Let me try and draw a picture for you.

I’d been downtown at the Berne facility for the Mentally Questionable for about ten years, always carrying a load of about 15 teenaged attempted suicides. The number ebbed and flowed. The kids drifted in and out. Sometimes I carried more, 18 maybe, sometimes less, around ten. But always a classroom full of individuals who had at one point declared “Enough!”

My office and playroom stood on the third floor overlooking Wilkers Avenue. I liked to keep the windows open during sessions, letting the sounds of reality – honking cars, pedestrian traffic, sirens, and the occasional “Hey Asshole!” drift up to my charges. I hoped it would jog memories or loosen constipated awareness. It paid off eventually.

A typical bunch consisted of a few pushy types, some loud ones, even one or two jovial ones, sardonic more likely. And there was always at least one quiet and apparently self-contained person. In short, my charges were a good sampling of the great American Pie. If you stepped in during Group, you’d think you’d happened upon a high school history class, with everyone seeming so normally teenaged: pimpled, abrasive, naïve, and sort of sweet even.

One year, though, Group was different – the year with Cindy S., the quiet one. Cindy S. wasn’t so much quiet as she was clean: hair always in place, clothes neat. She never spoke unless spoken to and always followed rules or even suggestions to the letter. I imagined her dad to be a military man. Or maybe a televangelist. She was so straight it was obvious why she’d wound up at Berne.

During this particular year, my days passed as unremarkably as usual as I slowly worked through the humdrum exercises a person in my situation uses. The Berne mandate was not so much to get our patients back on track to a productive life, but to keep them alive as long as the state or Papa paid the bills. Once our charges passed back through the doors to the normal world, we no longer gave them a thought. A good psychiatrist does not follow the life story of a former patient.

I tried to be different, though, above all that. And even after ten years in the business, I’d maintained the optimism of a green practitioner. I truly wanted to see these girls progress to stability. Of course I lacked tools – money to buy props – but I worked creatively, and thought I made a difference. I hadn’t up until that time. Not really. Not until Cindy S. did I know what true progress was.

My schedule required I see each girl alone once a week. In addition, every afternoon I saw the whole lot together in Group. Group was my specialty. That’s where I shone. I invented activities for us to work on together while airing our insanity out loud. I’d have them doing projects with yarn and glue, stuff that the Berne matrons might not be too happy that I put in the girls’ hands. I trusted my girls, though, and gave them interesting materials that would stimulate their minds. We did macramé, découpage, coloring. That sort of thing.

I always made a little progress in this way. Baby steps. The work offered the girls a way to open up that just plain talking never did. One on one, girls often offer little in the way of self-expression. They risk nothing. But in Group, they’ll sort themselves out. Especially in my Group. But nothing worked well with Cindy S. She evaded me even in Group, providing no insights or breakthroughs. She did her activities without the usual comparison to the work of others. She completed the assignments with no posturing or pouting or flair whatsoever.

One wondrous day I got the idea for the girls to do collages. I collected up a bunch of fashion magazines stored in the basement – years of waiting room offal, itself waiting for a day of judgment or perhaps the recycling van. I plopped hundreds of the glossy magazines onto the work table, added some paste buckets and 11x14 cardboards, and instructed the girls to create statements about themselves.

“Use the pictures in the magazines to describe yourself,” I said. “Do as many different collages as you need to give us a full picture of what and who you are.”

Everyone set off to work. In the midst of the expected spit wads, paste fights and paper mustaches glued to upper lips, they diligently set about making up representations of themselves as seen through the lens of the superficial beauty magazine.

At the end of the afternoon, the girls left their work in piles in front of their places at the table.

“We’ll display and discuss them tomorrow,” I said as they filed out.

Once the room emptied, I went to each place and inspected the work. The results were fairly predictable. Janta’s obsession with her image showed up in shampoo ads, bathtub shots, and perfume sampler pages. Cardi had a lot of pasted up words like “threat,” “kill,” “hungry,” and “hammer” superimposed over strutting models clothed with animal motifs. The girls’ work was laid out in predictable patterns. I could tell exactly who was sitting where without consulting the seating chart. When I got to the spot where Cindy S. had sat, however, I stopped dead in my tracks. Here I saw a statement of unparalleled beauty.

Geometric forms and color patterns belied a mind of deeper intention. Her statement was not a mishmash of emotional catharsis emanating from a soul bent on revealing information it felt the world should know. This was the work of a mathematical mind answering an illogical question with a logical answer. How can you represent yourself with superficiality? By not using the superficial for the superficial is the answer. You are not a shallow person, but the tools to work with are shallow. You must use the tools not for what they were meant but turned around for a different purpose. She used the colors of the ads to build mosaics of unrelated and mysterious subjects, like how a painter uses paint not to create color but to draw a picture using color to delineate areas of shade or light. The statements Cindy S. made were incomprehensible. But they were beautiful.

One collage looked like a sort of fireworks display with tiny bits of flesh-tone cutouts arranged in a swirl streaming from the extreme upper left corner. Dozens of spinning lines pinwheeled out to the center and edges. In a bold defiance of balance, the lower right section had no bits at all – no color, just blank space.

A second collage had geometric objects floating in midair – a complete opposite feel from the first collage. They seemed to be perfectly distributed about the canvas. Not necessarily in a rigid tile-floor pattern distribution, but somehow balanced. A big squarish object in the left half had a medium-sized diamond for partner in the right half. In another area, a small star connected up with another smallish star halfway across the page by a strand of periods, each one painstakingly cut out of a sentence of half-wit text.

I looked up Cindy’s records to see what in her past she might be illustrating in her collages, or to find out what abstract plane she’d lived on that I had missed before. Had she studied drawing or music or drama in high school maybe? Had she gotten in trouble for doodling on homework assignments? Was she a closet dreamer?

I found nothing. She was an unremarkable, straight B student that took standard courses. No specialties. No unusual fine arts, histories, languages, or maths showed up. No odd religions. No teacher had ever written in the margins of any of her reports using sentences like, “This student has an aptitude for clarity of thought,” or, “This student shows an eagerness to debate,” or even, “This student will most likely end up in juvenile at some point.” There was simply nothing out on the edge with Cindy S.

The next day in Group, the girls viewed each other’s work. We discussed how well the girls had hit or missed their marks. The results were for the most part unsurprising.

“You are definitely into yourself,” they concluded about Janta.

“And you’re mean as nails,” Janta said to Cardi.

Everyone pretty much felt pleased with the work until we got to Cindy S. who made the bold announcement, “I’m the only one who followed the instructions.”

For a moment we were all taken aback by such a haughty statement.

“Wrong!” Cardi yelled. She pointed to one of Cindy’s collages that was nothing but different shades of blue arranged so no bit of the original representation could be discerned. “You can’t even figure out what yours is about,” she said.

“You didn’t even use any words,” Janta said.

“Words don’t really describe anything,” Cindy said in the biggest sentence I’d ever heard her utter. She showed no emotion, neither defensiveness nor hurt, she just continued in an even voice. “Words are used to obtain something, not describe or define.”

No one knew what she meant, least of all me. I stood silently pondering, blinking at her from behind my desk. Suddenly I turned, my attention drawn by a peel-out in the street. I stepped to the windows and looked down. Everywhere I looked were words: billboards, street signs, storefronts, ads painted onto the sides of buildings. The world was indeed a maze of words, none of which were descriptive.

I turned back to the group and slowly came from behind the desk and walked to Cindy S. As I did so, I removed my white overcoat, the thing that looked like it came from a chemistry lab. It functioned at Berne as the mark of authority. I placed the coat on Cindy’s shoulders and indicated wordlessly that she should put it on.

It fit perfectly.

_Sue Lange’s novella, We, Robots, was recently published by Aqueduct Press.

 

COMMENTS:

Awesome, thought provoking piece. Engaging narrative style.
Benji

I love this article. It is so...inspiring. Cindy must have been some kind of special. How creative and original to understand and portray the true meaning of an assignment. Sometimes I think like that but no one ever really takes me seriously. They laugh it off as if I'm some kind of crazy. I just live in a different way. Not many people do. I believe that we have to teach ourselves how to live and describe things, not to have others teach us. I am so grateful for this story. Cindy is truly a wonderful person. And although it may seem small and insignificant... I believe her story, this story, should be shared with the world.
Alanah Muma

That's crazy – is it real?
raylene

Yes.
Janush

It is certainly a brilliant read I'd have to say. In case this article had a different aim, I'd have to commend the way it brought out the reality of everyone's potential... and in this case often hidden potential. Cindy S. is but another soul who never got a chance to blossom, hopefully we can all relate somehow, as no doubt all the influences of a modern world do indeed hinder our progression.
Hamish (23yo, Australia)

What has this article to do with Adbusters?
mike

Interesting how the outside world at first represented reality, but within the classroom, Cindy was the only one who knew what reality was, and she created that with her art.
Molly

Nice picture. But I still get caught up in the story and wonder what happened to Cindy afterward.
James

Leaders don't follow the path of conformity...they see that path before them...she seems to see it. To question is everything, sadly enough many have pondered suicide, even me. In such a vast world with so many people, and such impersonal ads and propaganda everywhere...we are left to ask...does this mean that I am not important...what i am means nothing, because of the demands laid before me that I am pressured to adhere to without reason or thought?
cw

School, the so-called educational institution, conditions us to talk talk talk and talk some more... Society adopts verbal ability as a standard measure of a persons knowledge and intelligence level. Verbal communication makes us lose contact with our own person. We begin to empower yourselves by taking the time of observing and analyzing how our mind and feelings get influenced by our environment. We let words of parents, teachers, friends and ads to trap us in a world were we have no control. However, we often forget that only we have the power to control our life, our mind and our feelings. Words are used to obtain something not describe or define. For a moment, get quit within you. Learn to listen to your body, your thoughts and your feelings and see what you discover.
Alice Dinu (Canada)

Leaders who inspire the most don't hold themselves above their cause, whatever that may be. It's a difficult task for our 50/50 generation (gen. Y) to keep ideals for themselves due to all the influence of everything...talk about impure. I guess if I haven't really found solid ground for my ideals like Cindy, then I apologize if any of my statements are tainted.
peaceluvndharmohknee

Justifying ourselves with the tools provided to us by modern society is becoming impossible. I feel so marginal, so discarded in a system that sees me and everything else as an instrumental object, dehumanizing and empty. We need different tools, different ways to justify ourselves via interpersonal, authentic relationships and breaking free of our insulated, constructed identity as a passive consumer of pleasure and break free to touch something, anything real.
alan

I want to know more about Cindy, I think in part because I am a bit like her. Not fully, I cannot claim that. But I know what its like to fly under the radar, completely unseen and unheard by those around you. I also know what its like to understand the world quite differently than those who know you and those who do not. I get why Cindy was at the Berne center...there were many times I should have been there myself. There are also times, now that I'm more mature, that I feel like I've sold out to those who put me on the outside. Its really sad what our words can do to even the clearest of minds, let alone what it does to those of us who have only partial clarity.
Jessica

This story isn't as sweet as the above comments make out. It's similar to a lot of what I experienced as a kid. People like Cindy are outcast by their noisier peers and not understood by their guardians.
Felix

Kind of wondering why Cindy was in the Berne facility to begin with.
Mark

Your article reminded me of the importance of learning from the children we are trying to teach. Often they have insights that we are not able to see. This is a new era and the young people are the ones who really live in it!
Suzanne

Is Cindy an autistic or an Asperger person? This appears to be a clear description of the behaviour of an undiagnosed aspy. If yes, she was there because her suicide attempt was probably brough on by disgust at the stupidity and futility of humanity; this sensation is at its most painful in the teenage years. Great piece of writing – it had to be said.
P Buddery

Where the point of the article said that words can't define anything, I can't think of any way to describe it well. I guess all I can say is this: Moving.
AJ

Isn't it interesting how the person who doesn't talk a lot can have such a great impact on how others view the world.
Elena

"He who knows does not speak, he who speaks does not know." — Lao Tse
A.f

Waw... I would like to see the collage she did!
Nanoo

Greedy companies, media etc. attempt to programme the human population, to live a certain way, spend a certain way and even to think or not a certain way. Unfortunately this is done with success. In society I see a lot of ignorance. When somebody like Cindy shines through as an individual, others do not understand it.
zed

"People like Cindy are outcast by their noisier peers and not understood by their guardians." — Felix. I can relate to how Cindy musr have felt. I was a quiet child who kept my thoughts unspoken. Everyone thought I was a feeble child, ignorant of social issues and their causes. I had acutally been well aware of all of the problems that they had to endure. I've changed though. Now I'm loud, noisy even, and acutually less aware of my surroundings. This article was awesome, and surely brings back many memories.
someone

There is no one true reality, as everyone has their own point of view on the world, and everyone is right. The only thing that puts Cindy ahead of everyone else in this story is that she is aware of and defines her own reality, which is harder to do than accepting the reality that the billboards/magazines/television and the rest of the media present to us.
reece

Cindy seems like a remarkable student that may be ahead of her time. She also seems like her life is average, however, she knows that there is more out there and things to figure out.
Crys

It helps the collective. i know that YOU know that i can understand this story. i appreciate it and have enjoyed it emmensillyyyyyyyyy.
thanks for this

She reminds me of all the introverts who get labeled as misfits and asocial weirdos. Introversion is usually understood as not being socially, but its true meaning lies in the manner in which people attain their energy. Extroverts attain it by communicating with others, introverts attain it from their inner world. Some people are balanced but usually one side (introversion/extroversion) is more dominant than the other. For people who are more introverted than extroverted, though, they have a tuff road sometimes because most societies encourage extroversion and many times family will not understand that they have introverted child/sibling and think that they are mentally ill or that something is wrong with them. Of course they have problems later on in life because this. I think our societies need to be better educated about these types of people so that they too can be included in community and valued just as much as everyone else. They have LOTS to offer. Beautiful story.
introvert

What was the actual progress made with cindy? It sounds like you are romanticizing her for her individuality. She is the protagonist of the story, but what resolution is there to this story besides that she was different than the suicidal status quo. Did she overcome her trauma, or just recognize her own individuality? But most suicidal people live in their own world in some way. There isnt any real dynamic point to this story.
btown

A strong story, and very interesting, but I, too, wonder what this has to do with Adbusters, other than to say that perhaps the right teacher might make a difference in a student's life. As far as Cindy was concerned, the teacher was in awe of her work, but did nothing to promote it or draw Cindy out because of it. If the teacher was more dynamic, this would be an uplifting story. As it is, it is incomplete and frustrating.
Lizzzie

Cindy is the part in all of us we wish could be recognized. The true hero in this story is the writer who introduced us to Cindy. This is the second article I have read in Adbusters after coming across it in the bookstore today. Wow! The articles and the reader comments make me feel like I might have found a place worth staying intellectually for more than a day or two. I am one of those balanced people who has despaired at all the deception in the world for fifty plus years. It is not only introverts who see the shams.
Gringo Lalo

oh, mike.. what has it got to do with adbusters? hahahahhaha...
ben

I really liked this story and its comments.
Avery Roberts

jessica, cindy is likely autistic
nili

In my ignorant opinion, it seems as though the teacher was not a teaacher but a doctor/therapist/psychiatrist figure who's duty was to conduct reports on the preogress of the patients. And by 'anointing' Cindy with the lab coat was the doctors 'wordless gesture' to suggest that Cindy, in reality, was the one who should be teaching due to her outlook on life and understanding the true meaning of words in communication. That's my take on it.
Colin

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