ll be staying.
Quiet, shady lanes crisscross the main part of the campus and lead past the carefully manicured flowerbeds that seem to be everywhere.
It’s peaceful compared to what I imagine it’ll be like tomorrow when it’s overrun with three hundred high school basketball players, not to mention the kids from the band and cheerleading camps that will also be going on in other parts of the campus.
The brick buildings all have a similar design. From what I can tell, the newest one is the field house, which is located between the guys’ dorms and the student center.
The residence hall director has the registration forms of all the campers with him and it only takes a minute to check in. Then, because of the rule about no girls being in the guys’ living areas, Nicole and Mia wait in the lobby while Kyle and I take my things up to my third-floor room. Most everyone else has a roommate, but for whatever reason, they’ve assigned me a room to myself.
Since I’m going to be busy here all week, the four of us head back to Sue Ellen’s house to hang out until my ten-thirty curfew on campus.
We talk on the back deck for a while, and as it gets dark, the heat and humidity ease up and it feels almost as cool as if we were back home.
Almost.
But not
She gestures toward the door. “Come in, come in. Let’s get y’all settled.”
Without her medication, as time wore on, Petra Amundsen began to see things in the basement that she knew could not possibly be there.
At first, she told herself that it was just from stress and lack of sleep.
But then the walls began to melt and she realized that—u nless she got her pill s—t hings were onl y going to get worse.
Her nightmares first began four years ago when she was seventeen and her parents were going through their divorce. The dreams kept getting more frightening for about six months, until finally, they began to invade her waking life.
That’s when she started to wonder if she was going crazy.
At first she tried seeing a counselor, but she didn’t like it. Then she went to a hypnotist, which was really weird and a little unsettling, since after she woke up from her trances she wouldn’t remember what had happened during them.
When she watched the video recordings of her sessions, she could hardly believe some of the things she’d said and done while she was hypnotized.
In the end the sessions hadn’t really helped.
In fact, in that last one when she had the hallucination about the snakes attacking her and she woke up in the middle of her trance—remembering everything—it might have actually made things worse.
Now, based on the passage of time that she was able to track from the cycles of light and darkness passing outside her window, she figured it was Sunday evening.
The deadline was tomorrow night.
You’re never going to make it, a voice told her. You haven’t gone this long without medication, not since—
“Stop,” she said aloud. “I’ll be okay.”
No, you won’t. You know how these things go, how important it is for you to—
“Stop!” she ye lled, even though she knew the voice wasn’t an y more real than the dripping concrete on the walls that encompassed her as she walked in circles and circles and circles around her small, enclosed room.
While Sue Ellen makes supper, we each contact our parents to let them know we’ve made it here safe and sound.
Mom, who hasn’t sent the photos of Grandpa yet, tells me she’s going through some old albums, scanning in pictures, and will email me later tonight. “What are you looking for, exactly?”
“I’m not sure. I guess send them all.”
After having a little too much of Sue Ellen’s fried chicken, green beans, and sweet— very sweet—tea, we drive over to Northern Georgia Tech, which is only a couple miles away, so I can get checked in for the camp tomorrow and throw my stuff in the dorm room where I’ll be staying.
Quiet, shady lanes crisscross the main part of the campus and lead past the carefully manicured flowerbeds that seem to be everywhere.
It’s peaceful compared to what I imagine it’ll be like tomorrow when it’s overrun with three hundred high school basketball players, not to mention the kids from the band and cheerleading camps that will also be going on in other parts of the campus.
The brick buildings all have a similar design. From what I can tell, the newest one is the field house, which is located between the guys’ dorms and the student center.
The residence hall director has the registration forms of all the campers with him and it only takes a minute to check in. Then, because of the rule about no girls being in the guys’ living areas, Nicole and Mia wait in the lobby while Kyle and I take my things up to my third-floor room. Most everyone else has a roommate, but for whatever reason, they’ve assigned me a room to myself.
Since I’m going to be busy here all week, the four of us head back to Sue Ellen’s house to hang out until my ten-thirty curfew on campus.
We talk on the back deck for a while, and as it gets dark, the heat and humidity ease up and it feels almost as cool as if we were back home.
Almost.
But not
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