ᴏᴀᴋʟᴇʏ ᴄᴀʀʀɪʟʟᴏ was discovered at fourteen years old, being praised as a musical prodigy by the media ever since. His fame had only increased until now. At nineteen old, he's the most remarkable musician of his age, and he's only getting started. At...
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ᴏᴀᴋʟᴇʏ ᴄᴀʀɪʟʟᴏ
My life was turned upside down within only a month.
I had to go back to the hospital every few days to conduct some physical tests and to check my levels to make sure I was keeping to my diet. Quickly after, I started to see a psychiatrist to evaluate my mental health. It felt like an interview. It was an interview. Except I wasn't disclosing fun facts with the world this time. This time, I was sharing my deepest and darkest problems with a stranger who was supposed to determine whether I was fucked up in the head or not.
He'd come to a conclusion quickly. I was fucked up in the head. Bipolar type I. Just like my uncle, I'd learned. On top of that, he said I had an eating disorder, something atypical. He couldn't call it anorexia because I had no desire to be small, no fear to get big. Not even the things wrong with me were properly wrong.
They put me on medication that made me nauseous and shaky. I couldn't play my new kalimba right and despite all my vocal exercises and daily band rehearsals, my voice had become unstable. But even through the still lingering depression, I slowly started to find my purpose again. I started seeing my therapist every few days, because it turned out I had a lot to get off my chest. Like the way I felt about how I looked, and the way I punished myself by not eating, and the way I would pinch my skin until my capillaries broke and left deep purple marks.
Medication wasn't the quick fix I hoped it would be, and neither was therapy, but it helped. Things were finally looking up. I was still playing Sonarstice, and I'd still be Hanna's special guest at Harmonix.
"What are you doing here?" my sister asked as I was sitting on the couch, scrolling through my phone with the TV providing me some background noise.
"I live here?" I said, the corner of my mouth involuntarily twitching upward. Trisha's nose was slightly scrunched up, and one of her eyebrows was just the tiniest bit raised, as were the corners of her mouth.
"Don't you have band practice or something?"
"Just vocals. I won't be able to play anything after all," I told her, putting my phone on the armrest next to me. "Why do you want me out of here so badly?"
"No reason," she said with a shrug. And despite her obvious 'disappointment' that I was here, she sat down next to me. She didn't immediately flee to her room as she'd typically opted for.
"What is it?" I asked, sensing she wanted something from me. She always did, and she knew that I'd always spoil her the way any rich older brother should.
"Nothing. Just watching this very exciting nature documentary you put on."
"Patricia..."
"Stop calling me that, before I break your other arm too." Her threat had me grinning. Just a week ago she didn't even know how to approach me anymore. She had a hard time looking me in the eyes then. Her snarky remarks remained, but she had been walking on eggshells around me. Now she was threatening me again.
