Chapter 3: One - Diagnosis

Diagnosis

October:

“I’m sorry, but what?”

“You’re Schiz—”

“I heard what you said.” I snapped irritably before Dr. Larkson could finish. “You’re wrong. I’m not… I don’t have Schizophrenia.” I spat the last word out as if it was something extremely bitter.

Dr. Larkson sighed, pushing her square rimmed glasses back with her pinky finger. “Do you hear strange voices that no one else does?”

“Yes, but—”

“Do you see strange images that no one else seems to see?”

“Sometimes. Just snatches of them, but—”

“Haven’t you been caught having arguments with yourself?”

“Yes, but I’m not talking to my—”

“And you believe these ‘things’ you hear and see are real?”

“Yes.”

“Auditory hallucinations; bizarre delusions; and the inability to differentiate between reality and fantasy…Those are all symptoms shown in people who have been diagnosed with Schizophrenia.” Dr. Larkson replied evenly, tapping her pen against her notebook. “In the three months you’ve been here, October, you have showcased all of these symptoms. It’s the most ob—”

“What about the other symptoms then?” I demanded angrily.

“Pardon me?”

I gritted my teeth. For someone whose career revolved around reading people, she was pretty slow on the uptake. Were the standards in psych school dropping? “There are other symptoms besides those, aren’t there? What about the disorganized speech and the social withdrawal?”

“Well…” She looked thoughtful for a while, frowning as he glanced down at her notebook one more time. “I’m not so certain why you’re not showing those symptoms.” I raised my eyebrow in surprise. Had I finally convinced her that I wasn’t nuts? “Maybe it’s because you’re still in the early stages of the disease.”

My eyebrow dropped down instantly. Damn. I couldn’t catch a break.

“Wait.” I said, remembering something I’d read in one of my old psychology books. “Wouldn’t those have been the first symptoms I experienced?”

Dr. Larkson’s face turned a bright shade of red.

“That’s not the point.” She said firmly, deflecting my question. “The point is that you have been experiencing the symptoms that any normal Schizophrenic would, and we have finally found a diagnosis for you.”

I was inclined to argue that I wasn’t showing the signs of a normal Schizophrenic patient, but didn’t see the point. Dr. Larkson wasn’t going to believe me and I wasn’t going to waste my breath.

“Which means,” she continued happily, “that we can finally get you started on medication!”

I slumped back into the cushy sofa and crossed my arms over my chest. “Well, whoop-de-doo.”

“Why aren’t you more excited?” She asked, dismayed at my lack of enthusiasm.

“Really Doc?” I snapped. “You just told me that I have Schizophrenia and you expect me to be excited?”

I leapt off the sofa and glared at her furiously. “The only way I’d be less excited about this is if I actually believed it.”

“You don’t think you have Schizophrenia?” I wanted to scream. What had I been arguing with her about for the past half hour?

“No.” I replied shortly.

“Listen, October. The sooner you accept this and get help, the sooner you can leave the Institute and go home.” She tucked a bit of that platinum blonde hair of hers behind her ear as she spoke. “Don’t you want that?”

I stared at her in disbelief. Had she really asked me if I wanted to go home? Of course I wanted to go home. I never wanted to come here in the first place. But my parents chose to believe a bunch of narrow-minded nut-jobs with qualifications, rather than their own daughter, and had me committed.

It was a great story to tell the grandkids one day. If I ever actually have grandkids, that is. I wasn’t really sure how keen boys would be to go out with a certified wacko, much less marry and procreate with one.

“Yes.” I replied angrily. “But I’m not going to leave here believing a story that you’re forcing on me, just so that you won’t look incompetent.”

I felt like I was going to punch someone if I didn’t get out of that room. I was so angry. At Dr. Larkson, my parents, all those therapists they took me too…and myself. I stalked over to the door and yanked it open.

“October! Where are you going?” Alarmed, Dr. Larkson rose out of her chair. She took off her glasses and dropped them onto the little table beside her arm chair. “We’re not done here.”

I glanced at the middle-aged woman over my shoulder.

“Well, I am.” My voice was clear of any emotion. I didn’t want her using my tone as an excuse to keep me in there longer. “You can add the time I have left to my next session. I’ll try to stay put for that one.”

With that, I exited the room, slamming the large, oak door shut behind me.

When I got to my room I found Kara Hendrix, my bi-polar roommate, hanging a new drawing on the space above her bed. Her side of the room was covered by her amazing charcoal drawings. She had recently started experimenting in oil paintings, allowing a little splash of color on her otherwise monochrome plastered wall.  Her latest masterpiece was a drawing of Dr. Larkson standing in front of a cage, with two girls locked up in it. It was mostly done in charcoal, but Kara had been a little adventurous and added a little color in some places.

Like the girls’ hair and eyes. The taller girl had long strawberry blonde hair and big blue eyes. Kara drew herself so beautifully, but always complained that her self-portraits were horrible. It baffled me sometimes.

The other girl was a little shorter and rounder than the slim, model-like Kara. She had wavy brown hair that had the color of wood and mossy green eyes with a little pinch of brown. For some reason, Kara had drawn me standing in front of her defensively.

I slammed the room door shut, startling Kara so much that she fell off her bed with a yelp. She opened her mouth to yell at me, but on seeing my dark expression, grew concerned.

“Someone’s in a bad mood.” She observed. “What’s wrong?”

I jumped into my bed and gazed blankly up at the ceiling as I recounted what had happened during my therapy session. When I was done, Kara let out a low whistle.

“They think you’re Schizo?”

“Uh-huh.” I nodded up at the white ceiling.

“Whoa. That’s rough.” She climbed back onto her bed to continue taping her drawing to the wall. I heard a loud ripping sound as she pulled out a section of the scotch tape. “I never pegged you as Schizo, though.”

I rolled over onto my side, fixing her with a dubious look. “Was that supposed to be a compliment?”

“Yeah.” She replied, glancing at me before turning her attention back onto the painting that was refusing to stick to the wall. “Sure you talk to yourself sometimes, but other than that, I’ve never seen you do or say anything that would classify you as a Schizophrenic.”

She let out a little ‘aha!’ when she finally managed to put up the drawing. “Actually, you’re the most normal one out of all of us.”

“Try telling that to Larkson.” I said as she dropped down to lie in a position that mirrored mine. “She seems to think that I’m the biggest problem here.”

“Only to her pride.” I couldn’t help but laugh at that.

Feeling my anger ebb away slowly, I decided to change the subject.  I propped myself up on one elbow and Kara a small smile.

“So,” I asked, jerking my head at the painting she’d just hung up. “What’s with that?”

Kara glanced at the painting out of the corner of her eye and shrugged. “It was in my dream last night.”

“You dreamt about Larkson locking the two of us up in a birdcage?” I let a little laughter slip into my words.

“Yup. Larky was trying to lock me up in there alone, and you fought her on it.” She nodded slowly. Closing her eyes, she continued to describe her dream. “You told her that there was no way you were going to let me be locked up in there alone and she agreed to let you go in there with me. And just as she locked us in, she told us that I would get out in a few days…”

Her last words hung in the air ominously. “But you would be locked up forever.”

“Yeah, right. Like Larky could ever lock me up for too long.” I snorted, not letting her notice the shiver that had just crept up my spine. I said sarcastically. “You might get in trouble for that, though.”

Dr. Larkson always hated it when Kara included her in any of her drawings.

According to her, Kara tended to draw inspiration for her art from repressed thoughts and feelings. She would probably think this one meant that Kara thought she was a power-crazed loon. Which, – if you thought about it – was exactly what Larkson was.

“Who cares?” Kara leaned over the side of her bed and plucked her large sketchbook from under it. She shrugged as she pulled a stubby charcoal pencil from the pocket of her red flannel shirt. “Not much they can to me.”

“Except still you with more counseling and pump you will a boat-load of pills, you mean.”

She waved her hand impatiently. “Eh, Larky will be sick of hearing my childhood sob stories in about a week and then I’ll be back in business before you know it.”

I shook my head in exasperation. No matter how many times she’d gotten herself in trouble, Kara never learned. It was as if she enjoyed been forced to swallow a hundred pills and being locked up in Larkson’s office all day. It was a wonder that she wasn’t a permanent resident of the solitary wing.

I let Kara get on with her sketching and pulled out my latest spy novel from under my pillow. I fingered the spine lovingly before flipping the book open to the chapter I’d stopped at. I had just become absorbed in the hero’s latest escapades when I was interrupted by a soft tap at the door.

“Not it.” Kara mumbled as she scribbled away furiously on her sketchpad.

I shut my book and pushed it under my pillow. With a weary sigh, I hopped off the bed and padded over to the door, cracking it open only enough to see who it was. I didn’t want to face Dr. Larkson again.

It turned out to be Sid, the only remaining boy in the institute. “Hey Sid.” I greeted him with a smile, opening the door wider to let him in. He slipped into the room silently and I shut the door quickly. The nurses frowned upon mixed gender gatherings in our rooms, but Sid, Kara and I constantly snuck into each other’s bedrooms because, well, we were rebels like that.

“Hey October.” He greeted as he dropped down to sit at the foot of my bed. He nodded to the oblivious girl who was drawing on her bed. “Hey Kara.”

“’Sup, Weatherby?” She mumbled in reply, still not looking up from her sketchpad.

“It’s Witherberry…” He muttered, correcting her. Kara was always forgetting Sid’s real surname and calling him Weatherby instead. It was getting really annoying.

“Uh-huh. That’s fascinating.”

Shaking our heads, Sid and I ignored her. I sat down beside him, sitting crossed legged on the floor and leaning against my bed. “What’s up?”

“I heard you had an argument with Larky.” He started, scratching his short black hair unsurely. “What happened?”

“How did you hear about that?” I asked suspiciously.

“I overheard Larkson telling Patty about it.” He shrugged. “So are you going to tell me about it or what?”

I sighed. “She finally diagnosed me with something today.”

He raised his eyebrows, looking intrigued. “Really? What?”

“Schizophrenia.”

“No way…” His eyebrows inched a little higher, this time out of surprise rather than intrigue.

He pulled his glasses off and wiped the lenses against the hem of his shirt.

“That would explain a lot then.” He contemplated quietly as he put his glasses back over those olive green eyes of his.

“What do you mean?”

“Well…” He looked a little unsure of how to continue. “I heard Larkson tell Patty that they were getting a new doctor.”

He paused, studying my face. “For you.”

“For me?” I asked incredulously. They were bringing in a new therapist just to psychoanalyze me? What? Was I that big a problem that Larkson couldn’t handle me by herself?

“Well, you and the new guy who’s coming in tonight.”

Even Kara had to drop what she was doing to gawk at Sid.

“Whoa,” she breathed, “He must be really nuts if they’re hauling another doctor over here. I wonder what he’s got.”

“Probably schizophrenia.” I suggested bitterly, crossing my arms over my chest in anger.

Kara shot me dry look. “Come on October. We all know that you’re not schizo. Larkson probably cooked it up to get the board to send someone over here to help her. You know how much she loves going to the spa, don’t you?”

She hopped to the ground and curled up at the foot of her own bed, opposite Sid and me. “But this new guy, he must be the real nut job, right Sid?”

“I don’t know,” He replied, shrugging his broad shoulders. “All I heard was that his parents were dropping him off tonight and that he was your age, October.”

“Whatever. We’ll find out more soon enough.” Kara wrinkled her nose as she pulled one knee up to her chin and balanced one arm on it. “But I’m telling you guys, this new kid’s definitely the reason why they’re bringing in the new doctor. Not October.”

“I don’t know whether to be flattered or offended by that.”

Sid chuckled. “Be flattered. It means that old Larky jumped at the chance to palm the only patient who doesn’t tolerate her crap over to the newcomer.”

I forced a small smile. That theory still didn’t make me feel any better. If anything, it made me feel worse. Was this new doctor going to actually help me, or were they going to side with Larkson and force the schizophrenia theory on me?

“Well, I’d better get going now.” Sid declared, standing up. He checked the time on the new wrist watch his parents had sent him for his birthday. “It’s almost time for dinner anyway. I’ll see you two downstairs.”

“See you.” I whispered as he slipped out of the room; Kara had gone back to her artwork as soon as she realized that Sid had no more gossip to share.

Mentally sighing, I climbed back into bed and crawled under the crimson cover, preparing to lose myself in my book again. I had just located my page when the bedroom door swung open and Patty Malone, the head nurse, poked her head into the room.

“Dinner time, girls.” She announced with a fake smile, causing the crows feet around her eyes to deepen. “Wash up and come downstairs soon.”

“Could I skip dinner tonight, Patty?” I asked, sitting up straight. “I’m not feeling too good.”

She frowned for a moment, and then decided that it couldn’t hurt, seeing as how I wasn’t on any medication yet. “Sure sweetie. Kara can bring you some food if you want.”

“Yeah, thanks.” I replied grumpily as I slumped back into my pillows. A moment later I heard the door close and Kara’s face towered over mine.

“Afraid of bumping into Larky?” She asked smirking down at me.

“Yeah. I’m worried that I might end up chucking a dinner plate at her if I see her face again tonight.” I replied dryly.

Kara made a face.

“Then I guess it’s a good thing you’re not going down there, huh?” Her head disappeared and I heard the room door open. “I’ll snag you a couple of dinner rolls.”

With that, she slammed the door shut, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

Silence filled the room to the brim, leaving me feeling alone and lost. I pulled the covers of me bedspread over my head and shut my eyes tightly. I hated when things got too quiet. It was when that happened that the voices chose to pay me a visit. I hated their visits. Dreaded them. I spent as much time as I could surrounded by people so that I could get away from them.

But that didn’t always work. They loved popping in to check on me when I was among company as much as they loved tormenting when I was alone.

The woman was my most frequent visitor. She loved creeping into my head and pointing out the many things that were wrong in my life – as if I hadn’t noticed them before. She taunted me with remarks that my parents feared and hated me for being so unnatural, that my friends thought I was a psychopathic monster just waiting to break loose…. That being said; the woman was the one I preferred the most out of the three. It was weird, I know: the woman caused me so much pain that sometimes, I just wanted to die… but she was much, much better than the other two.

The boy sounded like a teenager. A vicious one. His favorite method of torture was to remind me what would happen if I ever tried to defy them. How they would take everyone I cared about away from me. He urged me to cut myself; to binge; to do anything that classified as self-harm.  I resisted him most of the time, but there were moments when his taunting got to me. Those times, I ended up scratching my arms and legs until they bled.

But even the boy did not scare me as much as the girl. The girl had to be younger than ten – 7 or eight, if I had to guess – and she scared the living daylights out of me. Why? Because seven year-olds are not supposed to talk about how they’re going to slit your friends’ throats while they sleep. How they’re dying to see my bedroom walls covered in the blood of everyone I love. How they can make me relive their deaths every second of my life…Normal seven-year olds didn’t do that. It was unnatural to hear such horribly evil words come out of a little girl’s mouth.

Suddenly, the temperature in the room dropped – the tell-tale sign that one of the voices was about to drop in. I cursed myself. Why did I have to think about them? I might as well have invited them into my head. I shut my eyes tighter, praying that it wouldn’t be the girl. I couldn’t handle the girl.

“My, my…” A snake-like voice filled my ears. “Have you missed us, dear? I could hear your calls very loudly on the other side.”

I had no idea what she meant, but it sounded bad. I shook my head numbly. “Leave me alone.”

“Leave you alone? Why, I thought you might want to hear more about your parents.” The woman hissed. Her menacing voice was laced with venom-like sugar. “I hear that they have told all their friends that you’ve died. Naturally, of course. Who would want a daughter like you?”

I felt something mind-numbingly cold brush my arm, followed by an evil snicker in my ear. “No one.”

I screamed, leaping out of bed and running for the door. I flung it open and dashed out into the hall, hoping to get to the bathroom before anyone saw me.

Instead, I crashed head-first into someone I didn’t recognize and landed on the hardwood floor with a loud thud. Great, so much for getting to the bathroom unnoticed…