"I don't need to be here!" I cried out to my therapist who is sitting in front of me, calmly.
"It is common for a patient to not feel ill. But, I am here to help you repress your feelings. We need to figure out the 'voices' you are hearing in your head," she tells me with sincere eyes. I can tell she wants to help, but there is nothing wrong with me!
"I'm not crazy! The voices are real!" I shout at her, anger boiling in my veins. I run my hands through my hair as I sigh, twisting the locks between two of my fingers. Hair falls out as I do so.
Why don't they believe me? I hear voices, and I just want them to go away. Why won't they save me? I don't need medication, it won't do any good, I need help. Professional help. The voices... they need to stop. It hurts.. Make them stop!
"We're working on upping your dose of trilafon," she flips her notebook paper to the next page. "How does that sound to you?"
I grip the handles of my seat. "I don't need medication! It won't help!"
"Now, Zoe, I know you have an aversion towards taking medication but you need to continue on it,"
"It's not working," I ground out. "You guys' are already realizing this, I can tell. Wanna know why they aren't working? Because I don't. Have. Schizophrenia!"
I didn't even realize I was gripping a pencil holder until my therapist's eyes began to widen as she clicked the call button, requesting people to come and get me. They think I'm gonna hurt them when that's not my exact intention. I just have so much anger boiling in me, so I throw things and scream to calm me down. My "censorious" disorder has to have transcendent ways of treating me. Which is never going to work. This will never work.
Two men walk into the room with serious expressions, taking my arms, lifting me and carrying me out of the room. I just hang my head and wait to get back to my room.
Setting me back into my room, they close the door and let me know a nurse is on her way to watch after me. I sigh and lie on my back on my bed.
"Listen..."
No, no, no! Please, no... no more voices!
"I still need you to do a job."
"Leave. Me. ALONE!" I scream at the top of my lungs. Tears almost form in my eyes as I pull out a knife I hid under my pillow and go to carve the words, "stop" on my arm. But that's when the nurse runs in and gasps, taking the knife from me in an instant and calling for more backup. I am then taken to the rubber room.
I don't like this room, and of course, I am here a lot. I can't help it but be angry; they have the wrong idea of me; I'm not schizophrenic! I'm not, those voices are real, and I know that. I'm able to talk back to them is why. Most people can't do that.
"Hello, girl," another voice begins. I have memorized the three different voices I hear. I've decided to name them "bud 1" "bud 2" and "bud 3". They aren't my buddies, though. They hurt me, and they try to make me feel worse.
"What do you want now?" I sigh and talk back.
"Have you accepted the fact that you are crazy yet?"
"Nope, and I never will."
"But you should,"
"Who are you?" I practically growl.
"I'm the voice in your head, obviously. I thought you realized this already," I notice it chuckling.
"Well, it would be really nice if you would shut up and leave me alone. You've caused me to live a life in a mental hospital!"
"Tsk, tsk, tsk-"
He is cut off as my doctor steps into the rubber room with me. He smiles warmly. "It's time for another chemotherapy treatment, Freddie,"
I only like him for the fact he uses my real name. The one I chose for myself, and the one that fits me the best. But, I do have to have chemotherapy. They found a tumor on my brain, and they are doing everything they can to get rid of it. I'm hoping I don't have to get surgery. Now, that would suck. I've already accepted my hair is going to completely fall out, since it's already the third week on chemotherapy and I'm already losing it. But I don't want them cutting open my skull!
I take his hand he offered me and allow him to guide me towards his car. He's the only truly nice one here. He cares for me and makes sure to not raise his voice. He stays calm for me, and I deeply thank him for that.
"So how has your day gone so far?" The doctor, or Blaine, asks me as he puts the car in drive and makes his way out of the hospital's parking lot.
"Well," I twist the tips of my hair in the back. "You found me in the rubber room... so I'm sure you can take a guess.." I hate the rubber room.
He frowns but offers me a sad smile. "Therapist again?"
"Yeah..." I ride with my head low the rest of the way, only looking up when we arrive at the chemo center at the hospital.
When we arrive, Blaine opens the door for me and I step out for the brisk winter air to slap me in the face. Blaine pulls out one of my coats in the back of his car and helps me put it on. Stuffing my hands into my pockets, I nod at him and we walk into the place.
I feel exhausted once leaving that building. I've never liked it there, but who would?
But this is my day to day life.
YOU ARE READING
Wanted (Transformers fanfiction)
Fanfiction..:Darkness doesn't always follow the normal..: Zoe isn't who you'd expect of a 14-year-old girl. At the age of 13, she was introduced to a mental asylum, where she is being cared for. She has schizophrenia... or does she really? There are voices...
