My own reality

24

It is a large eight storied building with grey-white painted walls and glass double doors.
“Mom,” I say as she cuts off the engine. “Why are we here?”
She turns to look at me and gives me a weak smile. “Get out of the car,”
I oblige. We walk into the building to the receptionist desk.
“We are here to see Dr. Filtz,” Mom says.
What the hell is happening?
The receptionist looks up from her computer. “Do you have an appointment?” the receptionist asks in a professional voice.
“No, but–”
“I’m sorry but you’ll have to schedule an appointment to meet him,” the receptionist goes back to typing something into her computer.
“Can you call him please,” Mom says. “Tell him the Hunts are here,”
The receptionist sighs and picks up her telephone. “Sir, the Hunts are here to see you,” she pauses for a moment. “Yes, sir.” She slams the telephone back and looks at Mom.
“He’ll see you now,” she says. “Third floor, second door to the left,”
Mom nods. “Thank you,”
The walk to the doctor’s office is silent. I feel queasiness in my stomach, churning wilder by the second. I always do when I'm in the hospital, which I rarely am. This place looks vaguely familiar, like I've been here before; the stark white walls of the long corridor, the bright light bulbs and the various sets of opposite doors. Why do I feel like I now this place?
Following the receptionists instructions, we reach the second door to the left and mom knocks it.
“Come in,” calls a voice from inside.
Mom opens the door and steps in, followed by me. Then a wave of nostalgia hits me. I remember this place. I came here when I was six. Why?
“Jason!” Dr. Filtz stands from his seat and reaches out to shake my arm. “Look at you, all grown up. How long has it been, ten years?”
I stare at his hair, brown and streaked with grey and white strands. I remember him being old, but he had no grey hair, yet.
“Please, take a seat,” he gestures to the three chairs set in front of his desk.
As I take a seat between Mom and Dad, I look at the white walls dotted with medical posters of various stuff like ‘Symptoms of Insomnia,’ and ‘How to avoid prostate cancer,’ I remember those posters. So far, nothing has changed. Memories of me being here come to in tiny bits slowly by slowly. It’s nothing special, just me sitting in this exact seat listening to the three grownups talking about grownup stuff.
“I think, it happened again doctor,” Mom says.
“When did he stop medication?” Dr. Filtz asks.
“When he stopped seeing Tyler,” Mom says. “Which was like seven years ago,”
“Stopped seeing...Wait, what the hell is going on?” I ask.
Dr. Filtz stares at Mom and Dad. “Does he know?”
I look at the three faces around me. “Know what?”
The doctor sighs. “You didn’t tell him,”
“I didn’t think he needed to know,” Mom says. “If he had healed then there was no point—”
“Know what?” I say hotly, louder than I intended to.
“Jason,” the doctor says calmly. “Do you know about a disorder called schizophrenia?”
I blink.
“It’s the inability of a person to tell imagination and reality apart,” the doctor states.
I know what schizophrenia is. I had theories of it; maybe it was what was wrong with me. But those thoughts were like those random two second thoughts like ‘I have a chest pain, what if I have cancer,’ or while unwrapping the Christmas gifts, ‘What if it’s the latest iphone,’
“Are you saying...” I say.
“You are schizophrenic,” the doctor says.
Does this mean, everything I had been through with Tiffany...was a lie?
“Wait,” I say. “What does this have to do with Tyler?”
“Tyler was your imaginary friend,” Mom says. “But he was more imaginary than your average five year old. You still see him?”
“You have the kind that creates places and characters of your own without even knowing it,” Dr. Filtz says. “If someone saw you at a distance, he would notice you talking with no one in particular,”
But I’m not listening. This can’t be happening. Tyler? Of all good things to disappear from my life, I'm fine with Tiffany, but not Tyler, not my lifelong best friend.
Everything starts spinning; my eyesight becomes blurry due to the filling tears. This cannot be happening. Every decision, ever thing I had been through, everyone I had ever actually loved wasn't real? My heart feels like it has been scraped hollow.
I finally notice Dr. Filtz is talking to me when he calls my name. I look up.
“We can fix you,” he says.
Fix me, because I am broken. But fixing me will take away everything. It may have not been real but it was what I fell in love with; Tyler, my best friend who I couldn’t hate even if I tried, Tiffany, the first person I had actually fallen in love with...
“I don’t want to be fixed,” I say, staring at Dr. Filtz golden name plank. “I want to live in this fantasy, because it’s where I have found love and happiness. It may be unreal to you, but it’s my own reality,”
“But people will think you are crazy,” Dr. Filtz says.
“Aren't I?” I say. “I’d rather be crazy and happy than be normal and depressed,”
I feel a rough hand grip my wrist. “Listen up, kiddo” Dad says. I realize this is the first time he has talked. “You may like it now, but you'll regret it when you're older,”
“Let go of my arm, dad.” I say. He does.
I stand up and make for the door.
“Jason!” mom calls, but I’m already out the door into the corridor. I walk briskly towards the elevators. That’s when I let the tears flow out. If I know, does that mean I’ll not be able to imagine everything back? It’s like the universe gave me a taste of what happiness feels like and snatched it away just when I was starting to get comfortable. Without Tiffany and Tyler, there is no one who I can be happy with. And even though they're back, I don’t think everything will be the same.
Attention all doctors and nurses, a voice sounds from the speakers. We have a patient trying to escape. A teenager, black, glasses, wearing a t-shirt and jeans. Please get him before he leaves.
Perfect description of what I look like. I stare as the eyes of a nurse in the corridor land on me. I turn in the opposite direction and walk hurriedly away. I turn a corner and come face to face with a doctor. His eyes squint at me, but I dodge past him and take off.
“Hey!” he calls. “Come back here,”
I remember that this is a mental facility and the doctors are probably accustomed with runaway patients, but I run faster anyway. My heart beats faster than my legs; I feel the blood rushing in my eyes. I run down the stairs and turn round corridor. I realise that I am utterly lost but keep on moving anyway.
I turn a corner and crush into a doctor carrying a clipboard. We both land on the floor, but I stand up fast enough and run in the opposite direction, only to knock into a nurse who seemed ready for me. She grips my arms strongly.
“No!” I scream and pull as hard as I can. I feel the hands of more doctors grip me. They forcefully pin me to the wall.
“PLEASE!” I cry. “PLEASE DON’T DO THIS!”
I feel the prickle of a needle on my butt cheek and my muscles turn to jelly. Everything goes black almost immediately.