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Dr. Celia Banting

Copyright © 2006 by Dr. Celia BantingAll rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, in-cluding photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.Requests for permission to make copies of any part of the work should be mailed to the following address: Wighita PressP.O. Box 30399Little Rock, Arkansas, 72260-0399www.wighitapress.comThis is a work of ction. Names of characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and are used ctitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication DataBanting, CeliaI Only Said I Couldn’t Cope/Dr. Celia Banting – 1st Editionp. cm. ISBN 0-9786648-2-5 (paperback)1. Therapeutic novel 2. Suicide prevention 3. Grief 4. DepressionLibrary of Congress Control Number: 2006928586Layout by Michelle VanGeestCover production by Luke JohnsonPrinted by Dickinson Press, Grand Rapids, Michigan, USA

Issues addressed in this book:Suicide preventionGrief, despair and depressionRituals: The role of a funeralThe child as care-giverA pathological need to please othersNegative family dynamicsGuilt, self-blame and forgivenessDefence mechanisms (projection)Adhering to negative life “decisions”Reckless behaviors related to feelingsHow shock impacts upon cognitive functioningGuided imagery to explain disassociationCognitive development and the perception of realityExploration of the concept of life after deathExploration of the concept of life before lifeDr. Kubler-Ross: The “grieving process” (Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression and Acceptance)Consequences of negative ruminationThe role of memories in the “grieving process”Accepting the unfathomable Finding peace

Also by Dr. Celia Banting…I Only Said I Had No ChoiceI Only Said “Yes” So That They’d Like MeI Only Said I Didn’t Want You Because I Was TerriedI Only Said I Was Telling the Truth• • • •Available after April 2007…I Only Said I Wanted To Kill Myself; I Didn’t Really Mean ItI Only Said I Wasn’t HungryI Only Said It Didn’t HurtI Only Said I Could Handle It, But I Was WrongI Only Said Leave Me Out of It

Dedicated to Erica Elsie, and my dear husband Des

AcknowledgmentsMy grateful thanks go to my proofreader and typesetter, Michelle VanGeest, who frees me from my dyslexic brain, and replaces my mother’s voice. Thanks to Bev, my stray-word spotter, too. I thank my dear brother, Steve, for his computer expertise, and my wonderful husband, Des, for the inspiration and support he gives me. Thank you to Luke and Sam for their faith, inspiration and talent. Thank you to my dear friend Vicki for her guiding sense of style.Thank you to all my psychotherapy tutors and colleagues at the Metanoia Institute, London, for teaching me about human na-ture, psychopathology, growth and recovery. I thank the good Lord for giving me a lively imagination, and I also thank my parents for moving to the Isle of Wight, “the land that bobs in and out of view, depending upon the sea mist.”

11É Ñ Chapter One Today’s Saturday and I’ve been waiting for this day to come for ages; it’s Becky’s birthday and she doesn’t know it, but I’ve organized a surprise party for her. Becky and I have been going together for nearly two years. Her mom and dad had a hissy t when we rst started going out, as we were only fourteen, but after a while her dad started to like me, and then they didn’t seem to mind us going together. He suddenly started to like me when he realized that I went shing, and every time I called for Becky he’d go on and on about rods and reels. I’d have to stie a grin as Becky stood behind him making faces and using her hands to exaggerate the size of the latest sh he’d caught. My mom didn’t seem to care about Becky and I going together; all she ever said was, “Don’t you go getting yourself into trouble, or her into trouble for

12É Ñthat matter.” Did she think I was a little kid or some-thing? Anyway, two years down the line, everyone’s used to Becky and me being together. Her mom and dad are great. In fact, I prefer being at their house more than mine. Mom’s always in a mood. Dad left when I was eight, and since then there seems to be a war going on in our house. I have two older sisters who hate each other and who ght all the time. Nancy, the oldest, says that Sherrie is jealous of her because she’s got a good-looking husband and three cute little kids. Sherrie isn’t married but has had loads of boyfriends, all of which Nancy says terrible things about. I think I can see why Sherrie might be jealous of Nancy, but sometimes I think that Nancy is more jealous of Sherrie. Girls—I don’t get them. I’ve got three little brothers. Jed is my real brother and he can be a real pain. The other two have different dads who visit the house sometimes, and when they do we all have to get out. They give us money and seem more interested in Mom than in the boys. For as long as I can remember, Nancy and Sherrie have always argued, and when Nancy still lived at home I managed to keep out of their arguments, which seemed to happen every day and over nothing, as far as I could see. Who cares whose turn it was to wash the dishes or put the trash out. Jed and I didn’t seem to ght in the same way they did, even though

13É Ñhe was a pain sometimes. I’d just clip his ear and, be-ing three years younger than me, he’d shape up and that would be the end of it. But not the girls—their arguing was constant. Even though Nancy doesn’t live with us anymore, she’s always here. I don’t mind though, because that means that Tom’s around. Tom’s my brother-in-law, and he’s the coolest person I’ve ever met. When I’m a man I want to be just like him. He likes to live in the fast lane. He dresses cool, and women seem to ock around him. Sometimes Nancy gets mad, but he just blows her off, and after a while she calms down. She always ends up apologizing to him. It’s smooth how he deals with her. I want to be like that. The thing I like the best about Tom is that he has time for us boys. Ever since my dad left, there’s been no one there for us to do guy-stuff with, and up until a few years ago before Nancy met Tom, the house seemed to be lled with girl-stuff—Mom’s, Nancy’s and Sherrie’s. It’s not easy being in a house where women seem to rule and we boys are pushed aside, but when Tom started to date Nancy everything seemed to change. I can’t ever remember my real dad doing guy-stuff with me, like kicking a football, going shing or going to a game, so when Tom came on the scene it was great because he started doing those things. He used to take Jed and me shing, and although we never caught anything, he’d show us how to put a worm on a hook, while Nancy squealed,

14É Ñand we reveled in making her feel squeamish. We sat for hours on the riverbank trying to ignore them kissing, hoping to feel a tug on our shing lines. Sometimes Tom would take us out without Nancy, and those were the best times because he showed us stuff. He said that he’d been in the Marines. He showed us how to make a re in the woods and how to trap rabbits. One time when Mom let us go camp-ing with him, he showed us how to skin a rabbit and cook it over a campre. Nancy was grossed out when we got home and told her. It made me laugh to see her nostrils aring, and she started making gagging noises as I told her every detail about pulling out rabbits’ guts. “Stop, Adam, quit, you’re making me sick to my stomach,” she’d cried, but Tom grinned at me from behind her, his face urging me to make the story more graphic. What is it with girls that they don’t like boy-stuff? Tom was always at our house and his presence seemed to make Sherrie even more bad tempered, and now that I’m sixteen I think I understand. I think she liked him even though she was always saying hateful things about him. I think she wanted him and was jealous of Nancy, for none of Sherrie’s boy-friends were as good as Tom. I remember when they got married. Sherrie was a bridesmaid. I don’t think Nancy wanted her to be, but Mom said she had to ask her or else there would be a war in our house. The wedding photos showed

15É Ñeveryone smiling except Sherrie, who was scowl-ing. I think that Mom was glad when Nancy moved out because Sherrie suddenly had no one to argue with, and even though she picked on us boys, suddenly the house seemed quieter. But frankly, life was harder for me after Nancy and Tom got married, because for a while they were busy and didn’t come around so much. I knew what they were doing; I was only thirteen, but I wasn’t stupid. Within a year Kelly was born, and suddenly they were around our house again all the time. By that time Sherrie had nally found herself a boyfriend who would put up with her temper and moods, and having someone for herself seemed to improve her temper, so she was easier to live with and didn’t seem to be so jealous of Nancy. As Kelly screamed more, Jed and I got our Tom back, and he took us sailing, shooting and shing. He lled our days with tales of his days in the Marines and showed us how to survive in the woods. If it’s okay for a boy to love a man, then I loved him. He was my world; my hero and I worshipped him. When I was thirteen I wanted to be just like him, and now, as I stretch in my bed at age sixteen, and it’s my girlfriend’s birthday, I still want to be just like him. I haven’t passed my driving test yet, so yesterday Tom took me to the restaurant while Becky was out, and we met her mom and dad to work out the nal

16É Ñarrangements. I felt excited with the secrecy of it all, and I could see that Tom was enjoying himself, too. We had it all worked out. Her mom was to take her out during the day, and Becky believed that her parents were going out in the evening and I was going to take her to the movies. Tom and I were going to pick up the cake and her birthday balloon, then he would drive me to pick her up, drive past the movie house and head for the restaurant. We’d tell her that we’d missed the start of that movie and would go for a soda to wait for the next one. Then as soon as we got through the restaurant door, everyone—hidden from view, all her friends at school and all her family—would leap out at her and sing “Happy Birthday” to her and give her presents. I know it sounds corny; but I don’t care. I love my girlfriend, and I don’t care if it isn’t cool to show her how much I love her, I’m going to do it anyway. I want her birthday to be cool. I scratch my head, yawn, and turn over, wanting to sleep some more, but the clock tells me that I’ve already overslept. I can hear the little kids arguing downstairs. Since Nancy left to get married, there’s no one to give them any attention and so they ght all the time. My mind’s so full of what Tom and I have planned for today that I can’t be bothered to get up and sort them out. I hear Mom shouting, “Shut up, will you, you little…” There she goes again. I don’t know which was

17É Ñworse, Nancy and Sherrie arguing or Mom shouting at the little kids. I think I’d preferred my sisters ght-ing; at least they were old enough to stand up for themselves. My stomach turns over, remembering what it felt like to have Mom shouting at me when I was little. I get up and head towards the stairs, bleary eyed. “Hey, what’s going on?” I shout, hoping that Mom will take the hint and leave the little ones alone. She shouts at me and I wish I’d left it alone, but something inside me can’t. They’re just little kids. I venture down the stairs, my mom’s voice echoing around the house. “What’s going on?” I say again, rubbing sleep out of my eyes. “Look what they’ve done,” Mom complains. “They’ve trashed the place.” I look around. I can’t see any difference; the place always looks trashed. “Mom, go and take a shower,” I say. “I’ll take care of it.” I push her gently away; I know she’s already lost it. I’m tired of it all, but standing before me are two little kids who didn’t ask to be born. I kneel down and try to calm them down, but they’re hyper and wild. Food, that’ll get their attention. “Who’s for pancakes?” I say, raising my voice to get their attention. “Me.”

18É Ñ “And me.” “Come on, let’s go,” I tell them, walking into the kitchen. How come little kids will do anything for you if you occupy them? They love “cooking,” yet all I get them to do is stir the mixture in a bowl and when the pancakes are cooked they squeeze syrup on them, but they love it, and never give me any trouble. How come my mom doesn’t know that? It seems easy to me. Why does she have to get into an argument with them, when making them shape up is as easy as making pancakes? My mind’s only half on making pancakes as I’m thinking about everything I have to do to make Becky’s birthday great, but the kids force me to attend to them. A thought ashes into my mind as I wonder whether Tom had to force himself to pay attention to Jed and me when we were younger though he had Nancy on his mind. I smile to myself as I realize that, when Tom was in love with Nancy, he’d have been thinking of everything other than the shing or camping that my dad should have been doing with us, and I realize that I am the same as Tom. I’m trying to provide something for my little brothers that isn’t there, just as Tom tried to provide something that wasn’t there for Jed and me. The thought makes me smile as the boys argue over who’s got more syrup, and it makes me more determined to follow in Tom’s footsteps. I want to be just like him; he is my hero. The kids are fed and Mom has put her makeup on

19É Ñand obviously feels better. Now I can begin to think about myself and how to make this a special day for Becky. Everything’s planned; I just have to make it happen. I hand the boys over to Mom, who looks bewildered and checks her hair in the mirror, as I head for the shower. I’m excited as the water runs over me and slides down towards the drain. Today is going to be great. I love Becky so much. I’ve saved all my money to buy her a locket, one that says “I love you” inside it, and although I’m sure she’ll like it, it’s the surprise party that makes me most excited. I love surprising people; it makes me feel good inside. As I towel myself dry, I hear a commotion down-stairs and babies crying; Nancy and Tom must have arrived. When Kelly was one year old Nancy gave birth to twin girls, and since then she’s always seemed a bit stressed out. Sometimes she snaps at Tom and accuses him of not helping enough. Kelly runs over to me as I come down the stairs. I swing her high above my head and she giggles, drool-ing all over me. “Hi, Adam, are you ready to go?” Tom says. I put Kelly down and head for the door as Nancy calls, “Don’t be too long, I need you here.” As we walk towards his car, he says, “Y’know, Adam, sometimes your sister can be a real nag. D’you want to drive?” He throws me the keys. Tom’s been teaching me to drive and I’m doing

20É Ñpretty well. I pull away gingerly and feel more con-dent as I drive down the road and head towards town. “I don’t know what’s going on with Nancy,” Tom says, as I concentrate on checking my mirror and signaling to turn. “Ever since she had the kids, she seems to have changed. Sometimes she seems to be just like Sherrie, moody and bitchy, and constantly harping about something. Sometimes I just have to get out of the house.” I don’t know what to say so I just keep driving. “Even my dad’s noticed a change in her. He said, ‘She’s turning out to be just like your mother.’” Even though Tom’s parents still live together, they seem to hate each other, and I’ve often wondered why they didn’t get a divorce. But Tom said that they’ve always been that way and it’s just how they are with each other. He tells me to pull into a parking lot. “We’ve got plenty of time; let’s go bowling,” he says. “Okay,” I say. Cool. I love bowling. We decide to play ve games and he beats me three to two. Eventually we leave and head towards the store to pick up Becky’s cake and balloon. I’ve had a great day and I feel excited knowing that it’s going to get even better during the evening. As soon as we get home, Nancy launches into Tom. I’m embarrassed, and don’t know where to look.

21É Ñ “Where have you been? You’ve been gone forever. I needed you here to help me with the kids. Mom’s gone to work and I’ve got the boys to look after as well. Why didn’t you take your phone? You did that on purpose so that I couldn’t get hold of you, didn’t you?” I walk out of the room with Kelly trotting after me; the family room’s a mess. There’s food all over the oor and the boys are throwing cushions at each other. “Hey, hold up,” I say, as sternly as I can. “Quit that. Go out in the back yard and play. Go on.” They look as if they’re going to give me trouble but think better of it, and charge outside hooting and holler-ing. When I get married I’m only going to have two kids; I never want to live like this. I tidy the room, trying to stay out of Nancy and Tom’s way. She’s giving him hell and he doesn’t say much. Eventually she blows herself out and starts crying, and he walks into the family room with the twins, one on each arm. “See what I mean?” he whispers and rolls his eyes. He ips on the TV and begins to watch a game. Everything seems to calm down after a while. Tom has a couple of beers while the game’s on, and he cranes his neck trying to see the screen as the kids dart in front of the television, running in and out of the kitchen looking for snacks. Nancy is making dinner and tells the boys not to

22É Ñeat junk or they won’t have room for their dinner. She sounds like Mom. When the commercials come on, I phone Becky’s dad. “Everything okay?” I ask. “Yes, Becky’s out with her mom and they should be home soon. Did you get the cake and balloon?” I tell him that I did, and I can tell that he’s as excited as I am. Becky’s so lucky to have a dad like him; it must be great to have someone there for you all the time, not only to keep you safe but to make things exciting and special for you. I suffer a brief pang of envy but remind myself that I have Tom, and he makes up for not having a dad. He’s my hero and I know he’d do anything for me. When the game nishes I take a shower and get ready; I’ve got a new shirt to wear. We have to pick Becky up at six. My stomach’s beginning to churn and I pray everything will turn out exactly as we’ve planned it. I can’t wait to see her face. I hear Mom come home, and she’s ambushed by the boys wanting treats, and Kelly is crying to be picked up. The twins cry just to join in all the noise. Yeah, when I get married I’m only going to have two children; it gets too hectic with more. Mom gives them some candy, and they rush out into the yard, while Nancy tells Mom that they won’t eat their dinner. I look at my watch and it’s ve thirty; it’s time to leave.

23É Ñ Just then I hear a piercing scream from the back yard. I rush down the stairs and follow Mom, Tom and Nancy outside. Kelly’s fallen from the swing, landed on a broken bottle and there’s blood everywhere. Nancy’s crying, the twins are crawling towards the door crying, and Kelly’s screaming. I feel sick. Tom picks up Kelly, and there’s blood pouring from a deep gash on her leg. “Get a towel,” he barks at Nancy. “Hurry.” Nancy seems stunned and I get there rst. I rush back out into the yard, and Tom ties the towel around Kelly’s leg, even though she’s thrashing about. “We have to get her to the hospital,” he says, taking charge. “C’mon. Now!” I don’t know what to do, and I feel guilty for thinking about picking up Becky on time when my little niece is hurt. Nancy grabs her purse and tells Mom to take care of the twins, before rushing out of the door to follow Tom, who is already at the car. I follow them, feeling awful as I grab Becky’s cake and balloon. “Nancy, sit in the back and hold her leg tight,” Tom tells her. “Adam, you sit in the front.” He makes me feel a bit better, and I love him for it, because I’m feeling awful with a birthday cake in my arms and a balloon bobbing above me as Kelly screams in pain. I yank the balloon and force it into the front of the car, which isn’t easy as it keeps try-ing to get out of the window.

24É Ñ Tom drives like a madman. We screech down the road and along the highway, and I’m scared I’m going to drop Becky’s cake as he swerves into the hospital parking lot. They jump out of the car and run towards the emergency room. I put the cake on the front seat and trap the balloon, which seems to have a mind of its own, in the front of the car and slam the door shut. I follow behind as they rush into the reception area, where a nurse takes Kelly from Tom. They follow. I sit in the waiting area, worrying. I’m scared. I feel sick. I hate blood, and I hate the fact that my little niece is hurt. But what I hate most is the churning in my stomach at the thought of being late to pick Becky up for her birthday surprise. My stomach churns so badly that I have to go to the bathroom, and all the time I can hear Kelly screaming. I hate how I’m feeling, and I’m sure that my anxiety is making my breath smell. I breathe into my cupped hands to check my breath and can’t be sure if I’m just imagining things. I wanted every-thing to be perfect for Becky and now it’s going to be ruined. I feel so ashamed and scold myself. What kind of person am I to be thinking of what I want when a little kid is scared and in pain? I feel really nauseous, and I’m glad I haven’t eaten. I go back to the waiting area with my head spin-ning. There are people everywhere, some with bandages on, others throwing up, some coughing,

25É Ñpeople limping, and even some people shouting at the nurses demanding to be seen by a doctor before other people. There are kids everywhere, all acting out and yelling. I want to slap them and tell them to behave, and as I have these feelings, I realize that I’m stressed. I glance at my watch again. I’m late, and I hate being late. I can’t sit still so I pace the oor, dodging the kids that are charging around. I’m so irritated that I want to kick them out of my way and unload my frustration onto them, but of course I can’t, so I keep pacing. I drink from an ice-cold water fountain to relieve the dryness in my throat and for some-thing to do. The noise seems to escalate. Suddenly I think I hate children; they’re everywhere, and their parents aren’t doing anything to stop them charg-ing about. Perhaps they think that if their children irritate other people, they’ll be seen quicker by the doctors just to get them out of the place. “Excuse me!” I say uncharitably to a child who collides into me, yet he darts off oblivious, to my sarcasm, but his mother shoots me a dirty look. I don’t care. My head feels as if it’s in a fog, and I realize something’s going on inside me that isn’t the real me. I care what people think of me; I hate to hurt anyone. I’m never ugly to other people; I try really hard to be nice. I read the notices on a board about garage sales and church fund-raising, trying to take my mind off

26É Ñthe fact that the time is ticking by and the perfect evening I’ve planned with Becky’s parents is going more wrong by the second, yet there’s nothing I can do about it. Eventually Tom comes out into the reception area, looking pale and shocked. “They’ve got to take her to the operating room because the glass has cut a tendon, and if it’s not xed she could lose the use of her leg.” He looks awful, close to tears, and I don’t know what to say. His hair is drenched in sweat and he attempts to brush it from his forehead. “Look, man, I’m sorry you’re going to be late to pick up Becky…” “Hey, forget it,” I say, trying to sound more reasonable than I feel. “It’s okay. When you’re ready. I’m just sitting here. When you’re ready, okay?” Indecision ashes across his face. “Well, Nancy’s here and they’ve just given Kelly a sedative to calm her down, so I guess we can pick Becky up, and I can take you both to the restaurant and still be back before Kelly goes into the operating room.” He seems to be talking to himself, and I’m ashamed to say that I don’t say anything that will stop him from getting me to Becky’s house, where I know she’s waiting alone. “Okay, that’s what we’ll do,” he says, and he walks off to let Nancy know where he’s going.

27É Ñ Moments later he emerges through the doors. Kelly’s screaming has stopped, and with his car key in his hand he tells me, “Come on.” I follow him out of the hospital, with shame, anxiety and excitement churning in my stomach. I battle with the balloon again as I open the door, for it seems intent on escaping. I pick up the cake and set it on my lap while the balloon sticks to the roof of the car. Tom starts up the car and pushes his foot to the oor, and I feel the engine roar beneath me. He sees me glancing at my watch. His voice has a hollow sound to it. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I know how much this evening means to you. I’ll get you there as quickly as I can.” I don’t know what to say. It’s true, this evening means everything to me, but I’d feel selsh agreeing with him when he’s so worried and would rather be at the hospital with Nancy and Kelly. We race down the road, and he screeches to a halt, as the lights turn red. While he’s waiting for them to turn green, he revs the engine with his foot and taps the steering wheel impatiently. As soon as the lights change, he charges down the road only to be stopped at the next red light. He cusses under his breath and I’m starting to feel really anxious. I grip the cake rmly but the balloon bobs about untamed. I wish I’d never suggested a birthday balloon; it’s more trouble than it’s worth.

28É Ñ My stomach’s in shreds and I don’t feel good about the evening anymore. I don’t know if Tom can sense my feelings or if he’s just trying to deal with his own, but he seems to become aggressive and determined. “I’ll get you there, okay?” “Okay,” I say, feeling grateful but ashamed. My brother-in-law is the greatest. Even though he’s scared stiff about his child, he still tries to make things right for me. He presses his foot towards the oor again as the lights change, and I can feel the car accelerate beneath my feet. He’s doing 90 miles an hour, with his face set in grim determination. My palms are sweating; I’m scared. I gasp with fear as a car starts to pull out in front of us and Tom swerves to miss it, cussing loudly. “Tom, slow down,” I say, but he shakes his head. “I want to get back to the hospital…” Then, as he takes a corner too wide, a truck heads straight for us, and he yanks the steering wheel hard. We soar across the road and the last thing I’m aware of is the sound of my own screaming.