Manic

Chapter 3.

After the diagnosis, my mother became even more of an empty shell. She was careful to hide all the knives and would only let me use scissors under her supervision. She put me in therapy with a woman named Adriana Cortez.

Adriana Cortez is really cool. In our first session she told me to call her Adriana, which was the first time I had ever been invited to call an adult by their first name. I was almost eleven at the time. She told me to relax and let my voices talk. She reminded me of Saraphina and I told her so.

"So tell me about Saraphina." She prodded.

Being eleven, I gave in. "Saraphina calms me. She tells me that everything is going to be okay and she tries to keep me peaceful. She is like a friend to me, even though she is a teenage girl."

"And what about Denny?" She asks.

"MY NAME IS DANNY! D-A-N-N-Y! IT'S NOT HARD"

I wince as Danny screams in my ears but I correct her anyway. "It's Danny. Not Denny."

"Tell me about Danny," She says, but she is already writing something down. Presumably the fact that I winced when she got his name wrong.

"Danny is major OCD. Everything has to be perfect. Everything has to be right. He gets mad really easily though and he stands up for me. He is a british man in his late 30's."

She continues writing.

"I do not get mad easily. That is a load of rubbish!" Danny says.

"And then there's Reid. He has really bad anxiety. He gives me bad ideas that get me in trouble. And he is really paranoid." I stop talking so that she can finish jotting down what I'm saying. "And he is a sixteen year old boy."

She nodded her head. "Now lets do some exercises that will help you learn to ignore them when you are in public..."

Therapy has helped a lot through the years but I still find myself accidentally responding to them on the occasion or acting on one of their thoughts. It's been awhile since they were able to take control of my limbs. That only happens when they're really worried for my safety, and it's only been Danny and Reid who have taken control before.

Tomorrow, I start my first day of senior year. I always imagined having a father send me off to school and telling me that they hope I have a great day. But you will never be around for that. It's my last first day, dad. Where are you?