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ᴊɪᴀ |
Schizophrenia. They say my schizophrenia has worsened. I was diagnosed months ago but foolishly stopped my medication, thinking I was fine. That was a mistake. Now it's worse because no man named Lucian was found in the palace.
Jackson even reviewed the CCTV footage from outside, confirming what I feared. The only person walking in that palace was me-a depressed individual suffering from schizophrenia.
When days back I finally stepped into my apartment, I found the beer bottles scattered around and the room in disarray, just as I had left it. They hadn't even bothered to throw them away. Maybe they were relieved to be rid of me. Jackson didn't give up, though. He told me he walked into the palace ten minutes after I had disappeared but found no trace of me. Two days later, he finally discovered me.
Now, reflecting on it, would anyone even care if I disappeared? What if Jackson had given up on me, assuming I'd return on my own? Would I have died in that palace with Lucian, who everyone believes is just a figment of my imagination?
But I doubt it. How can I detail these experiences if I'm hallucinating? I remember him clearly-an elegant white shirt, black trousers, long hair, double eyelids, and that mole under his lip. My mind flashes back to the kiss, and I shake my head. He clearly didn't see me as a hallucination.
"Miss Jia?" The receptionist's voice breaks my thoughts. "Yes!" I reply, my heart racing. The nurse guides me into the counseling room. Jackson had enrolled me with a well-known psychiatrist, Mrs. Yoon, declaring to the world that-I'm mentally unstable.
As I enter the room, I notice the minimalistic decor-soft beige walls, a simple wooden desk, and a plush couch in the center. There are no distractions, just a few framed inspirational quotes hanging on the wall. "Miss Jia! I heard you fearlessly walked into the most haunted palace!" Mrs. Yoon says, gesturing for me to sit on the couch. She settles into her chair across from me, her demeanor calm and inviting.
"Yes," I respond, awkwardly taking a seat. She smiles at me, a genuine warmth in her expression. "You're quite fearless; I'll give you that. Walking into that palace at midnight is a terrifying thought," she continues, opening my file to read my treatment history. "So," she says, locking eyes with me, "if you are comfortable, how about you tell me everything from the start?"
Do I really have to do this? I gulped, wishing Jackson had chosen a more straightforward approach. I thought this counseling session would be just on paper, but I see he picked a good psychiatrist. "No rush; take your time," she adds, probably sensing my reluctance.
Memories flood back, and I recount everything as clearly as I can. I can't help but feel that my experiences with Lucian were more than just hallucinations. I tell her how we met, our conversations about the palace's history, and how he gave me an apple. Wait-did that apple really exist, or was it another figment of my imagination?
