I'm Not Crazy (On Hold)

Gabriel

"Would you like to tell me more about your friends, Sang?" Dr. Dunlap asked, a notebook and pen clutched in her unpolished nails. The office was quiet, the only noise coming from the heater and the gentle ticking of the clock on the wall.

My fingers fluttered up to rest at the hollow of my throat as I glanced outside the second story window of the psychiatric office. The sky was clear for a winter day and my gaze caught on the tiny ice crystals that had formed on the edges of the glass. The room we sat in was overly warm, the small heater resting by the door stifling me with the hot air it was blowing.

"Sang?" She asked again, and I looked back over at her patient, hazel eyes.

I had been seeing Dr. Dunlap now for just shy of eight months, and so far, things had gone fairly well. She was more patient with me than the other doctors, but I still saw the faint hints of frustration clouded in her eyes every now and again. It probably didn't help that I barely ever said a word to her during our sessions. I couldn't even if I wanted to, though. My throat was too raw and damaged usually.

Today was my last session for a couple weeks, as winter break was starting up. Dr. Dunlap was trying to figure out another medication for me to try out because we wouldn't be seeing each other for a little while. The current one wasn't doing anything more than making me overly sleepy.

My lips curled downward and I frowned at the thought of trying another kind of medicine just because no one thought I was normal for what I saw. What was once a simple case of imaginary friends, had now been diagnosed as schizophrenia.

There were so many medications that I had been made to take, all in hopes that I would suddenly become normal. My parents became more and more concerned with each new drug because the medications still weren't helping. I still saw them. . .

They were the reason that I was stuck going to weekly psychiatric appointments. Everyone thought I was crazy, seeing them when they never did. And for all I knew, maybe I was. But one thing I was certain of, was that they were what gave me hope and strength in the painful world I lived in. In the world where I want wanted.

My mother was sick. I didn't know with what, but I saw the bottles of pills she had stashed in her nightstand drawer. She only went into the doctor when she absolutely had to. Otherwise, she stayed at home and watched disjointedly at the news on the T.V. in her room. I was usually stuck in my room, made to clean it over and over even when it was spotless. I wasn't allowed to play with the neighbor kids, nor was Marie.

She didn't like me talking to others. No, she didn't like it one single bit. I had researched her symptoms and found that she had all the indications of severe agoraphobia. She always felt the need to discipline me if I talked to a boy or if I didn't do very well on my homework from school. It varied and changed every day for what she deemed worthy of punishment.

She especially didn't like the fact that I was seeing doctors. Everytime that I went to a session, she hounded me on what we discussed. She was always suspicious and often made me kneel in rice when she didn't believe that I was telling her everything. Sometimes before a session, she'd force me to drink a mixture concocted of lemon juice and vinegar. It made it so that I physically couldn't talk, which is what she wanted. She didn't agree with my father that I should be letting anyone see into our lives.

It had been the during my first year of middle school when I had first seem one of them. Marie, my sister, had let her friend Danielle, go through all of my clothes before school started. When I had gone to check in my closet for my clothes, I had been horrified that all that were there were a few grungy t-shirts and a pair of too large jean shorts.

I didn't know what to do, especially since my mom wouldn't care and my dad was gone most of the time for his work. I had no money and not a clue as to how I would make it through my first day of school without feeling embarrassed.