And it was all there. Everything... well, except for the sex.
Amazingly, though I had lived under a microscope for 4 years and had all my mental inadequacies highlighted for purpose of a PhD in Psychology; evidently, Patrick did leave out how he and I had had sex while his partner looked on and aided in our debauchery. I figured that little fact probably wouldn't have sat well with his Psychology professors.
He wrote of my miscarriage as another example of my inability to cope with my outside world, and as an example of my sexual promiscuity because of my lack of social morals and inability to recognize social norms and practices as pertains to relationships.
And that’s when I finally lost it. Reading the part about my ‘promiscuity’ made me laugh. Actually, I laughed out loud sitting on my cliff thinking of the 2 men I had ever willingly had sex with for which he was one of them.
I found it hilarious that he said I was promiscuous when I had only ever slept with 2 people my entire life, yet he slept with 2 different people every weekend for the 4 years I had known him.
At that point I had hoped he embellished slightly so that he could simply use another example to pad his thesis, because no one would ever call a 23 year old who had sex with one man, and one friend once, a promiscuous woman. At least I didn't think so.
Anyway I read my story until the last sentence. I read with an amazingly clear head and with a complete lack of emotion. I wasn't crying or hysterical anymore. I wasn't dying or thinking up new ways to die. I was just a woman reading a very interesting thesis on a sad, pathetic stranger... Until the very end.
And then I lost it.
Patrick went on to describe the depth and very problematic degree of my delusions as based on my alleged sexual relation with an ‘imaginary’ man. He went on to describe how I would look and speak and act after my supposed affairs with my imaginary lover. Patrick described seeing me post delusion and almost believing himself that a sexual act had occurred, based on the physical signs, and even scents which accompanied these delusional relations. He went on to describe the nightmares and dreams I had, culminating in sleep walking and sleep talking about an alleged stranger who came to me in the night.
Patrick wrote of the confusion he himself felt after my nightly confessions in my sleep about a beautiful stranger who came to me in the night. He spoke about the depth of my delusion, bordering on schizophrenia, but only as it pertained to my sleeping issues and inability to mentally shut down in my sleep, often causing a sleep-deprived temporary psychosis.
And there it was. My dear stranger as a delusion. A great delusion I’d spent 7 years suffering through, according to Patrick and his thesis.
Patrick finished his thesis by basically saying if I lived another 5 years he would be surprised because I was so emotionally and mentally unstable. Patrick didn't believe it possible someone as weak-willed and emotionally unstable as I was could possibly live much longer than that.
He stated that though he would watch and do what he could to help me, with a complete absence of sentimentality, Patrick had faced my inevitable decline and probable death from a variety of suspects.
He even gave hypothetical examples starting with my easy suicide, to a delusional accidental death, and ending with an alcohol related overdose because I drank excessively and alone.
He seemed so objective and heartless in his assumption of my death, I found myself as heartless and unemotional reading it. I read everything amazingly with an almost clinical objectivity. I read it all like it didn't pertain to me, except for the part about my dear stranger, because that was where my objectivity ended.
So I closed the thesis and sat with my cold coffee and half pack of cigarettes and tried to understand, or rather digest, everything he said about me.
I was finished the 'The Story of S' and I desperately needed to understand where I went from that point forward. So I sat, and thought, and smoked.
Eventually I walked back to my car at dusk and wrapped a blanket around myself and grabbed another safety knife from my trunk, but I honestly was clueless. I didn't know how to proceed from there. I didn't know what I should do, but I knew I couldn't do it from my home.
After falling asleep briefly, I heard people playing outside my car, probably teenage lovers and their friends hanging out, so I started my car and drove to the last place I thought I would ever go- my parents’ house.
Pulling into the driveway, I was surprised to see my mom on the porch having a cigarette. I just stopped still and stared while she smiled at me and shrugged. I stared and eventually smiled back.
“You're dad doesn't know I smoke when I'm stressed, so please don't tell him, okay?” She grinned.
“No problem,” I grinned back and lit my own smoke.
Sitting on the porch I asked if we could go to the backyard which she agreed to. Walking through the side gate there was a very heavy silence all around us, and I didn't know where to begin.
“What's going on Sadie? Patrick has called like ten times, and he said you took off and he was worried, and he said he really needed to talk to you and explain everything. He even told your dad he was worried you might hurt yourself, which freaked him right out.”
“Where is dad?” I asked instead of answering her.
“He's driving around looking for your car.” Waving her hand outward and shaking her head she smiled, “And I know it's weird that he thinks he can find one little silver car in a city as big as this one, but that's all he could think to do since your phone was off.”
Smiling and looking at my lap, I realized that felt good. My dad cared enough to drive around aimlessly looking for me which was really sweet.
“I would've gone too, but I was holding down the fort in case you came here and needed me,” she said as I quickly looked up into her pretty green eyes.
“I'm okay. I just had a major shock today, and my friend Patrick isn't such a good friend, and he betrayed me and I'm hurt and I hate him, and I will honestly never speak to him again as long as I live. That's all,” I mumbled.
Suddenly laughing, my mom mumbled, “...that's all,” as I laughed too. That did sound fairly dramatic, even for me.
“I really do NOT want to ever see him again, so can I stay here tonight, and then go to my apartment with dad tomorrow and move some stuff out for a little while until this blows over. But I promise I won't stay here long. I'll get an apartment real soon, but I just need to stay away from Patrick until I can move away and guarantee I never see him again. Is that okay? I don't mean to intrude, but I have nowhere else to go.”
Looking at me, my mom took my hand and rubbed her thumb back and forth across my knuckles. Looking at our hands, I remember wanting to cry so badly, but I fought emotion in front of my mother. That was never her thing- emotions or tears.
“Sadie, you don't have to ask us permission to say here. Ever. This is your home too for as long as you need it. Honestly. And you know I don't lie or give fake smiles and empty words. I'm too direct for that. But what are you going to do? What do you want to do?”
“Just like I said. I'll ask dad to take me home tomorrow so I can pack a few things. I'm changing my locks so Patrick can't get it, and then I'm moving on. I do NOT want him in my life for a minute longer. He used me, but I don't want you to ask how, okay?”
“Okay. But you can tell me anything. I'm really terrific with other people's drama. You can tell me or ask me anything.”
“No, I can't. At least not yet. But I might, just not today. I'm so tired, I'm going to pass out. Do you mind if I just go to bed now?”
“Go ahead. I'll call your dad and let him know to come home. Go to sleep, honey.” And in that moment my mother actually leaned forward and hugged me, which was very awkward for me.
Panicking, I jumped up and replied quickly as I turned to enter the kitchen sliding doors, “Thanks. But NO Patrick, okay? Promise me. I really will never forgive him for this, so I need you to promise you’ll keep him far away from me, okay?”
“I promise. No Patrick, ever.”
“Thanks. Um, and good night mom,” I almost choked because it felt so weird to feel like my mother had my back then.
“Night Sadie,” she spoke as I darted for the stairs.
And that was it. I crawled upstairs, barely able to move from the exhaustion suffocating me, but I made it to my old bed and collapsed on top of the covers.
Lying there, of course I thought of my stranger and I actually prayed he wouldn't come to me. For the first time in years, I didn't go to sleep begging him to come to me, or praying I wasn't alone anymore. For the first time, I actually wanted to be alone in my drama.
So I spent the night thinking. Literally, the whole night I thought and planned. By sunrise I know I closed my eyes and I remember I slept until mid-afternoon in my childhood bed. I slept soundly because I was pretty much unconscious.
If my parents checked up on me, I didn't know or wake. If they spoke to me I didn't hear them. I was beyond exhausted, but I had a good reason to be; I had decided to fix my life in the course of my night thinking.
I made the plans, and I thought of my future for the first time in my life.
*****
4 days after leaving my apartment in a scramble, I made an appointment and I met with 2 of Patrick’s psychology Professors. I told them I was SMA. I told them ‘The Story of S’ was me. I told them my life in short form. I told them I was an unwilling participant in Patrick's thesis. I told them I was the unknown subject of Patrick’s future career.
I spoke about everything to the 2 Professors as they listened carefully, and I was fair, though through his betrayal many would argue fairness was not expected of me, I gave it anyway. I gave credit to Patrick for many of his observations and diagnosis', and I applauded his tenacity in studying me for nearly 4 years of my life, though again it was without my knowledge or consent.
Winding down our 3 hour conversation, the Profs did have certain hard questions for me, and I answered them honestly, though they both said I absolutely did not have to. I chose in that moment to admit to many of my emotional shortcomings. I admitted to the suicide attempts, and excessive alcohol intake, and even to the cutting. I admitted to most of what Patrick described and analyzed, and I was remarkably calm throughout.
Sometimes I was reduced to tears, and sometimes I was pretty shaken by my own honesty, and sometimes I almost drowned in my truths, yet again these 2 Profs were very kind in a caring, professionally detached sort of way. They prompted me to speak without pushing me to answer, and it was good.
I think I woke up a little more that day. Well, actually I woke right up and acknowledged the half-life I had always been living. I woke up and tried to figure out a plan for my future.
Dr. Synode, one of the 2 Profs even offered me counseling, either with himself or with another Psychiatrist at the University, but I declined his kind offer. I even explained that because of this shock, I was going to make some changes and I was going to seek the help I needed but at my own pace, and by my own choosing. And thankfully, Dr. Synode and Professor Willis wished me well and extended the invitation indefinitely, which was very kind of them.
After 3 hours sitting with them, there was one last thing I needed to admit to them. One thing that was crucial to my story. One thing that had made me the adult I was. So I did.
Looking at both men seriously, I told them my stranger was in fact real and that I had in fact been having a relationship with him since I was 16 years old. And then I exhaled.
Waiting for either to speak, I felt like I needed them to understand that Patrick’s assertion that I was promiscuous AND delusional was wrong. I told them I had willingly slept with only my stranger, and then I dropped the bomb- I had slept with only one man until Patrick. I actually told them Patrick and I slept together once, and I told them the circumstance as well.
To a stunned silence in the little conference room where we sat, I admitted that the very gay Patrick found me having a nervous breakdown, and admittedly, I wanted the connection, so he and I had sex. I explained that though clearly he left that part out of ‘The Story of S’, I thought it was crucial to understand just how lonely I was. I explained that though I was a physically willing participant in the sex, emotionally he may have taken advantage of me, which was further confirmed by his refusal to admit to it in his thesis.
Finally, I questioned not only the betrayal and the manipulation by Patrick in attaining his thesis but the means in which he presented himself in order to gain the knowledge of my life which he needed to use, as the basis for his 4 year PhD thesis.
I asked the 2 Profs if the means in which Patrick attained his subject matter was less important than the end result. I asked if Patrick knowing I was a 'woman on the edge' was a good choice as PhD candidate when he was willing to watch someone slowly dying without stepping in or offering assistance or at the very least attempting to get me help- all so he could watch me unravel for his selfish need to attain material for the very thesis that could have killed me had I continued on that path I was on, even as Patrick sat back and observed me.
And then I stood before I said any more. I didn't want to destroy him, because I honestly believed he looked out for me overall, and because I was honestly grateful for his friendship. A friendship that was absolutely dead to me the minute I read the dedication to SMA.
And as I turned to leave, Dr. Synode stood and offered me his hand, which I shook with tears in my eyes. Looking past him to Dr. Willis I thought these 2 men were really good doctors. They could see what I needed, when I needed it. For 3 hours they mostly listened and spoke only when clarification was needed, and they even offered to help me afterward.
When I left the room, neither Professor told me what would happen to Patrick, nor did they even imply he was to be penalized by the means in which he found and used his thesis material, but I knew. I could see on their faces that each man felt anger, frustration, and sometimes dread as I relayed the story of my life to them, and Patrick's part in the last 4 years of it. I knew he would be penalized to some degree for the betrayal.
So I left the university. I remember walking to my car in the early evening and I remember shaking uncontrollably when I sat in my car. I remember thinking this must be some kind of post adrenaline rush or something, because the shaking was killing me. Sitting there, I took my time. I lit a few smokes, and I drank some warm Pepsi I had in my purse. I sat there until I was steady enough to drive to my parents’ house.
And when I returned to their home, my mom was waiting in the kitchen for me. It was 7:30 at night, and she was still waiting. Looking at her I didn't want to cry so I gave her a lame smile and said, “It's done, and the Professors were really nice.” And that's all I could say.
Blessedly, my mother nodded and said nothing else, like she knew I was incapable of further speech.
And that was the end of Patrick and my 4 year 'friendship'. I did see him again, once at my apartment, and 3 times on campus, but I was very, very clear that if he so much as spoke one word to me I would start screaming, so he left me alone.
I received one letter under my door from him which I found one of the times I went home for more clothes before I moved out of my apartment for good. I received a letter, but I threw it away. Amazingly, I actually threw it away without reading the content because I didn't care what he said, or whether it was good or bad. I wanted to move on and reading his letter wasn’t going to help me move on, so I threw it away unopened.
Because of Patrick I had to leave the apartment I loved, and I had to find somewhere else where I felt safe, which was proving difficult. Because of Patrick I trusted no one, though to be fair I never really did before him. It's just his betrayal confirmed for me the absolute truth of people- Anyone can and will betray you if given the right opportunity or circumstances.
So Patrick and I never spoke again. I know he didn't graduate that year as he intended so I assumed he did receive some penalty regarding his thesis, but I know he did graduate 2 y
ears later, a year after I should have graduated with an Honors BA, so I also assume he didn't have to actually start his thesis from scratch.
And I don't know anything about him anymore. I don't know where he ended up, or if he slowed down. I don't know if he ever fell in love, or if he ever found a soul mate. I know nothing, and I’m okay with that because I try not to think of Patrick if I can help it.
Patrick has become nothing more than another name to throw into my hatbox. He is a footnote in my history, and I need him to stay there.
*****
After the colossal meltdown that followed me with The Patrick Affair as I referred to it, I did start attending school semi-regularly. I won't lie and say I went all the time, because I didn't. Between living at my parents, looking for an apartment and just trying to function, I went as often as I was emotionally able. I went as often as I could which was a big step for me.
And 3 weeks after The Patrick Affair, I saw Alexander Hamilton near the Psych buildings. Walking from an appointment I made (and kept) with Dr. Synode, I was nearly back to my car when I saw Alex sitting near a fountain. Looking, I remembered him from high school. Looking, I remembered he was very attractive, popular, and always nice to me when our group of friends intertwined at various parties. Looking, I realized he was still good looking. Looking, I realized he recognized me.
Smiling at me, I fought the unbearable urge to run from him and cover my head. I fought my natural tendency to look the other way from a man. I fought being afraid of him. I fought being myself as I had been for years.
With a strength I didn't know I possessed, I smiled back. That's all. I didn't stop and I didn't try to speak to him. I didn't do anything but continue walking to my car as I left campus. But I did smile back at him, which I was pretty surprised by.