Chapter 22

Telling Rosie my life story was not difficult. Every psychologistand psychiatrist I have seen has asked for a summary, so Ihave the essential facts clear in my mind.
My father owns a hardware store in a regional city. He livesthere with my mother and my younger brother, who willprobably take over when my father retires or dies. My oldersister died at the age of forty as a result of medicalincompetence. When it happened, my mother did not get outof bed for two weeks, except to attend the funeral. I was verysad about my sister’s death. Yes, I was angry too.
My father and I have an effective but not emotionalrelationship.
This is satisfactory to both of us. My mother is very caring butI find her stifling. My brother does not like me. I believe this isbecause he saw me as a threat to his dream of inheriting thehardware store and now does not respect my alternativechoice. The hardware store may well have been a metaphorfor the affection of our father. If so, my brother won, but Iam not unhappy about losing. I do not see my family veryoften. My mother calls me on Sundays.
182/290I had an uneventful time at school. I enjoyed the sciencesubjects. I did not have many friends and was briefly theobject of bullying. I was the top student in the school in allsubjects except English, where I was the top boy. At the endof my schooling I left home to attend university. I originallyenrolled in computer science, but on my twenty-first birthdaymade a decision to change to genetics. This may have beenthe result of a subconscious desire to remain a student, but itwas a logical choice. Genetics was a burgeoning field. There isno family history of mental illness.
I turned towards Rosie and smiled. I had already told herabout my sister and the bullying. The statement about mentalillness was correct, unless I included myself in the definition of‘family’. Somewhere in a medical archive is a twenty-year-oldfile with my name and the words ‘depression, bipolar disorder?
OCD?’ and ‘schizophrenia?’ The question marks are important– beyond the obvious observation that I was depressed, nodefinitive diagnosis was ever made, despite attempts by thepsychiatric profession to fit me into a simplistic category. I nowbelieve that virtually all my problems could be attributed to mybrain being configured differently from those of the majority ofhumans. All the psychiatric symptoms were a result of this, notof any underlying disease. Of course I was depressed: I lackedfriends, sex and a social life, due to being incompatible withother people. My intensity and focus were misinterpreted asmania. And my concern with organisation was labelled asobsessive-compulsive disorder. Julie’s Asperger’s kids might wellface similar problems in their lives.
However, they had been labelled with an underlying syndrome,and perhaps the psychiatric profession would be intelligentenough to apply Occam’s razor and see that the problems theymight face would be largely due to their Asperger’s brainconfiguration.
‘What happened on your twenty-first birthday?’ asked Rosie.
183/290Had Rosie read my thoughts? What happened on mytwenty-first birthday was that I decided that I needed to take anew direction in my life, because any change was better thanstaying in the pit of depression. I actually visualised it as a pit.
I told Rosie part of the truth. I don’t generally celebratebirthdays, but my family had insisted in this case and hadinvited numerous friends and relatives to compensate for myown lack of friends.
My uncle made a speech. I understood that it was traditionalto make fun of the guest of honour, but my uncle became soencouraged by his ability to provoke laughter that he keptgoing, telling story after story. I was shocked to discover thathe knew some extremely personal facts, and realised that mymother must have shared them with him.
She was pulling at his arm, trying to get him to stop, but heignored her, and did not stop until he noticed that she wascrying by which time he had completed a detailed exposition ofmy faults and of the embarrassment and pain that they hadcaused. The core of the problem, it seemed, was that I was astereotypical computer geek. So I decided to change.
‘To a genetics geek,’ said Rosie.
‘That wasn’t exactly my goal.’ But it was obviously the outcome.
And I got out of the pit to work hard in a new discipline.
Where was dinner?
‘Tell me more about your father.’
‘Why?’ I wasn’t actually interested in why. I was doing thesocial equivalent of saying ‘over’ to put the responsibility backon Rosie. It was a trick suggested by Claudia for dealing withdifficult personal questions. I recalled her advice not to overuseit. But this was the first occasion.
‘I guess because I want to see if your dad is the reasonyou’re fucked-up.’
‘I’m not fucked-up.’
184/290‘Okay, not fucked-up. Sorry, I didn’t mean to be judgmental.
But you’re not exactly average,’ said Rosie, psychology PhDcandidate.
‘Agreed. Does “fucked-up” mean “not exactly average”?’
‘Bad choice of words. Start again. I guess I’m asking becausemy father is the reason that I’m fucked-up.’
An extraordinary statement. With the exception of her carelessattitude to health, Rosie had never exhibited any sign of brainmalfunction.
‘What are the symptoms of being fucked-up?’
‘I’ve got crap in my life that I wish I hadn’t. And I’m notgood at dealing with it. Am I making sense?’
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Unwanted events occur and you lackcertain skills for minimising the personal impact. I thought whenyou said“fucked-up” that there was some problem with your personalitythat you wanted to rectify.’
‘No, I’m okay with being me.’
‘So what is the nature of the damage caused by Phil?’
Rosie did not have an instant reply to this critical question.
Perhaps this was a symptom of being fucked-up. Finally shespoke. ‘Jesus, what’s taking them so long with dinner?’
Rosie went to the bathroom, and I took the opportunity tounwrap the presents that Gene and Claudia had given me.
They had driven me to the airport, so it was impossible not toaccept the packages. It was fortunate that Rosie was notwatching when I opened them. Gene’s present was a newbook of sexual positions and he had inscribed it: ‘In case yourun out of ideas.’ He had drawn the gene symbol that he usesas his signature underneath. Claudia’s present was notembarrassing, but was irrelevant to the trip – a pair of jeansand a shirt. Clothes are always useful, but I had alreadypacked a spare shirt, and did not see a need for additionaltrousers in only eight days.
185/290Gene had again misconstrued the current nature of myrelationship with Rosie, but this was understandable. I could notexplain the real purpose for taking Rosie to New York andGene had made an assumption consistent with his world view.
On the way to the airport, I had asked Claudia for advice ondealing with so much time in the company of one person.
‘Remember to listen,’ said Claudia. ‘If she asks you anawkward question, ask her why she’s asking. Turn it back toher. If she’s a psychology student, she’ll love talking aboutherself. Take notice of your emotions as well as logic. Emotionshave their own logic. And try to go with the flow.’
In fact, Rosie spent most of the remainder of the flight to LosAngeles either sleeping or watching films, but confirmed – twice–that I had not offended her and she just needed time out.
I did not complain.