"Take a seat."
I took a seat on the comfortable leather couch.
"How are you feeling?" Josh asks.
He was an intern, my age.
"I'm fine." I say softly. But that was a lie.
I'm never fine.
He sighs. "Did you hear voices?"
"No."
Yes.
"Halluncinate?"
"No."
"How many pills did you take?"
"Two everyday."
"Good."
He offers a lollipop, but I decline.
"So how is life?"
Trick question.
I remain silent.
"Chloe, I know this is hard-"
"You don't. You don't understand. Your healthy."
"So are you."
"Oh yeah, that's why I have a mental illness. Because I'm healthy."
He looks away.
I sink lower into my seat.
I didn't mean to be rude. It just came out.
Silence.
My mom walks in the room, thanks Josh, and escorts me to the car. She was depressed. Like, seriously. She had to take pills and stuff. And I know that I wasn't making her happy.
I had low grades in school,
Not that I tried hard.
Nobody wanted to be my friend,
Because I'm 'crazy.'
And I didn't have a boyfriend.
My mom had boyfriends in high school.
Because she was a cheerleader.
She wants me to be just like her.
But she doesn't understand.
Nobody understands.
YOU ARE READING
Schizophrenia.
DragosteImagine this: You are lying on your bed. Staring at the ceiling. It was dark. And cold. But you said nothing. A shadow is in the doorway of your room. But you don't react. They have come far too many times for you to be scared. It comes closer...
