Above the Vaulted Sky

Six

The next screaming episode happened three weeks later, in chemistry class. No ambulance was called, but I spent two hours hyperventilating in the health office. I slowly stopped screaming when my eyes found a potted plant in the corner. Thankfully, the school had hired a psychologist after Davy's brother had reached the final stage of being one in six. But he didn't do any better than the behavioral psychologist explaining why I was only able to calm down when I found something to focus on. He also couldn't explain why I was screaming in the first place. The only thing they knew for sure was that I was an unusual case. Being an unusual case is worse because they really don't know what to do with you.

Psychologist appointments became more frequent as time went on. Later on, during my first stay in a psych ward, a fellow patient told me you know how crazy you are based on how often you have appointments. Twice a month: you're pretty normal, just need to talk sometimes and you have great health insurance. Every two weeks: you've got a few issues. Every week: you're a wack job. And every week means you're batshit crazy, you freak. Any more often than that, you can call yourself whatever you want, 'cause baby, you're a threat to society.

After the chemistry class incident, I was at the "every week" stage. It got upped to "threat to society" not long after.

Constantine was there for me through it all, if I mustered up the energy to make the hike. She'd brush my hair when I had hot tears of embarrassment running down my face on days when I lost it at school. Even still, the first time I screamed at her house, she was alarmed. "What you screaming about?" I could hear over the roaring in my head. "What you screaming about?"