When I got home, I opened my blinds for the first time in months and threw open my window. My mom says keeping the blinds closed was something I’ve done since I was a toddler. From the time I could reach the cord, I’d pulled them closed.
I sat in my desk chair and watched the people outside for a long time. In the evenings, our street is packed with people. Kids, mostly, but a lot of joggers and old ladies walking their dogs, too. It’s noisy. I’d forgotten how noisy it was. The sound of feet on asphalt is irritating, and the crunch of bicycle wheels over gravel feels like nails on a chalkboard. But then I remembered that I didn’t open my window to listen. I wanted to take a real look outside.
It took a few seconds to get there, but I knew it was waiting for me. Next to the trees along the sidewalk, I could see it more clearly. The blades of tall grass outside my house began to move as if tiny creatures were creeping in it. I could always find the edges of crazy if I looked hard enough.
The sun was setting, and the street I’d always tried to hide from was changing. Streetlamps flooded the concrete with orange light beneath the massive jacaranda trees that left purple crap all over the ground. Then suddenly there were no moving bodies to stare at, and the odd car that happened to glide past our driveway floated in slow motion as if the people driving through knew there was something wrong with me.
I tried to listen to them.
Why is he staring out the window like that? What is he looking at?
I’m not paranoid.
Maya sent a few more messages about her dress, but I didn’t respond, which isn’t like me. I’d told her earlier that I’d wear whatever tux she wanted me to. I’d pick it up before this Saturday.
But there was something different about tonight. I keep looking out at the neighborhood, waiting for something else to happen. Until finally it does.
It’s subtle. None of the familiar characters charge the streets and the voices don’t start, but the ground rolls beneath my toes. I can feel it breathe. Even the darkness is intensified. Everything is alive.
The smell of star jasmine outside my window reminds me of Maya. She says it’s her favorite scent in the world, and it actually does make me feel good for half a second before I remember what’s going to happen to me.
It wasn’t a good meeting with my doctors today. They asked a lot of the same questions, though nobody seemed to care much about my sex drive. Unlike the other 65 percent of the schizos in the study, I’m not actually getting any better, which they already know because my results indicated a weakened response to treatment. My body has started developing immunity.
They issued the final stop date. They can’t advise continued treatment because of prior complications with my heart.
So I stared out the window and listened to my phone buzz with Maya’s texts because I didn’t want to respond. Rebecca reached out to touch my hand.
“Is it strange watching your world crumble around you, knowing there’s nothing you can do about it? I imagine it’s strange.” It was Rupert, leaning back on my bed with a lit cigarette, looking bored, while Basil snored against the wall on the floor, scratching his balls.
“Leave him alone,” said Jason.
“Why?” said Rupert. “Look at him. He’s already angry. He’s got so much anger in him it’s trying to claw its way out.” He walked over and stared into my eyes, putting both hands on my shoulders. “He wants to scream and break things.”
“Well, you’re not helping,” Jason muttered.
“We’re not supposed to help,” said the mob boss, suddenly appearing next to the window. “We’re not supposed to do anything. We’re just here. Always here.”
“I know!” I screamed. “I can’t fucking take this anymore. Just stop talking! All of you! Please stop talking.”
Then it was quiet and it was just me and Rebecca listening to the voices sing while I sat down to answer Maya’s texts.
DOSAGE: Unknown.
MAY 22, 2013
Bad things happened.
Hospitals smell weird. Like piss and antiseptic.
I should tell you that I’m not the guy you met anymore. You know this already, but I feel compelled to tell you anyway, just so you know I know. I’m not on the same drug anymore, so I’m feeling pretty tired. This other stuff they’ve put me on feels weird. I wet the bed when I first got here. That’s one of the cool side effects. You can’t really feel it when you have to pee.
I didn’t realize you’d told my mom about our silent sessions, but I guess that makes sense. She doesn’t really let anyone keep secrets from her. I’m sure that even if you wanted to keep that little bit of our relationship a secret, you couldn’t have. My mom knows. That’s why I’m sending this entry to you as an email instead of handing it to you across your desk.
Gotta love my mom. Even when everything goes to shit, she wants me to keep seeing my therapist. It’s her ongoing journey to make me whole. Probably because she feels responsible that I’m broken. “How’s my boy?” she asked. Like nothing had changed.
She brought me my laptop and told me to do what I always do. I told her I normally just answer the questions you asked me during our last session together. She told me to just make questions up.
I said something like, “Well, I’ve made up the rest of my life. Why should this be any different?” So she started to cry and I started to cry, too. And Rebecca, who had already been crying, was a hot mess.
“I don’t know what you want me to write.”
“Just tell him what happened.”
“Didn’t you already tell him that?”
“Let him hear it from you.”
“He’s never actually heard—”
“Just write it, Adam.”
It was the closest she’s ever come to scolding me, and I could feel the wave of regret the minute she raised her voice, but eventually Paul came in and took her down the hall to get some tea. Herbal tea. She still doesn’t want to have Earl Grey until after the baby is born. The caffeine, you know. Moms give up a lot of stuff for their kids.
I ended up not having to make anything up after all. Thanks for coming to visit me, by the way. I’m not exactly sure what they have me on now, but by the way you were reading my chart and shaking your head, it’s really strong stuff, which is why I’ve been so out of it. I’m still in awe of your ability to talk while I say nothing. You still haven’t given up on me. The pause after your questions is so optimistic, so courteous, it almost makes me sad. But I gotta hand it to you. The dry-erase boards were pretty crafty.
When you handed me one and started writing with the other, I was actually a little bit impressed. I mean, you probably could’ve done this months ago and stumbled across some huge breakthrough, but better late than never, right? Writing to you while you were sitting right in front of me was weird. Your handwriting is terrible, by the way. Also, can you let me know if this didn’t actually happen?
Me: Are you real?
Doc: Yep
Me: How can I be sure?
Doc: You can’t
Me: Why are you here?
Doc: Just checking on you
Me: I’m not your responsibility right now, Doc.