Schizophrenia.

“My childhood was mostly spent moving from foster home to foster home. At one point, I was in at least five different homes within a year. I barely remember what my foster parents’ names were. I think it was Ramirez…or maybe Rockwell? I don’t know, it was something with an R. But I liked them. The father, I think his first name was Henry, he was old. Maybe in his 50’s? And the mother - I know her name was Rose - she was in her 40’s. They were really nice, and they were my favorite foster parents out of all of them. They took in me and Lucy like we were one of their own.”

“Lucy?” He asked, perking up at her name. His eyes were narrowed at me in curiosity. “Who was Lucy?”

“She was my imaginary friend. I was like, six, and she followed me everywhere.”

He gave a small, curt nod, then looked down at the pad he was writing on. “Alright. So what happened when you and Lucy were there?”

“Not much. We were the only foster kids in that home. The Ramirez-Rockwell’s had two kids of their own. I remember the one - his name was Jackson - and he was older than me by a year or two. I think the other one’s name was Adam or Aidan or something. I don’t remember. I didn’t talk to him much because he was in high school. Anyway, I thought Jackson was a little cute. Even when I was six, I could recognize a pretty face when I saw one.” He made a small grunting sound, his black pen scribbling away at his pad of paper. “Anyway, my room was across from his. I shared a room with Lucy, naturally, and sometimes at night we would use old soup cans and make a phone. You know, the ones with the string in the middle?”

“I know of them. You shared a room with Lucy? How was that?”

“Oh, it was fine. We would play a lot during the night when I couldn’t sleep. A lot of make-believe games.”

“And you could see her?”

“Of course not! She was imaginary and I was 6. I couldn’t see her in real life, but I could in my mind.” I shifted uncomfortably in the seat. It was black and soft, but I didn’t want to be there. “Sometimes in the morning the sheets in the bed would be messed up, but the family had a dog who slept in there a lot. Lucy wasn’t real.”

“And what did she look like?”

“She was really small, with black and white fur-”

“I meant Lucy.”

“Oh. She was really pretty. Short blonde hair in curls, the bluest eyes you could ever see. And I always imagined her short.”

“So a lot like yourself?”

“I suppose so.” He scribbled on the paper again.

“Did she ever talk to you? As in, could you hear her voice?”

“I heard her just like I can hear you right now. Her voice sounded like a cartoon character. Like one of those voices that is so sweet and gentle that it’s too perfect. Kind of like Ariel or Sleeping Beauty.” More scribbling.

“Could you touch her?”

“She was imaginary! I couldn’t usually touch her, and I never tried to. She didn’t like being touched. I only tried to touch her once, and when I did, I could feel it. It freaked me out a little bit, but I figured it was just my mind playing tricks on me.”

“What happened when you touched her?”

“We had gotten in a fight. I think it was around August because I remember my birthday being close. My birthday - which is definitely not my real birthday, because they had no records of my birthday - is on September 6.”

“I am aware. Continue.”

“I was really excited and I wanted to have a big party with all of my friends from school. The only problem was I didn’t really have friends. I moved around a lot, as you can probably tell, and I never stayed in one spot long enough for me to have a relationship with someone other than Lucy. I guess that’s how I came up with her.”