In My Head ; jenlisa ff G!P {COMPLETED}

22

March 13, 2024

Doc, I should start this by saying you've looked really tired these past couple of weeks. I don't know what's going on at home or if my therapy sessions have become more exhausting for you than normal, but you should really get some sleep. Your eyes are all bloodshot and you look like hell. I assume that you already know what the other doctors said. The tests were inconclusive, so they're running them again, but they've basically told us that the drug might be doing more damage than good:

"Lisa, we've been monitoring your vitals and making note of any radical changes, and unfortunately, though there were positive signs to begin with, it does not appear that you will be a good candidate for this treatment long term. It would be detrimental to the study to continue using your data, because even though you have not reverted to your previous state, you have already exhibited signs of resistance to the drug. We will begin tapering you off to lower doses."

It was sort of harsh the way they told me about it. "Detrimental to the study"—like I was a lab rat. They didn't tell me this the way they'd tell a patient with cancer that chemo isn't going to work, because cancer is sexy. I don't mean that it's better than schizophrenia or that people who have it are sexier than people who have anything else. Or that cancer is actually sexy. Obviously. I mean that cancer patients don't frighten anyone. When you have cancer, people are sympathetic. They feel something for you, and people even hold races to raise money for your cure.

It's different when people are afraid of what you've got, because then you get some of the sympathy but none of the support. They don't wish you ill—they just want you as far away from them as possible.

Cancer Kid has the Make-A-Wish Foundation because Cancer Kid will eventually die, and that's sad.

Schizophrenia Kid will also eventually die, but before she does, she will be overmedicated with a plethora of drugs, she will alienate everyone she's ever really cared about, and she will most likely wind up on the street, living with a cat that will eat her when she dies. That is also sad, but nobody gives her a wish, because she isn't actively dying. It is abundantly clear that we only care about sick people who are dying tragic, time-sensitive deaths.

I got nervous when the doctors told me they might take me off the drug. Mom says they aren't going to do anything hasty and we're still going to find a medication that does everything I need it to do, but I think she was just trying to keep me calm. She was trying to say the things she knew would make me feel better, because that's what moms do, but I was still nervous, and sometimes when I get nervous, I try to do things that aren't always a good idea.

It started with the weird skin around my cuticle, the stuff that looks like frayed pieces of string cheese. I pulled at it. When I saw red flesh and the blood underneath, I kept going because it was the kind of pain that felt satisfying. Like the time I pulled out three baby teeth when they weren't even loose because it felt good to pull them. I mean, it hurt, but in a good way, like the way sucking a canker sore feels good.

So I pulled the cuticle skin up to my first knuckle. That was when I stopped because I was bleeding a lot, and I knew I wouldn't be able to hide anything worse than that. My mom would know I'd done something if I had anything more than one Band-Aid on my finger. She always knew when there was something off, even if she can't always remember where she left her cell phone. A Band-Aid wouldn't draw attention. It wouldn't make me lose my kitchen knife privileges.

I'm not sure it was just the possibility of being taken off the drug that made me nervous. I'd also seen someone at the grocery store a few days ago. Someone I hadn't seen in more than a year.

Remember Minnie? The old best friend I told you about? She lives a few streets over from my house, and in kindergarten we both had the same Hello Kitty lunch box. We used to ride our bikes together.

Back when I was first diagnosed a year and a half ago, I told her everything. For a few days after that, she was still my best friend. She didn't act like anything was different. Then my mom got a call from her mom. I couldn't tell what her mom was saying, but my mom was using language I couldn't believe.

She listened to Minnie's mom for a few seconds and then said, "She is nothing to be afraid of." Her words came out of her like a low, dangerous hiss, and when she hung up, she was shaking. I was in the hall when this happened, just watching her through a crack in the door. We didn't talk about it after it happened. I just suddenly understood that I wouldn't be seeing Minnie anymore.

But anyway, there she was in the grocery store. I didn't notice her at first; Juria did. I just sort of followed her gaze to where she was standing next to the breakfast foods.

She was twirling the keys to her mom's Acura around her finger in a distracted sort of way while she looked at cereal, so that meant she already had her license and she was running errands. She pretty much looked the same.

Shs was wearing a weird anime T-shirt from some obscure Japanese cartoon, and she had an open bag of gummy bears propped on the child seat of her grocery cart. It always bugs me when people eat things in the grocery store before they buy them.

The last time I saw her, she'd acted like nothing was wrong. We'd talked about the stuff we normally talked about and played video games. But after that phone call from her mom, I stopped seeing her.

I secretly hoped that it was her mom who'd made her stop coming over, but Minnie always did stuff her mom didn't like. She hid candy under the floorboards in her bedroom because her mom wouldn't let her have processed sugar, and she snuck out of the house all the time. She bought Playboys. I'd seen her smoke weed. So I knew it wasn't because of her.

As I stood there, I made a list of all the stuff I wanted to say to her, every snarky thing that ever crossed my mind about her. But then Juria just looked at me and shook her head. She raised her middle finger in Minnie's direction, and I smiled.

I got into a checkout line and left with the four items I needed. I know she saw me before I left, because there were only three people behind me in line. I'm pretty conspicuous. Shs knew it was me. She definitely knew.

I turned around for a second when I got to the exit and noticed that Minnie was deliberately looking away. She didn't want to make eye contact. So I left and didn't tell anyone I'd seen her. Definitely not Jennie, because then I would've had to tell her why we weren't friends anymore.

I wonder if someday she'll tell people that she had a friend who was schizophrenic and that it was too difficult to maintain the friendship because of the severity of the illness. She might get a few sad nods, and even some sympathy from strangers who think she was a nice person for trying.

I thought about keying her mom's Acura in the parking lot for a second, then just walked home instead. Juria did cartwheels.

DOSAGE: 4.5 mg. Begin to taper off.