Well.

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I have appointments every week now. 

It is frustrating but I am glad that I am no longer in the hospital. I was there for a quite a long time. The medication, despite my concerns, does appear to be working. The paranoia certainly seems to be reduced and I am no longer fearful of walking in the streets. I still have my moments but they are getting fewer.

 Doctor Smithfield is a nice man. I don't feel judged when I am in his presence. Much of what happened I can not recall, but they say I was violent. It makes me sad to think that I acted in such a way when the real me is not like that at all. The medication does make me tired. It stops me from think clearly too, which is frustrating as a enjoy reading and writing and intellectual things. Sometimes I think about not taking the pills, but then I think of my mother and all the things she has been through so I gulp them down. I have started to take slightly less now, and nothing seems to be amiss. I just want to function again. The doctor says I might be able to start thinking about going back to work next year. I really do hope I can achieve that. Feeling useless is really not good. My mother says that in time those feeling will pass and I will return to my old self. I have not told anyone this but I can not remember what my old self was like. 

I suppose in a sense I have been born again. A newborn baby in a mans body. I try to stay positive but it can be hard. Doctor Smithfield says that he is happy with the way everything is going and that I can return in two weeks for another checkup. Maybe I should have told him about me reducing the tablets. Maybe next time, I still feel fine so no real problem.

It feels good to walk the streets without fearing everyone is out to get you. Hang on. Who is that standing up ahead? The persons posture seems awfully familiar. Boris? Boris? Is that you?

A memory has returned to me. I feel angry. Betrayed. Why did you do that to me Boris!? Stop taking the pills!? Why!? Boris says they contain tea. 

Now I begin to understand.

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