Doctor Monroe and the Social Taboo: (Or Mentally Forbidden?)

Chapter 1: Week Two.

The week had pasted by in a blur. The boy hadn’t said much…he was quiet. Reserved. So much so that I had to begin our first conversation with the general questions. ‘How are you?’ ‘What is your name?’ ‘What is your favourite colour?’ and such and such. To be completely honest, I hadn’t learned much about the boy at all, except that his name was Matt. Common name, nothing I hadn’t heard before. That name branded fair skin with deep rich murky brown eyes and a pair of pale cherry lips. He wasn’t muscular but he certain wasn’t over weight, he had an average build, a set of board shoulders. The base of a good man. Although he hadn’t said much about his age, his records had reported he was 16, a Christmas child. Not that I had faith. My mother had been a very faith driven woman, and it occurred to me at the age of 15/16 that there was a God, however my view was very different to hers. My mother was the traditional Filipino woman, brought up by parents devoted to Christ. When she raised me, she tried to be the same. Unfortunately, being raised in Australia, Perth, a small city, with mixed religious beliefs and nationalities…I was not a conformed product. Pre-primary to the end of it, my life back built on the backboned on Christian faith.  Second I reached high school, it all was washed away.

The new groups, new beliefs, new ideologies…and yet the school crammed the same faith down our throats. Being half a Filipino half Australian, I never truly belonged to any side. I wasn’t fully Filipino, nor could I say I was a ’true blue Australian’, and that’s something that I found was very much frowned upon. I remember my mother used to drag me along to other Filipino’s homes for parties, and I would have to suffer hours upon hours of awkwardness between people I was meant to know…there was this one girl, Tessie, she had amazing light green eyes…half, half…like me…she had a weird hair colour but it suit her…it wasn’t fully red, she wasn’t what was classified at the time as a ‘ginger’ and she certainly wasn’t a blonde. She was someone where in-between, she wore a cute dress that was based off a Japanese anime character…she was weird…different…and I found her adorable all the same…one night we made our way to Monty’s edge, a small hill near the swan river…and she kissed me. To be honest, I wasn’t expecting it. And to be honest, the sounds I made after that echo into my mind today and still make me blush with rage red. We didn’t talk much after that. She was unique. Refreshing. Different. Unlike him. Matt looked average. The hallway was a dark grey, the carpeted grey floors guiding my footsteps towards his new home. Room 4. The papers lay in my hands, as my eyes scanned the papers for what he had been incarcerated for. It read:

Subject displays a normal sixteen year old attitude. However, according to several brain scans and numerous tests, he is experiencing a new form of mental illness. Neither of his parents have shown to carry it, and yet it is clearly displayed in the subject’s behaviour. He is erratic at times, over emotional and quick to anger. He acts bitterly towards new figures and is hard to create any full attachment to. He also seems to be experiencing a long process of memory elimination due to being unable to remember his childhood clearly. I find that the subject’s illness may be untreatable…and have decided a transfer to mental institution to be the only recourse…

Grief grips me like snake. Slowing the pace of my feet as I they began to become drowsy. Although surrounded by other practicing doctors and nurses, I found myself motionless in the hallway. Alone. Deserted. My eyes scanned the psychologist’s analysis once more. My original thought processed had hoped that the flight from Melbourne to Perth had given the teen a decent amount of time to accept being helped by the proper medical advisors and staff…judging by the recent week, he had certainly not improved. A worm taps on my shoulder. My mind moves me as I turn, eyes facing a fair skinned woman with pale blue eyes, a small chin and slightly narrowed jaw, her eyes and nose almost button-like. She smiles, the smallest strands of brunette hair contrasting her pale blue eyes. She begins with a, “Morning,” her tone light and fluffy, as if cheerful in nature, “You’re Doctor Monroe?  Right?”