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Sea Sharp
Shrinkology
Her sofa is a pathological liar, lavender with vanilla pillows, one for every sin. Say it! Seven. It whispers like the serpent, like Her Majesty: advise, encourage, warn!
"Take a seat," says the sofa, "...Make yourself comfortable... Fancy a cuppa?" asks the sofa, as if the very gesture could make it all possible, as if the choice were mine to make.
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Letter One: A Complaint Against the Torture of Dr Bryant
After arriving here against my liberty, having slept 40 hours in 40 days, Dr Bryant threatened to verbally dislodge my soul. She forced me to speak a full hour then she asked me wholly trivial questions -Say it! -about my medication, which had no relevance, and anyway, is recorded in my medical notes.
"All my records are locked away in the back office, all 8.23 thousand words," I explained and for some reason best known to her terrorist self, this was inadequate for Dr Bryant. I have been utterly shattered since mum died of Alzheimer's, since losing the house, and trying to take 60+ businesses and individuals to court. She said if I do not cooperate, she would whittle me away.
"Ah-ah-ahhhh...do not listen... to that rubbish," warns the lavender sofa, "she is an... Al-Qaeda jihadist," and the clock nodded in agreement.
"We think you... should kill her," say the vanilla pillows, "before she bursts... the stashed grenade... between her thighs." The clock studied me, waiting for me to take care of the problem presented, while all I could do was wonder: How can anyone call Dr Bryant a psychiatrist? She does not have the emotional capacity to work with vulnerable people. I shall reveal her as a jihadi and a torturer. I shall forward these crimes to the police.
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Letter Two: A Complaint Against Dr Zelda Babagahnadi and Her Patient, Oliver
I was at the designated smoking area last week when Oliver came over without a cigarette.
"Do not sit near me," I told him, "unless you have agreed to apologise to my mother."
Oliver said, "I'm sitting here."
I said, "Fine. Go on then."
Oliver said, "Fuck off, Golliwog!"
Dr Zelda Babagahnadi said I started it by "provoking him." I have done nothing and yet have been targeted because of a colour I can never call my own. You are all violent terrorists and are essentially killing me. Consider this a final warning letter.
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Letter Three: A General Complaint
I will never eat my meals, as I feel emotionally threatened by Oliver, who will surely whittle me away.
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Letter Four: A Complaint Against Oliver
Yesterday my parents visited again and I gave Oliver five opportunities to apologies to them, identifying my mother as the dead one with Alzheimer's walking with two sticks. There was no apology and when I said I would pursue it further with the police and asked for his full name, he said Big Daddy. I asked him again -he said I could call him Colonel. He then told me I could suck his cock, just like that.
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Letter Five: A Complaint Against Emily
I introduced myself to Emily, offered her fags and a lighter. She told me about love at first sight. I said two words- Say it! -"cautious and sagacious" (both relevant words as neither have been remotely considered at any point in my lifetime).
Emily went berserk. She has been thoroughly aggressive and offensive, screaming a tirade of abuse. She has said that you cannot die of Alzheimer's although my mother is dying in front of my very eyes. This was within twenty minutes of our meeting and I will have a heart attack now.
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Letter One: A Testimony of Dr Bryant's Demise
Upon entering the women's washroom this morning, I noticed a pool of blood gathered about one stall. I stood outside the door and bent down to look beneath it. I saw one leg dangling from the toilet, one leg in the thick, black puddle with other bits of flesh strewn about.
From the ventilation shaft I could hear that lavender sofa laughing in Dr Bryant's office, "Yes -haha! We... did it. Haha!" cheered the sofa, "Haha -yes! We... killed her. Haha!" And the vanilla pillows giggled and wheezed and squealed. I knew if Dr Bryant was dead, none of this was in my head. But if she were actually dead, who would be held responsible? The sofa really should be stopped. It is impossible to know just how far this will go.
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Letter Six: A General Complaint
I have not had a meal in three days and now have wobbly teeth. A few are as soft as chewing gum.
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Letter Seven: A Complaint Against Dennis, Landlord of Chamberland Manor
J.M. is transcribing as I am shaking like a leaf. I was sectioned here without consent and wearing dirty clothes upon admission. I was immediately attacked by Dennis Redmond for trying to open the washing machine door. For the record he managed to swipe one of my stockings and attempted to strangle me with it.
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Letter Eight: A General Complaint
Being called a Pickaninny Princess, the lack of cautious and sagacious staff on this ward, the sexual abuse in my childhood by men and women and the rape in a shower in 1982, surviving a house fire, a terrorist attack, an abortion, racist hate crimes, my mum's death, and failed relationships with scum who stole millions from online gambling, smack, crack, and guns. And I deserve- Say it! - hunger. I shall be whittled away in no time.
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Letter Two: A Complaint Against Dr Zelda Babagahnadi
When I was in the lounge, starving, Dr Zelda Babagahnadi said to me, "I know what you've done to my colleague and I will not stand for this."
I had completely forgotten about Dr Bryant's destruction. I did not respond as I was taken aback. As a result, I am now being targeted by yet another jihadi-psychiatrist for a crime committed by a lavender coloured sofa and also likely -seven vanilla pillows.
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The Ninth Suggestion From the Doctor's Sofa
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haha have you
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found the fatties
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on your thighs
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limits the mobility
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makes the slip
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up hurt faster
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makes the friction
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raw with rashes
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fatty is just --- another living thing --- you know yes --- haha yes haha
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it has intelligence
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it is aware
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of the rules
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of victimisation yes
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furniture know these
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things perhaps you
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should listen to
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us we make
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superb advisors we
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do yes haha
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have you perhaps
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considered a clean
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break a hunger
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strike for your
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thigh fatties hmmm
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haha yes haha
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you don't deserve
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legs at all
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you really should
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just let them
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whittle you away
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yes haha yes
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Letter Ten: A General Complaint
You will notice that I have switched to yellow memo paper. The lavender sofa has advised me about the illusions of the colour white. It has said that the purities are- Say it! -false.
It has said, "White lies. It's... a catacomb used... to entrap us." It has said the mechanism has been triggered on the moon and now the white will infect us all when we are sleeping. It has said this and the vanilla pillows have agreed and the clock has fallen off the white wall and its hands are not moving.
I will no longer touch anything coloured -Say it! -white, which has made the entire bathroom a nightmare.
I write this not to warn or scare you. I write this for documentation, should I find this colour too overwhelming to avoid in the future and I perish along with the rest of you, I want the new race to know the truth. I demand that you preserve this letter so that it remains in pristine condition after the Rapture.
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Letter Four: Complaint Against Oliver
Today I was told that you cannot die of Alzheimer's and that my mother's illness was my fault. She is dying and in 18 weeks has had an aneurysm removed from her heart, spleen removed due to extensive cancer, depression, one knee replacement and then another, she is unrecognisable. She will go from mum to dead bitch in approximately 18 minutes.
I have been told today that I need to sort out my builder's bum. I am now a size 8 and I am wearing size 12 jeans, secured by one cable tie given to me by staff. I was asked by Oliver what size bus would fit up my- Say it! -ass crack. I ask you to consider these words cautiously and sagaciously, as everything I've said has been morphed in transcription, and I am the antagonist for this hate campaign.
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Letter One: A Complaint Against Dr Bryant
I was walking towards the designated smoking area, when Dr Bryant said to me "you wouldn't want to see me angry" out of the blue, just like that. I then gave her a sheet of yellow paper, testifying against her office furniture. I did not dare ask Dr Bryant about her death in the washroom. I was given a chocolate as a reward, which I do not dare eat as I prefer now to be whittled away.
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Letter Eleven: A General Complaint
The biscuits they serve with my tea are far too lumpy. I do not dare eat one, but the very thought of them -I shall be sick now!
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Letter Twelve: A General Complaint
I am yet to speak with a doctor with regards to my intimate health problems and my damaged back, having been punched in the elevator by Whitney Harrison and nearly strangled to death by Dennis Redmond, landlord of Chamberland Manor. The service provided here has been nothing less than brutal, cruel, and victimising. I await an investigation. You are driving me to a heart attack.
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Letter Thirteen: A Complaint Against Whitney Harrison
Whitney has tried to rattle my genitals again. She has tried to grab my breasts and to kiss me, just like that. I have a witness, J.M., and we are both concerned about the pale colour of Whitney's fingertips.
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The Infinite Letter: A Complaint Against Psychiatry
Say it! Cautious and sagacious; two words to consider. In these rooms, I have been punched, sexually abused by a woman, strangled, felt demoralised due to the colour of my skin, been told to do everyone a favour and slit my own throat, etc. I am emotionally shattered and exasperated of being treated like an antagonist. To have Al-Qaeda jihadists within this institution is disgraceful. I have begged them to dial 999 (as they have taken away my mobile phone) and about 15 people have refused, just like that. How dare they? You are all terrorists. You have all whittled me away.
Yes. Haha! Yes.
Audio performance of Shrinkology, by the author
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Sea Sharp is a vegan and American expatriate residing in England, whose work has recently appeared or is forthcoming in Storm Cellar, The Wild Ones, The Great American Literary Magazine, Coe Review and elsewhere. Sharp is a runner and a "decent" hula hoop dancer. She can be found on Twitter ( @SeaThePoet) and on Instagram ( @Sea.The.Poet)
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