Flower Field

It was during the summer of my eighteenth year that I was diagnosed with clinical depression. My sadness had crept up on me over the years, always lurking in the shadows, slowly getting closer and closer until it consumed me completely. If you had asked me a few months back, how likely I’d think it would be that I would end up depressed I would’ve said “No way.” But then one evening in June, after what felt like a particularly long and torturous Tuesday that had consisted of a lot of weeping, my mother told me that she had had enough. The next morning I woke up to a call from a number I did not recognise.

“Hello, is this Emma?” the voice on the other end said as soon as I’d picked up the phone. It sounded like it belonged to an older woman, maybe in her fifties.

“Yes,” I replied. “Who is this?”

The woman introduced herself as Doctor Margaret Newman and then went on to tell me that my mother had asked her to call me. I soon realised that this “Doctor Margaret” was the Margaret my mother knew from her time in university, twenty-five years ago. I knew she was a psychologist. Although I had never met Margaret I’d hear about her sometimes, usually at the dinner table when my mother was telling me about her day. Last week they had met at a local café to catch up over a cup of coffee. I swallowed the lump that had appeared in my throat and asked her why my mother had set her up to this.

“Your mother is concerned about you,” she said. “It sounds to me like you’ve been going through a rough patch and I would like you to come see me in my office this Thursday.”

My first thought when I heard this was “How dare she?” How dare she set me up to this? And I became angry. I felt betrayed and confused. Did my mother not know me at all? I was not depressed. Sure, I spent a lot of time in bed during the day while she was at work. I’d sleep until noon most days. My eating was irregular and I would either eat everything or nothing at all. Although I usually woke up late and did nothing all day, by the end of it I’d be exhausted and weak. I would collapse in my bed before ten o’clock at night and sleep for over twelve hours. But I was NOT depressed.

The line went quiet for a few seconds before she spoke again. “Hello? Emma, are you there?” Don’t call me by my first name, I thought. You don’t deserve to call me by my first name.

“I think there’s been a misunderstanding.” I said coldly.

“Listen to me Emma; I don’t have a lot of time to discuss this right now. I have a patient coming in five minutes. I’ve already talked to your mother and I would like you to come see me at nine, Thursday morning, third floor. You know where the building is, don’t you? Your mother will be there too. We simply want to have a talk with you and sort some things out. I’ve got to hang up now. Don’t be late, just come straight to my office. Your visit is already paid for by your mother.” She hung up before I had the time to say anything, although I don’t think I would’ve been able to say anything at the time. My head was spinning and my heart was beating hard in my chest. I did not know what to feel at this time, but I knew that I was upset. I decided to turn my phone off and go back to sleep.

On Thursday morning my alarm went off at 7:45. The house was quiet and empty, as my mother had already left for work. I wasn’t used to waking up this early, but I managed to get out of bed within twenty minutes of waking. I felt like I had barely slept at all and my head was about to explode, but I managed to make myself a bowl of cereal and a cup of tea. Groggily I ate and cursed my mother and Doctor Newman, before putting my hair in a messy ponytail and getting the bus into the town centre.
I arrived at her office three minutes before my scheduled meeting and reluctantly knocked on her door. I could hear Doctor Newman shuffling around inside the room, before her footsteps reached the door and it opened.

She smiled at me. “Good morning, Emma! I’m glad to finally meet you; your mother has told me a lot about you.”

“She has?” I asked and wondered what kind of embarrassing stories she had told her friend.

Doctor Newman only smiled and gestured for me to enter the room, where I saw my mother in one of the two grey chairs meant for visitors. I gave an awkward fake smile and sat down in the chair opposite her. Doctor Newman sat in her office chair, crossed her left leg over the right and clasped her hands in her lap.

“Well,” she said and paused for several seconds before continuing. “How are you feeling today?”

That’s it? She told me to come into her office to “sort some things out” and this is what she chose to lead with? I wanted to yell at her, attack her and show them both how angry I was for getting pulled into this nonsense. But instead I stayed quiet, without saying a word. Doctor Newman must’ve eventually realised that I would not talk. She got out of her chair and walked over to a large bookshelf where she pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to me. It was a test, I realised when I looked down at the paper in my hand. I lifted my head to object and was met by a stern face. She handed me a pencil. “No fuss,” She said. “Just fill in the paper.” I quickly filled in the little boxes, put ticks in the ones that applied and left the rest blank, then handed her the paper. After looking through my answers Doctor Newman placed the paper on her desk and clasped her hands in her lap again.

“Emma,” she started. Oh no. “It appears you are severely depressed. Your choice of answers confirms this.

A loud sob interrupted the silence that followed after she had said this, and I looked over at my mother. She was crying. That’s when it all hit me. Doctor Newman wasn’t trying to play a weird joke on me, neither was my mother. They both wanted what was best for me. I stared at Doctor Newman, with the sound of my mother’s crying in the background. “Oh.” I said.

As my mother had to go back to work after the meeting, I had to get myself home. I could take the bus, but it was only about an hour’s walk and the weather was lovely; the sun was shining and the air was warm with a soft breeze. I made sure to stay on the smaller walkways, as I did not want to meet anyone. Despite the shocking realisation I’d had in Doctor Newman’s office I felt relieved leaving her office, like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. She had prescribed me antidepressants that I would get started on as soon as possible, but I did not think much about the medication. At the time I just wanted to feel alive and take in my surroundings. I was walking along the path surrounded by green plants, flowers and trees. The ocean was only about sixty feet away on my right side.

As I walked I closed my eyes for a few seconds, feeling the breeze and warmth of the sun on my face. I noticed the faint scent of the sea, salty and fresh. I had been walking for about twenty minutes and I couldn’t hear the sound of traffic anymore. It was quiet except for the sound of my own footsteps and the birds that were singing in the trees. And I thought, maybe I’ll be okay after all. I kept on walking, trying my best to keep my mind open and bright. I welcomed every thought that came into my head and watched them pass one after another, to make space for next thought. I thought of my mother; how she had cried on Doctor Newman’s office and how I wanted to give her a hug, tell her it would all be fine, that I would be fine. After about fifteen more minutes of walking I came to a clearing. I stopped. Before me was a beautiful flower field. I took in the colours; red, white, pink, yellow and green, lots of green. I walked through the clearing and into the field. Here the sun felt warmer and looked brighter, as it was not hiding behind the trees. I walked to the middle of the field where I sat down in the high grass. Beautiful flowers surrounded me and I leaned closer to take in their scent.

All of it was so beautiful, I thought. I sat in the grass for what felt like almost an hour, though I did not keep track of time and didn’t want to either. I was content just being there alone in the field, where it was almost as if time did not exist and I was in a magical land. Suddenly a wave of emotions swept over me. I realised that I had not been close to nature in so many years. Hiding away in my dull bedroom, I had forgotten how breath-taking nature could be and how colourful and rich everything was. The tears ran down my cheeks and I wiped them away quickly as if I was embarrassed to cry in such a beautiful place. I forced myself to stop crying and stood up. Then I leaped through the grass, almost dancing my way through the field. The light breeze caught in my hair and cooled my skin as I danced until I was out of breath. While making my way back to the clearing I made a promise to myself that I would come back to this place every sunny day until I was happy again. I didn’t need pills, I thought. All I needed was this field.

I arrived home at noon. The house was still empty and quiet, mother was still at work. I was hungry, I realised, so I headed straight to the kitchen where I poured myself a big bowl of strawberry yogurt. I sat by the kitchen table and ate in silence. I felt so much better compared to the previous day, all because I’d decided to walk home from Doctor Newman’s office instead of taking the bus. After I had finished my yogurt and cleaned my bowl I wrapped myself up in a blanket on the sofa, where I fell asleep. I awoke three hours later to the sound of my mother’s voice.

“Emma?” she whispered. I slowly opened my eyes and saw her standing over me, with a concerned look on her face. “Are you okay, sweetheart?” she asked.

I sat up, still not yet feeling like I was back in reality. I had dreamt about the field. I smiled at her though, because I saw that she seemed worried and I did not want her to worry about me. “I’m fine,” I said with a smile and reached out my arms to give her a hug. “I feel much better already.”

My mother let out a sigh of relief and smiled back at me. I decided not to tell her about the flower field. I wanted it to be my own special place where I could escape to whenever I felt disconnected, sad or dull. I stayed on the sofa for a while until I felt fully awake, and then I headed to my room where I dug out my old sketchbook and a pencil. For the first time in many years I drew. After what felt like hours I finally put the pencil down and leaned back to admire my drawing of the field. I would hang this on the wall by the side of my bed, I decided. It would serve as a reminder of my happy place, every morning when I opened my eyes.