The Black Canvas

Epilogue

(journal from Dr. Laura Quinsky, specialist from Raven Hill Psychiatric Ward, 8 May 2017)

Marisole Constantine is showing positive results as of two days ago, when she awoke from her coma. We were ecstatic to finally see her up, considering we were only hours from pulling the plug. Our team, with solemn thoughts, believed she would not make it.

This young lady was checked in by her mother at only 17 years old. She was reserved and spent almost all of her time drawing on paper. She would never show us what she was drawing, but she would show her nurse, who she apparently trusted more. The nurse, Mr. Gene Abrero, in secret, would then tell us what she drew. Each drawing was of a man, a man who Ms. Constantine admired greatly.

This man was her imaginary friend and the only person (other than Mr. Abrero) that she trusted. She constructed him on paper and I was lucky enough to get ahold of it to see what she thought he looked like. When the patient first got here, she spent the first five hours screaming about how this man in her mind was dying and he needed her to leave this place. She referred to this man as Ellis. Her mother, now remarried and named Flora Myers, was in tears as she begged us to help her daughter before it was too late.

The patient came from a very horrible background. Her father, Roger Constantine, died in a car accident when he misjudged a sharp turn and tumbled off the cliff. The mother had found a new love within the next year, but this man, Harson Ned, was both verbally and physically abusive. Flora Myers had gotten pregnant while her and Mr. Ned were married. He forced her to get an abortion and if she didn't, he would murder both her and her daughter, Marisole. He stated and I quote from Flora Myers, who willingly gave me information, "I don't want another snot-nosed shitter around the house. Your cunt of a daughter is enough as it is."

When Marisole Constantine woke up on Tuesday morning, her face was blank and it was hard to read what she was feeling. I'm usually an expert at detecting emotion, but this time it was difficult. The nurses tended to her, gave her water, gave her medicine, checked her blood pressure, and gave her some food. After an hour, she had spoken. She wanted to know how long she was asleep for. Gene Abrero, her nurse, told her that she was out for three weeks.

"Ellis is gone," She had said between sobs, "Ellis is gone." She continued to repeat it over the next two hours. She would say nothing else.

At 5 pm, she had finally calmed down. She sat in the cafeteria with her friends she had made and ate some of the food. She had been smiling and laughing, which was a good sign to see. Ms. Constantine played puzzles and challenged her friends to an intense game of Go-Fish. My team and I noticed a definite change in the patient's behavior. She was coming out of her shell more, and in all my 18 years that I've been working in this career, I can't say I've ever been more proud in my life. This girl was put in my hands four years ago and she has changed a lot since then. I will continue to work with her and she will continue to grow healthy. She will have her bad days, but she will be allowed time to recover until she is normal again. In about two more years, she should be ready to go back into society and take life by the horns once again. Ms. Constantine tells me that she would love to be a zookeeper when she gets out. Don't think for one moment that I won't be standing behind her every step of the way.

As I conclude this journal entry, I can't help but think about something. It boggles my mind...it scratches at the lining of my skull...the question finds it way into my thoughts everytime I think of Ms. Constantine or look at her files:

What on God's Earth happened in her head during the coma to make her change as quick as she did?