Psychosis.

Chapter 1

"Some say psychosis is a mental detachment from reality, but what if reality is detached from me? From all of us? Reality dosen't seem very real to me anymore, nothing outside the mind is worth trusting. It's all so conniving and wrong."

56 Main St. Bakerland mental institution 1954, Mr. Gilliard's POV

I walked down the dimly lit corridor along the rooms with crazy folks of whom I despised, I've been working on this hellhole of an establishment for about a year now it seems, "Its just for the time being," I always make sure to remind myself this. It makes it easier for me, and the easier it is for me, the easier it is for these poor bastards I have the misfortune of being surrounded by.

Mrs. Pulaski POV, Westborough Ave.

"Say, I reckon you've got but a thing to fret about Mrs. Pulaski. Your husband will be under the intensive care of the best mental institution in the state, build from the ground up by a man who has dedicated his life to helping the deranged,"

"He may know the deranged, but I'll be damned if he knows my husband. He's not well Mr. Hollis, I'm very much aware of that, but I don't think he's gone mad. I think, maybe he just needs a tad more love and support regarding his life, something he never got from his parents, and unfortunately... not enough from me it seems." I exclaimed after an uncomfortably long bit of silence, but maybe he was right. Perhaps I don't know Christopher as well as I thought.

"Now, now. Don't be so hard on yourself, Myra. You've done everything in your power to help him, but there comes a time when you are obligated to leave matters in the hands of professionals. It's just how it is."

Mr. Hollis sat up from his burgundy leather chair while running his fingers through his thinning salt and pepper hair, it seems he was at his wittsend with me being so indelible

Although I said nothing back. There wasn't anything I wanted to say to a man who could never understand a young, driven couple in their early thirties, Christopher would never hurt me. He understands me, he loves me more than anything, it's a mutual feeling.

"Listen, Myra, you've got to take into consideration that you're still young, it's not too late to back out of something you feel you're trapped in, I mean for heavens sake, you're a healthy, stable, respectable young woman who has yet to even seem to consider having children. I could see that coming from him, but you? Odd, to say the very least." He furrowed his brows like he was expecting something from me. What? Did he really think I was holding something back? Now THAT'S odd, I'm paying him to listen to me, not patronize me.

"With all due respect Mr. Hollis, that's none of your business."

"I'm your therapist, everything is my business."

"Well what do you want from me? You expect me to have children when my husband and I are apparently loony ourselves? Isn't that what you keep implying?" I say, sounding a bit colder than I intended.

"I never implied that YOU were the loony one, unless that is what you're saying, do you see yourself as such? If so then why?"

Of course I didn't, although sometimes I feel like it. Sometimes talking to Christopher these days is like talking to a wall.

"Come on, Myra." The sound of Mr. Hollis' voice snapped me out of my thoughts.

"No. I don't see myself as crazy."

"I see. Do you see your husband as crazy?"
"No."

"Then I suppose you aren't actually seeking validation from you're husband, but reality for yourself."

"No."

"Yes."
"NO."
"Yes?"

"NO! I WON'T SIT HERE AND LISTEN TO THIS NONSENSE! YOU'RE WRONG MR. HOLLIS! YOU'RE JUST INCORRECT, AND JUST HOW DARE YOU?!?!"

"Did I strike a nerve, Mrs. Pulaski?"

And with that I had heard enough of the incoherent gibberish he was speaking, I got up from the chair that had made my rear-end and legs go numb in the jist of everything.

I sprint towards the door in a hurry, enough is enough. But as soon as my hand wraps around the door handle I hear him,

"You never answered the question, Mrs. Pulaski."

I sigh and look over at the man, he was looking out the window, strong black coffee in his left hand, the late afternoon sunshine was peaking in from the blinds in strips of gold dust.

"As one adult to another, if I wanted reality for myself, I would have never come here."

My last sentence I ever said to my therapist before I left.

Good riddance.