Starlight

Chapter 1: I'm Not Crazy

I wouldn't call myself a chicken. I'm definitely not. And yet I stood in front of the glossy white door and wrung my hands, twisting at the pale skin at my wrists till they were red with friction burns. I took a deep breath. I had always been a cheerleader for justice, for protecting others, but when it came to defending myself, it always had been easier to relinquish that control. I would be fearless. Today, I was finally going to take back control of my life.

I jumped as the door opened nearly hitting me. The squat man who emerged, looked surprised and smiled, showing his yellowing darkened teeth. He made my skin crawl. The florescent light of the hall shined off his bald head like a glossy eight ball.

"I didn't know you were waiting, Jamie," he said gently, his eyes surveying my obvious agitations. "Come on in."

I only nodded at him, sidestepping him in revulsion. I looked like I towered over him, because well I did. I wasn't abnormally tall since five foot eight isn't that tall for a girl but the short five foot tall doctor just didn't match up. My heels sank into the blue plush carpet like a boggy marsh. The blue was a sharp contrast to the dimly lit crème colored room. Behind me, Dr Skinner closed the door. I heard the click of the noise machine turn on, something that was suppose to ease my mind that no would ever hear our conversation. It was worthless though and was an insult as I knew for the last six years everything I had told him he had dutifully reported back to my mother. So a noise machine was completely useless and did nothing to raise my confidence in the doctor. I sat down in my regular spot, closest to the door, ready to bolt at any moment. As my tension increased he took his seat on the other side of the table. He lowered his half-moon glasses, and set them on the circular plywood table.

"You seem very agitated." The understatement of the year. He took a deep breath then let it out giving me the queue to do the same. Instead, I exploded.

"I want - no - I need to stop my meds." I felt the tension alleviate from the knot in my chest and stomach. He opened his mouth, but I rattled on determined to make my case. "Dr. Skinner, all it does is make me feel dead inside. The hallucinations are probably still there, I'm just in a never ending fog. I still see things like wisps and shadows, but they don't bother me. I don't care! I want to actually enjoy my life."

Dr. Skinner's lips, his fat tight lips, were a thin line, his disapproval apparent. "It stops the frequent hallucinations, Jamie. I understand that they have never," he made quotations with his fingers, "bothered you, but it's a real disease. Schitzo..."

I laughed. "I don't have any disease! I have reoccurring nightmares, no delusions, and my hallucinations have never been disturbing, frightening, or anything of the sort. The meds don't help the nightmares and other than the hallucinations, visual hallucinations, I remind you, I am not a danger to myself or anyone else. This isn't even about me! This is about my mother wanting a normal daughter not an "odd' child who sees things that no one, or at least she, can't see. You can't commit me, and I'm at the point where I might just stop taking them - with or without your approval."

I hadn't really wanted to threaten to stop taking my medication, but as I had purged my heart out to him, I could see his answer written in his face. No matter how many times I requested a new doctor, the request always seemed to disappear. I also left out that sometimes my "hallucinations" were, in fact, tactile, regardless of the medication I was taking. Nothing was changing except for how drugged I was. Even the sleeping aids rarely stopped the dreams, but at least I didn't wake up screaming anymore though that was probably because I was seventeen not six. I finally took that deep breath, my head woozy and dizzy from the extensive word vomit that had escaped my mouth.

Dr. Skinner watched me for a moment, watched me try to compose myself, and then cleared his throat. The phlegm sputtered in his mouth and he gulped it back down, and I had to do everything to keep myself from gagging. He stood and waddled over to his computer desk which was beside the four mahogany book cases filled with books about various mental diseases and hardly any on how to deal and counsel through them. He cracked his wrists and began to type into my case file, one fat finger at a time, slowly detailing our visit. Probably something about my psychotic outburst in his office.

I waited anxiously, not really understanding why I had even bothered to come. I had already made the decision to flush every one of the damn pills in my morning cocktail down the toilet after I graduated which was only three sweet short weeks away. I had been approved for early graduation in December. The perfect student, head of the cheering squad, but my mother only saw me as completely psychotic and disturbed. You'd think she thought I was going to be the next Gacy or Dahlmer the way she had me medicated and in Dr. Skinner's office. About the only thing she thought I did that was normal was have a boyfriend whom was constantly in my bedroom.

Dr. Skinner's chubby little fingers chugged away at the keyboard one at a time. I sighed and fidgeted in my seat, my eyes surveying the certificates, golden in their mahogany frames lining the walls. There were at least ten showing all his achievements and credentials but I must have missed the one for royal ass kisser.

"Alright." He said finally, sidetracked by his printer as it suddenly beginning to whirl into life. It began to spit out various pieces of paper which he picked up one at a time and reviewed before looking up and meeting my confused green eyes.

"Alright what?"

"Your insurance ends in December when you graduate and if you think the medications aren't helping, we'll wean you off and see if there are any significant changes." He handed me the papers, which I took, rage ticking in me. Mommy's money ends when I graduate, so now I can self-treat myself. Now suddenly my condition wasn't so severe. Now I wasn't as crazy...

I took a deep breath, trying to keep the anger from bubbling over. It didn't matter. I looked down at the pages, ignoring large paragraphs of medical jibberish about side effects, and looked for my medication itinerary. Printed black stairs traveled down the page with medication dosages every three days going down from 300mg to 0. I would be clean and toxin free in, surprise, three weeks. But I'd be free of the drugs. Free to experience my life. Free to understand if what I saw was real.

As I looked it over still in shock, a sudden droning, defeated, and annoyed voice became apparent. I looked up from the papers, quieting my thoughts and realized Dr. Skinner was talking to me.

"...Go to the hospital and call me ok?"

I nodded like an idiot, clutching my declaration of independence to my chest as if absorbing it would keep him from revoking it. I tried to smile, but not smile too much and guessed by Dr. Skinner's calculating stare that I managed to pull off the "I'm a homicidal maniac" look.

"Alright then... We'll play it by ear going forward. We'll set up an appointment for two weeks from today. See how things are going. Any increase in nightmares, hallucinations, and you will be going back to your normal dosage." He tried to give a fatherly serious face but it fell flat as he just scowled at me. It didn't matter to me. I was liberated.

I thanked him for giving me the chance to speak, promised him I'd follow the directions and call him. I folded my papers of salvation into my purse and shook his hand on my way out, stumbling in excitement over my chair. I had to do everything possible to keep myself from skipping out of the private offices of Dr. Harry Skinner in sweet victory.