Sad But True (Script)

“Insane adj. Not of sound mind; mad.”
“Crazy adj. colloq. Insane or mad”


What is insanity? What causes the descent into madness, a journey we all fear? Does insanity exist, or is it just people desperate for attention? And when we are finally labelled as ‘mentally unstable’, is that when we find out who our true friends are?

A young girl, with a single friend. A young girl needing to see a psychiatrist. Her friend who thinks it’s a waste of time.

Is she insane because she needs professional help? Or is she just misunderstood, and alone as a result?

The mind is a complex instrument. No-one can ever be certain when it’s truly broken.

Based on a true experience, this short play explores the complexities of human suffering, and how we deal with the pain of loss and being labelled ‘crazy’.


Scene 1
(A set of park swings. Two girls are sat on a swing each, swinging backwards and forwards in silence. Rachel is dressed in white, is wearing no make up and as a result looks quite pale and withdrawn. The other is dressed in black, and has the confidence to wear a lot of heavy eye make-up.)

Rachel:  I need counselling.

(Pause)

Becca:  (Laughing) What, did you finally figure out you’re a loon? (Laughs again)

(Rachel laughs along)

Rachel:  Yeah, I’m completely insane! (They keep laughing) It’s probably why I’ve never had a boyfriend.

(Becca abruptly stops laughing)

Becca:  No, you’ve never had a boyfriend because the only boys you know are all assholes.

Rachel:  Says you.

Becca:  (Shrugging) You think it, I just say it. Lets face it, can you think of anyone you’d want to go out with?

(Pause as Rachel thinks. She shakes her head and grins)

Rachel:  (Mock seriousness) Johnny Depp. (Laughing again) Ok, ok, you win. They are all assholes.

(Long pause. The girls carry on swinging in silence.)

Rachel:  (In a rush) I don’t want to go.

(Pause)

Becca:  (Shrugging) So don’t.

Rachel:  (Miserably) I’ve got to. School called Mum in without me realising and she says I have to go. At least to the taster session. So that they can tell me if I really need it or if I’m just a normal teenager. (She tries for a smile but it fails and she resumes swinging in silence)

(Long pause, to the extent that we believe the actors have dried. In this silence it is quite clear that Becca is fuming; her swinging has slowed right down and her hands are tightly clenched around the chains of the swing)

Rachel:  Will you wait for me?

(Pause)

Becca:  Any particular reason?

Rachel:  I want you to be there… but… I… I want to talk to them alone. I don’t want to rely on you so much.

Becca:  I’m here to be relied on.

Rachel:  I know. (Beat) Please.

Becca:  (Sighs) Alright.

BLACKOUT


Scene 2
(Rachel is sat on a chair with Becca stood USL. Sat opposite them is a man in a white lab coat. This is the taster session that Rachel mentioned earlier. She seems uncomfortable and is scrunched up in her seat, not looking at the psychiatrist.)

Psychiatrist:  I’m sure you have friends. Do you?

(Rachel shakes her head.)

You must have. Even people who feel like they’re on their own have someone that they’re friendly with, even if they’re not close.

(Rachel looks at the floor and stays quiet. Becca stares at her, clearly annoyed.)

(Long Pause)

Rachel:  (quietly, shy, almost inaudible) One.

Psychiatrist:  (Leaning forward) Sorry?

Rachel:  (Louder) One. (She looks up towards the audience.) I’ve got one.

(The psychiatrist looks pleased for getting this information.)

Psychiatrist:  Can you tell me about her?

(Rachel looks briefly at Becca, who nods once and carries on staring at the psychiatrist)

Rachel:  Well, she’s… violent. She’s always there to defend me, and she’s very good at doing it. She… (She falls silent)

Psychiatrist:  (Gently, prompting) Go on…

(Rachel is silent for a while, then hesitantly she starts to talk)

Rachel:  She’s… Strange. She doesn’t… I don’t think she feels… emotions… like the rest of us do. She’s never… wanted a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend. She doesn’t have any family - she tells me I’m all the family she needs. She’s almost like a machine. If she has a decision to make she evaluates it, weighs up the pros and cons, makes the decision and won’t regret it.

(She falls silent again)

Psychiatrist:  Is she a big part in your life?

(Rachel nods again.)

Psychiatrist:  (Gently) Would you prefer it if we left it there?

(Another slight nod from Rachel)

I’ll be getting in touch to let you know whether further sessions are recommended.

(He leaves. The two girls are left on stage)

Rachel:  (Quietly, not looking at Becca) Surprisingly helpful.

(Pause)

Becca:  (Irritably) If you keep coming here, people are going to talk. The bullying will only get worse, because they’ll have so-called proof that you’re as crazy as they say you are.

(Pause)

Rachel:  Still, I think I’ll ask if I can come back for another session.

BLACKOUT


Scene 3
(A bedroom. Clothes litter the floor, along with textbooks and exercise books. The only neat things in the room are the bookshelves, which are packed with books, and the bed. Rachel and Becca are sat on the bed facing each other. Becca is looking at sheets of paper; Rachel is holding a notepad onto which she scribbles something occasionally)

Becca:   (Admiringly) These are good.

(She puts the paper down on the bed; a couple of sheets fall to the floor and we see that they are modelling photos of Rachel)

Take them into school, show a few people. Then you should have more people sticking up for you when the nastiness starts again.

(Rachel shrugs and keeps writing. She’s writing steadily now, with a slight frown of concentration on her face)

What’s that you’re writing anyway?

Rachel:  (Distractedly) Oh, just an idea that came into my head. Putting a picture into words. Not much, really.

(Becca takes the notepad and reads what Rachel has written)

Becca:  (Reading) ‘She strode along the corridor, grey eyes flashing dangerously, jet hair flying out behind her. Dressed completely in black, she struck an impressive figure against the stark white walls of the hallway.’ (Pause) Have you shown this to anyone?

(Rachel shakes her head and takes the notepad back. She carries on writing)

Why not? That’s just as good as those pictures! Show it to teachers, show them the sort of talent that’s being ruined!

Rachel:  (Not looking up) I’m taking it to my next session. He told me to show him the sort of thing I write when I do it for enjoyment, so I’ll show him this.

(Pause)

Becca:  (Emotionless) So when’s your next session?

Rachel:  Thursday, after school.

Becca:  Would you like me to wait for you again?

(Long pause)

Rachel:  (Quietly) Yes please. But only wait for me; I want to talk to him alone again.

Becca:  (Slightly exasperated, trying not to show it) Fine, whatever. I want to talk to him at some point though. Preferably before you stop going.

(Rachel nods, smiles and carries on writing in silence. Becca picks up the pictures and sits, staring at Rachel)

Are you going to tell him about your habit?

(Rachel stops writing but doesn’t look at Becca. This question has obviously got to her and she takes a few breaths before answering)

Rachel:  I’ll tell him if he asks. But I won’t wear any short sleeved tops when I go, so he’ll never notice.

(Pause)

Becca:  (Slowly, puzzled) Surely the whole point of you going is so that you stop?

Rachel:  (Shrugs and slowly resumes writing, pausing every now and again, as though she’s lost her focus) I suppose.

(Long pause)

Becca:  Do you even want to stop?

BLACKOUT


Scene 4
(Back at the psychiatrists. Rachel and Becca are positioned as in Scene 2, waiting for the psychiatrist to enter. Rachel has a piece of paper in her hands and is folding and unfolding it continuously in her nervousness. When the psychiatrist enters she jumps, nearly tearing the paper)

Psychiatrist:  (Looking at his clipboard as he seats himself) Ok, then, Rachel. Where would you like to start today?

(Rachel has withdrawn again and is staring at the floor. The paper is crumpled in her hand and she appears to have forgotten about it. She shrugs)

Shall we talk some more about your friend?

(Rachel shrugs again. The psychiatrist is quiet for a while)

Rachel, school has been in contact with me again. They noticed something on your shirt and are concerned about you.

Rachel:  (Mumbling) Fell. I just fell.

(The psychiatrist nods and notes something down)

Psychiatrist:  (Gently) Ok. Ok then. (Noticing the paper) What’s that you have there?

(Rachel slowly unclenches her fist. The paper falls to the floor)

Rachel:  Writing. You asked me to show you something I’d written, and this came into my head last night.

(She picks it up and carefully unfolds it before handing it over)

Psychiatrist:  (Impressed) This is extremely good. Very professional language and layout. And… the imagination you have is just phenomenal.

(Rachel says nothing, just tries to sink even lower into her chair)

Psychiatrist:  (Businesslike again) Now then… Do you mind if we talk about your friend again?

(Rachel shrugs)

What’s her name?

(Pause. Rachel sighs and straightens up in her chair)

Rachel:  Becca. Her name is Becca.

Psychiatrist:  You mentioned last week that she’s a big part in your life. How big a part?

Rachel:  (Considering) Well… She makes a lot of decisions for me… She tried to stop me coming here… And it’s really difficult to make a decision she doesn’t like… She’s the only person I can really talk to, without worrying that she’s judging me… She’s my only true friend.

(The psychiatrist has been writing while she’s talking. He stops when she does and looks at her)

Psychiatrist:  Is there anything else you’d like to tell me about her?

(Rachel shakes her head, having fallen silent again. The psychiatrist looks at her for a few moments)

Psychiatrist:  (Hesitantly) Can I talk to her?

(Rachel’s head jerks up, terror evident on her face)

Rachel:  (Shaking her head wildly) No, you don’t want to do that! I don’t want her to, not until I’m better. Don’t ask that, she’ll hear you.

Psychiatrist:  (Slightly alarmed) Ok, if you really don’t want me to.

(During this Becca takes out a phone and rapidly types something. Rachel then gets her phone out as if reading a text)

Anything important?

Rachel:  Its Becca, I asked her to come and wait outside for me… (Reading) She wants to know when I’m out and whether… (Faltering) Whether she’s going to get a chance to talk to you after this session…

(Pause)

Psychiatrist:  (Gently, trying to persuade her) Well, is she?

Rachel:  (Miserably) I don’t know… I’m no good at making decisions. She makes most of them for me.

(Long pause. Both the psychiatrist and Becca are staring at Rachel, waiting for her to make the decision while she just stares at the floor. Becca eventually gets fed up and texts Rachel again)

Rachel:  (Quiet) She really wants to talk to you…

Psychiatrist:  Well, ask her in then.

(Rachel sends a text, then gets up and slowly moves to where Becca was standing. She sits with her back against the wall and her arms over her head. As she’s doing this Becca moves forward to take Rachel’s seat)

Becca:  (Confidently but with little emotion) I’m Becca.

Psychiatrist: Rachel’s told me a lot about you.

Becca:  (Coldly) In that case you obviously haven’t taken much notice or you wouldn’t have asked to talk to me.

(The psychiatrist is briefly taken aback by this statement but quickly recovers)

Psychiatrist:  So you agree with Rachel?

Becca:  As I don’t know what she’s been telling you I can neither agree nor disagree.

Psychiatrist:  In our taster session she said you’re - (he shuffles through the papers on his clipboard before finding what he’s looking for) ‘Strange. She doesn’t - I don’t think she feels emotions like the rest of us do. She’s never wanted a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend. She doesn’t have any family - she tells me I’m all the family she needs. She’s almost like a machine. If she has a decision to make she evaluates it, weighs up the pros and cons, makes the decision and won’t regret it.’ Would you say that’s a fair assessment of you?

Becca:  (Considering) Slightly naïve, but largely accurate. Did she tell you how violent I am?

(The psychiatrist shakes his head slowly)

I am. Extremely. People avoid her because they’re afraid I’ll stick a knife between their shoulders. Some idiots used to bully her in the hope that I’d do something like that in her defence, and get her expelled from school. Considering I don’t even go to the same school as her, that’s a little bit difficult.

(The psychiatrist has been staring at Becca very hard through her speech. She returns it with hostility)

I’ll take out one of your eyes if you don’t look somewhere else.

(At this comment Rachel stands up in shock and fear but doesn’t move away from the wall)

Rachel:  (Desperately) You said you wouldn’t! You promised! Please, don’t do anything! (Becca appears not to have heard) Shit… (She takes out her phone and texts hurriedly)

Psychiatrist:  (Oblivious to Rachel, maybe talking over the top of her) I’m sorry… She did tell me, but the resemblance really is remarkable… only a slight difference in facial structure. Your eyes are the most different.

Becca:  (Glancing at her phone, amused) Rachel seems to think I’m going to hurt you. What do you think?

Psychiatrist:  I think you’re in need of help. Would you like to have your own sessions -

Becca:  (Cutting him off, viciously) No, I wouldn’t. I am what I am and there’s no way of changing that. You can’t change her either. She’s grieving, that is all she’s doing, and the last ting she needs is someone analysing her as if she’s dead meat on a slab.

(The psychiatrist doesn’t know how to respond to the outburst. Rachel had sat back down and is rocking slightly, and we can hear muffled sobs)

You’re sitting there, thinking how smart you are to help this poor child. You aren’t helping. She isn’t something out of a textbook. You’re so deeply into your books you’ve forgotten how to really help people, which is to just listen. That’s why I’m here. I listen without judging. Because you still judge, even though you’re keeping your judgements to yourself; you still sit and think about what you’d rather be doing than listening to all these teenagers who don’t have anything wrong with them. We don’t need you. We don’t need anyone. We’re strong as we are.

(Psychiatrist sits in shock for a while, before getting up)

Psychiatrist:  (Not looking at Becca) It was an interesting experience meeting you.

(He leaves. Becca watches to make sure he goes, then gets up and goes over to Rachel. She helps her to her feet, and gently leads her offstage)

BLACKOUT


Scene 6
(Rachel’s bedroom. She’s sat on her bed, with her sleeves rolled up. She’s staring down at her forearms without really seeing them. A letter is on the bed in front of her. We can faintly hear Metallic’s ’Sad but True’ playing. This image can be held for a long as possible, preferably until the audience starts to feel uncomfortable)

(Becca enters, making Rachel jump and hurriedly pull her sleeves down. As she does this she hisses in pain, which makes Becca turn around and notice her)

Becca:  (Cautiously) What’s wrong?

(Rachel shakes her head. Becca listens to the song for a few seconds)

Appropriate. Now what’s wrong?

(Rachel shakes her head again. Becca crosses over to her and pulls up one of her sleeves before Rachel can move out of the way. She stares at her arm for a few seconds, then slowly pulls the sleeve up on the other arm)

Becca:  (Softly, under her breath) Shit.

(She exits briefly, and returns with a roll of toilet paper. She starts ripping pieces off and applying them to Rachel’s arms. Red instantly appears on the paper. Rachel doesn’t object or react, just carries on staring numbly)

What brought this on? You were doing so well, only once or twice a fortnight. And you were getting shallower. Now you’ve gone right back. What’s the matter? Has someone at school said something?

(Rachel doesn’t react)

C’mon, Rach, talk to me. I can’t help if you don’t talk.

Rachel:  (Numbly) Letter…

(Becca reads)

Becca:  ‘Dear Rachel, we are writing… blah blah blah, yadda yadda… and we are happy to inform you that we consider you mentally stable and therefore further sessions unnecessary.’ (Looking up from the letter) That’s brilliant! Told you you weren’t insane!

Rachel:  Yeah… (With effort) I want to go to sleep…

Becca:  You’ve been doing a lot of that as well. You wake up, you eat, you go to school, you come home, sometimes you eat, sometimes you go straight upstairs. You’re sleeping far too much and now this. What’s wrong? For God’s sake, Rach, help me out here! I’m worried about you.

(Rachel laughs bitterly)

Rachel:  You don’t worry. You don’t even feel. You’re not supposed to. All you’re supposed to do is take care of things when I can’t, and defend me. You don’t worry. You don’t give a shit how I feel, you just need me to stay alive.

(Becca is silent for a while)

Becca:  (Calmly) I won’t deny it. But I think you need me just as much as I need you. You can’t cope with the world, and you need me to do it for you. Just think how bad the bullying would have got if I wasn’t here. You might have actually hit a vein by now if I wasn’t here to restrain you, and you’d be dead.

Rachel:  Better than being alone.

Becca:  (Angrily) You’re never alone and you know it!

Rachel:  (Tearful yet angry) Yes I am! You’re here all the time, and I’m supposed to feel like I’m not alone, but I do! Because when something happens, I can’t get a hug off you; you don’t even tell me it’ll all be alright; you just go in and hurt someone! And when I manage to find something that makes me feel good, you go and ruin it! (She looks back at the letter) I liked going. It felt good to talk to someone about how I was feeling, how you were and how you made me feel. But you scared him away and I can’t talk to anyone now. (Beat, then in a rush) I want you gone.

Becca:  (Shocked) What?

Rachel:  (More confident) I want you gone

Becca:  (Disbelieving) No. No you need me, you can’t cope without me, you said so.

Rachel:  I want you gone, Becca! Get out of here!

Becca:  (Clutching at straws) I can’t go! There’s no way to make me go, you told me I was here to stay! You told me!

Rachel:  Who are you to tell me that? I made you! I created you! I gave you life, I can take it away. (Covers her head and screams) GET OUT OF MY HEAD!!!!

BLACKOUT

Scene 7
(Empty stage. We hear crying, then Rachel staggers on stage and falls. She curls up into herself and continues to cry. In between sobs we hear words.)

Rachel:  Dad. Dad. (She repeats it, over and over again, the sound broken and pitiful. While this is going on Becca appears at the back of the stage, watching, her face impassive. Eventually Rachels sobbing slows. She lies there for a while, obviously upset.)

Rachel:  (Quietly) Where are you, Dad? (louder) Where have you gone? I need you. Please come back. Please. I really need you. (louder) I need you. (louder, so she‘s almost screaming) I hate you! Why did you have to die?! I hate you! (Starts to cry again) I’m sorry…

(Becca comes forward and puts her hand on Rachel’s shoulder)

Becca:  I’ll look after you.

(Rachel scrambles up quickly, afraid)

Rachel:  Who are you?

Becca:  (Puzzled) I don’t know… I remember things… a man… and a funeral… but I don’t remember having a name. (Pause) You name me.

Rachel:  (Hesitantly) How about… Rebecca?

Becca:  Why Rebecca?

Rachel:  Well, you look sort of like me… and people are always calling me Rebecca, even the teachers that have known me for years. (As an afterthought) Rebecca means noose, you know…

Becca:  (Considering) It’s a good name, but it’s a bit… soft for me.

Rachel:  So how about we just shorten it? You can be Becca.

(She thinks about it, then smiles coldly)

Becca:  Becca will be just perfect.

BLACKOUT




This is a true story.

When I was eleven years old, my Dad died suddenly. I was forced to grow up far too quickly in order to take care of my little brother, and I didn’t have time to grieve openly. So I left my mind on autopilot and retreated inside myself, away life and the constant painful reminders of my loss, and when I felt I was able to deal with life again, I made a scary discovery; autopilot now had a mind of it’s own.

I immediately thought I was insane. Admittedly, having someone there who’d always listen to me, always defend me, always take care of things when I couldn’t; admittedly, that made me feel good. Still insane, but like I finally had a true friend. I kept her secret for four years. Her job was to be me when I couldn’t face life, and she did it superbly. But then someone said something while she was in control, and she snapped. Told them to be quiet or she’d stick a knife between their ribs. In doing so, she revealed herself, and school immediately referred me to a counselling service.

It didn’t help.

They told me I was NOT crazy, and that she simply didn’t exist, was a figment of my imagination. I found this a contradiction in itself, and decided to do my own research.

I researched Schizophrenia, and found that it is one of the most misunderstood mental illnesses around. I wasn’t schizophrenic, not even close. So I researched split personalities; a little closer to the mark, but still not there. Sufferers of MSD (Multiple Personality Disorder) weren’t aware that their alter ego(s) existed until someone told them. Common factors of MSD sufferers was prolonged blackouts (in which another personality would emerge), and I wasn’t having those. I always knew when she was in control and what she was doing. I researched for three and a half months before I realised that my case seemed to be unique.

That was when I seriously began to question my sanity. It seemed no-one had come across this before. I wanted to give counselling another go, but no-one would see me because in the taster sessions I was deemed ‘mentally stable’. So I did the only thing tht would get me into counselling quickly; I cut myself.

So back I went into counselling, but I was quickly told the same thing: ‘You cannot be insane because it is not possible for two separate personalities to be aware at the same time.’

The experts didn’t help, so it seemed I would have to figure something out myself. I worked out a way of controlling my darker half, using poetry and imagination. Repeat a verse to drown out her shrieking, and use imagination and willpower to lock her in a room in my mind until I’m ready to let her out again.

I still haven’t found a way of getting rid of her. The story is true; the ending is still just a dream.