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Jul 17, 10 at 5:11am ^re: Schizophreak [COMPLETED!]
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I vaguely remember Collin writing that, though I never read the whole thing through...if you're referring to the one I'm thinking of. :B
And yay, it'll be something for me to look forward to after finishing off a week
Dammit, dad, why are you making me work at a Vacation Bible School!?
Homestuck | Tumblr | deviantART | Okami
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Jul 17, 10 at 5:15am ^re: Schizophreak [COMPLETED!]
Hahahaha nooo, it's this terrible freaking fan fiction you can find on google (My Immortal chapters 1-44), written in 2006 by this DYKSELKXTIC kid, it's a pretty funny read I'd you can manage past chapter three. It's pretty popular with the people who are into Memes and stuff. It was on fanfiction.net but got deleted for being a disgrace to the site. You can read it on Encyclopedia Dramatica too if u don't mind porn ads everywhere.
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Jul 17, 10 at 5:48am ^re: Schizophreak [COMPLETED!]
It's definitely very...interesting, and I can now see what you did tharr.
Anyway, imma stop posting here, as I'm beginning to spam, and I do not like scientifically prepared animal matter. -w-
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Jul 18, 10 at 3:53am ^re: Schizophreak [COMPLETED!]
Wow december in july. Good thing it ain't snowing
I love you. You love me. Together, let's love the world. In fact, we have so much love, we can remove the hate.
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Jul 22, 10 at 8:23pm ^re: Schizophreak [COMPLETED!]
nineteen ~ good morning
credit to anaoooi from deviantart.
My eyes open and stare at my ceiling. I close them again and listen to the silence of the house. Last year, I was slightly enthusiastic about a day like this, and worse than a puppy the years before that. ChristmasChristmasChristmasohemgee. I want to jump out of bed and run down the stairs screaming, flapping my arms, “WAKE UP WAKE UP EVERYONE IT'S CHRISTMAS IT'S CHRISTMAS YAAAAY!”
But I am too old for that. I did it when I was fourteen, too old to go trick-or-treating, but apparently old enough to run down the stairs screaming for everyone to wake up. Fourteen was a wonderful age. Ninth grade was a great year. Fresh out of middle school. High school was the place where you could finally be independent, explore the cliques and see which ones you wanted to fit in to. I wanted to be on the newspaper, even though it was deemed geeky by the Cheerleaders. Newspaper writers/editors/distributors didn't even need to try out for anything. Just write an essay about why you wanted to get in, and if you got a decent grade, you were in.
I started out doing small tasks around the office, making copies for Seniors, and distributing the newspapers around the schools and on the stand in the front lobby of school. Eventually, in the new year, before the new semester came around, I was promoted to second-page news. I wrote about the exams coming up, spring break, and the cafeteria menu for the week. People at school actually read the newspaper; no pages were scattered along the halls or stuffed into trash bins.
I was a n00by niner, but people knew me because my name was in the newspaper a few times in each edition. I sat with Mark, Samantha, Zenobia, It, Raven, Kianna, Anna, Michael and Allen. We had a table we'd sit at every day, all ten of us. We didn't talk much about the newspaper, despite the rumors. Newspaper people were supposed to be geeky grammar nazis, the office had an expresso machine (false), and the editors/writers stayed in there after school for many hours (false). There were rumors about each clique.
Despite that, ninth grade was wonderful. Tenth grade was the grade that messed up my life.
I lay there in bed for another minute, eyes closed. I hear a door opening, footsteps padding down the hall, into the bathroom, closing the door, the trickle of pee in the toilet, the toilet flushing, the sink running, water splashing onto a face. The sink is turned off and the pipes in the house squeak. I hear a yawn, and I figure the person is my sister. She heads down the stairs, stops, then continues her way downstairs. I groan, even though no one can hear me. I feel like I am five hundred pounds. I just can not get out of bed.
I mumble something that even I can't understand, and roll out of the bed. My body flops to the floor like a lifeless rag doll, but I pick myself up and stumble to the bathroom. I do my business, wash my face without looking at the mirror, and pat the ugliness with a towel. I head downstairs and hear something sizzling in a pan on the stove. I trot down the steps and enter the kitchen. The coldness of the floor tiles makes my feet feel weird.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Making breakfast.” Robyn turns away from me, spatula in hand, and flips something over.
“Oh.” I walk over and stand beside her. “Omelette?”
“Mm-hmm.” She heads towards the fridge and finds the mushrooms and bacon. “You want some?”
“Sure,” I say. I sit down at the kitchen table and stare at nothing.
“Your friend Collin's hot,” she says after a minute.
“Your friend. Collin. He's really hot. Is he single?”
“Robyn,” I say, fighting back laughter, “he's gay.” I am the best actress ever.
“WHAT?” Robyn's eyes widen like plates and her jaw drops open. “Damn it!”
“Sorry, but he is,” I say. “And that's why he's my friend.”
“Are you serious? Damndamndamndamndamndamn! I wanted to ask him out so badly last night but then he left, ugh! And now he's gay! Screw this!” Full of rage, Robyn turns back to her omelette. She takes another pan and fries up the bacon while I fight back laughter. As much as I don't want Collin as a boyfriend or something, the thought of my sister/anybody asking him out, or being interested in him makes me want to scream.
Collin is mine. My friend. He only hangs around me, and I don't know why, but he attaches himself to me and won't let me go. I used to hate that about him, but Robyn's words make me want to keep Collin attached to me even more. As annoying as he is, he's still my friend. Maybe even my best friend. But he can't replace It; nobody can. Even though I hate It more than anything in the world, nothing can replace It. It was my best friend for eight years. Eight freaking years.
Collin thinks that I am his best friend, which I guess is true, but he is not my best friend quite yet, contrary to his beliefs. I wish he was here again, sitting with me and jabbering on in my ear about baseball, then within one word, going on about his life story, then eventually telling me about something totally random, like the history of where carpets came from. I miss his jabbering already. Maybe I'll call him once the presents are done, if Lynda and Brian decide to wake up.
Robyn sets my plate of bacon/mushroom omelette in front of me, fork and knife on top. She sets her portion on the opposite side of the round table. I stand up and head to the fridge to pour myself a glass of juice. I do not get one for my sister. How mean of me. I sit down and start eating my breakfast. My sister joins me and we chew in silence for a few minutes. I finish half my omelette when I put the fork down.
“Are you still mad at me?” I ask.
“For what?” my sister does not look up at me; she focuses on her omelette.
“Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about,” I say. “You know perfectly well.”
“Maybe I don't.”
I roll my eyes. “Don't act stupid, Robyn. You know what I'm talking about; don't even try denying it.”
“It's Christmas, Alyx, we shouldn't be talking about something like this.” Robyn shoves the rest of her omelette into her mouth and stands up.
“You're just like those old ladies on TV,” I say. “Those grandmothers who've been neglected by their children and grandchildren, the ones who have no visitation rights. They're always grouchy. Never want to talk about anything, or it's always 'We'll talk later, let's not talk about this, we shouldn't be talking about something like this!'”
“Are you comparing me to our Grandma Dora?” Robyn's eyes widen and she stares at me. Grandma Dora is the schizophrenic one who refuses to be put in a
“Oh, so I'm acting like her right now? Actually wanting to talk? I see how it is, Robyn.” I sigh through my nose and roll my eyes up to the ceiling. “I wouldn't be talking either, Robyn.”
“I'm not the freak here, am I?”
“I'm not, either,” I say. “Do I look like someone from the circus?”
Robyn rolls her eyes. “Alyx, shut up. I do not want to talk about this, I do not want to discuss that night, and I do not want to talk to you.”
“I ask you a simple question and you blow this out of proportion!” I shake my head. “You are so stupid, you know? I hate talking about that night, too, and I'm sure you hate it more than I do, but why can't you just answer me? It's a simple yes or no question!”
“Why would I be mad?!” Robyn explodes. “I wouldn't be mad if you tried to kill me. I'd be scared to death whenever I see you!”
“Are you?” I ask.
“Does it matter to you what I think of you? All you do is sit there with your hands on your ears rocking back and forth like a...oh, I don't know, a schizophrenic!”
“I am a schizophrenic!” I retort. “And as a matter of fact, it does matter to me what you think of me! I can barely sleep at night because I'm laying there worrying my butt off wondering what everybody thinks of me!”
“Is that what makes you so freaking crazy?” Robyn asks/yells. “Wondering what people think of you? Such a little thing? Jesus f—”
“That's not all of it!” I retort. “You'd never understand, anyways! Nobody understands!”
“Nobody understands! Boo-hoo, nobody understands!” Robyn makes ridiculous gestures and says her words in an equally ridiculous voice.
I roll my eyes, then head to the fridge and pull out a heavy, glass jug of cold water. “Don't make me pour this on your head, you little brat!”
“I dare you.”
I walk over to her and use both hands to pour the entire jug of ice-cold water over my sister's head. She shrieks, her eyes boggle, and she jumps up and down like a jumping bean. “Holy crap!” she yells. “Oh my god! Holy crap! Aww! That's frikkin' cold!”
“You dared me,” I remind her. I calmly retreat to the sink and fill the jug with fresh water, and stick it in the fridge. I throw Robyn a dish towel. Disgusted, Robyn runs up the stairs and returns half a minute later with a shower towel wrapped like a headscarf around her head and shoulders. I don't laugh. As much as I want to feel normal for once, I do not laugh. I can't get that sound out of me, unless I want it to sound like a Canada Goose honking.
Robyn glares at me, picks up my plate, scrapes the leftovers into the garbage bin, and sets my plate in the sink. I hear two pairs of footsteps coming down the stairs, so I look out the kitchen doorway and see
“The one time we come in and they stop talking to each other,” Lynda says with an exaggerated shake of her head. “Wow. It's nice to know you were talking for once, girls.”
Whatever. I guess they prefer us fighting rather then not talking.
“Come on, how about we do the presents?” Brian suggests. “Breakfast can wait.”
“We already ate,” Robyn says, pointing to herself, then me. “Omelettes.”
“Ah,” Brian says. “Let's do the presents.” He leads the way to the living room, and Lynda follows him, me and Robyn trailing behind. I sit on the floor, and Lynda dumps an afghan over my shoulders. Robyn sits a few feet away from me, and Lynda and Brian take chairs and sit in them. I hand Lynda her present, wrapped in paper that has little reindeer all over it.
“Thank you, Aly,” she says. I didn't bother buying cards for everyone, so Lynda opens up the gift carefully and gasps at the present. I bought her a big book about Winter decorating, since winter lasts pretty much all year long. The book contains tips for Christmas, Valentine's Day, and other winter holidays. “This is great, Aly!” Lynda exclaims. She gets out of her chair, and hugs me. I give her an awkward hug in return. “I love it. Really. Thanks, honey.”
“You're welcome,” I mumble. I give Brian his gift next. I could only afford one gift for everybody. Brian takes it and shakes the package, trying to be funny. I do not smile. The gift I gave him wouldn't really shake, plus it was just wrapped up and not put in a box. Brian unwraps it and grins when he sees my gift: a leather trench coat, sometimes lawyers mostly wear. Well, at least on TV. “This is great, Alyx! It's just what I've wanted. Really.” he stands up and puts the coat on. “Perfect fit. Let me see how warm I feel outside.” he heads out through the back door, and Lynda watches. “This jacket is so warm!” Brian exclaims from the back yard.
He trots back inside and dusts off the jacket from the snowflakes. He closes the door and the room is warm again; the snowflakes dissolve into the carpet. “Thank you, Alyx, I love it. It's warm, comfortable, and I bet I could wear this in the Spring, too!”
“No problem,” I say while handing over Robyn's gift from me. Lynda told me what her gift from herself and Brian is, so she told me to contribute to it by getting her an accessory for it.
Robyn unwraps the gift and sees it. She lifts it out of the wrapping. “What is it?”
“It's a netbook bag,” I say. “You know, if you have to carry it around with you.”
“I like it,” Robyn says. I don't really know what color it is, but I guess it's Robyn's favorite. She then looks up and her eyes practically pop out of their sockets. “Wait, what? A netbook?”
“Yep!” Lynda grins and carefully hands Robyn a box wrapped in metallic paper. Robyn shrieks and rips off the paper and squeals when her present comes into sight. Robyn cuddles the cardboard box, grinning.
“I've wanted one for so long oh my god thanks mom thanks dad thanks Alyx for the bag ohmygodohmygodthisissososoawesome oh my god!” She carefully opens up the box and takes out her new computer, wrapped in bubble wrap. The computer is a vibrant color that I can't recognize. I might as well be color blind. I stare at the wall for a few minutes, hearing Brian explain to Robyn about the computer, but I don't really hear the words. I hear a buzz, like a bee is stuck in my ear.
Eighteen: Wake up, loser. Be happy for your sister. Don't stare at the wall like some kind of freak in a mental hospital.
Twenty: Remember what Robyn called you? She called you a schizophrenic.
Twenty-one: Twenty, I think Alyx knows what she is and what she has.
Fourteen: Most schizophreaks don't realize they have it. Or, they don't want to believe it. They think they're okay, don't you, Alyxandra?
Eighty-three: What are you, a psychiatrist? I think Alyx knows she has this disease, and I think she already believes it. She knows she has it, she takes medicine, but it's not working. Why is it not working? Because I, yes, I, Voice Numero Eighty-three, have blocked the medicine from entering your brain.
Twenty: We're never going to leave because Alyx never wants us to leave, right Alyx?
Everybody: We will never ever ever ever ever ever leave. Never ever ever ever. We will stay here until you die. Voices never ever ever ever die unless you did what you did with One and Thirty-eight. We will make you so weak you won't be able to hold up even a kitchen knife to kill us. You can't kill us. Weakweakweakweakweak.
Me: Shut up.
Lynda taps me on the shoulder. “Alyx?” I don't see/hear/feel her. She is not there. Nobody is there. There is only me in a 6 by 6 room with (white) walls and a security camera in the corner and a door that can only open from the outside and a safe-bed and a window with metal bars that I can't pull out I'm too weak I'm too weak I can't escape if I scream no one will hear me no one will save me unless I start acting possessed but if I do they'll just give me drugs that don't work someone please get me out of—
Someone grabs my shoulders and shakes me. I can feel it, but at the same time I don't; it doesn't phase me, doesn't make me blink. They yell my name, but it sounds so far away, like those nightmares where you're running down a very long hallway to your lover calling your name, but then you wake up in a cold sweat. The yelling echoes but I can barely hear it. It's fading out. The shaking of my shoulders feels like nothing. It feels like that tiny earthquake I felt a few years ago; nothing.
I don't know what I'm looking at, but my eyes feel open. I feel the air in the room piercing them, making them dry, but I can't blink, I can't move, I can't hear I can't talk Ican'tIcan'tIcan'tcan'tcan'tcannotcannotunableto...
The cold water against my face makes me blink and realize I'm not There, I am here in my living room with my family by the Christmas tree it is Christmas morning and we are opening presents this is a time to be happy not be an attention whore even though I can't help it I'm sorry LyndaBrianRobynCollinEveryone.
“She's been out for five minutes,” someone mutters.
“Get her the meds,” a male voice says.
“Robyn, did she take her morning medication?” the first voice asks.
“No,” a younger voice says.
Sixty-nine (Haha): I'll stop it from entering your brain. Alyx, you don't want that medication.
Me: I don't?
Sixty-nine (Haha): No, you don't. It will kill you. It's bad. Posion. Badbadbad. Bad meds, bad!
Me: But they say it's supposed to help me. What are you talking about?
Fourteen: They're only saying that because they hate you. Mommy and daddy and sissy and Collin and doctor and Psycho Therapist and teachers and everybody want to get rid of you. Those drugs will kill you.
Me: Why are you telling me this now?
Fourteen: They got you some new medication. Stronger, I think.
I feel the thumping of feet walking across the carpet and stopping beside me. A small, round thing is placed in my palm, and something that feels like a cylinder in the other hand. “Take it,” the first voice instructs.
“No” is the word my vocal chords release. “They said it's something very evil and I can't take it unless I want to die and They don't want me to.”
“Alyx,” the voice starts.
The voice sighs. “Snap out of it. Just this once.”
“I said quiet. If I'm quiet, They will let me 'snap' out of 'it'.”
Every real person in the room is quiet, but They are all talking to each other, a buzz, like They're trying not to be heard. I can barely make anything out except Alyxalyxalyxalyx. They keep whispering my name, and I bet if I could actually see Them, They would be sitting at lunch tables in the cafeteria, looking over at me when I walk by, hands over mouths and whisperwhisper to Their buddies whispering Alyxalyxalyxalyx, like I'm a celebrity to Them. That's how this all started, too. During Math/whatever tests/exams, I'd hear my name being whispered constantly. Alyxalyxalyxalyx.
But They hate me. I think They have multiple personality disorder. They hatelovewant me; it's weird. They've always hated me. When They decided to take a long trip to the town of My Brain, They decided to apply for permanent residence. They built houses and new improvements to the town. Maybe there's even a mayor, I don't know. I can't take control over My Brain because there is apparently a secret password I need to get in, but I can't figure it out. It's kind of stupid, considering the name of the town. My Brain. Alyx's Brain. La Cervelle d'Alyx. Madame Whatever from school would applaud me for saying that.
They nod, and disappear into their houses. The whole town of My Brain, established 1994, is as quiet as 2 AM on Christmas Day. The snow falls quietly in My Brain, which means I look at the Christmas tree in the living room of The Real World and say, “Okay. They're gone.”
“All right.” Lynda sighs, and I bet she rolls her eyes, but I don't know because I'm not looking at her. “Let's do your presents now.”
“Okay.” I cross my legs and sit as if I'm an eager first grader sitting on the reading rug. Lynda hands me a very small package, grinning.
“It's from me,” she says excitedly. “I think you'll love it.”
I raise an eyebrow and carefully unwrap my first gift of the day. I see a (black) box with a picture of an iPod on it. It's the classic, the kind It had when It first got one. This one is (gray) and (black), according to the box. I lift up the lid and see my gift is indeed (gray) and (black).
“We noticed you have a lot of CDs in your room,” Lynda says. “I figured if you ever want to go out, or listen to music at night—Your stereo is a bit loud—you could have an, ah, iPod. It comes with little earbuds, too. It's sixteen giga—”
As Lynda drones on, I stare at my gift with surprise. Lynda and Brian finally noticed something? They've finally noticed something other than the fact I am a crazy wacko? I don't exactly know how I am going to add all of my CDs to this thing, but I bet one of them can tell me, or Robyn, since she has an iPod.
“Do you like it?” Lynda asks.
“No,” I reply. Her eyes widen in surprise. “I love it.”
“Yes. Thank you, Mom. Really, I love it.” I turn up the corners of my mouth.
“I'll help you transfer your CDs to the computer,” Brian says.
I nod. Brian hands me a bigger package, wrapped in paper that has Santa all over it. I unwrap it and it's something in a weird shape, with a plastic package. I take off the wrapping paper and see shiny (indigo) headphones with a little skull on the front of each ear. “Headphones,” Brian says. “For the iPod.”
“Oh,” I say. I hold up the headphones right in front of my face to see them better. I guess they're pretty, and the color stains my eyes. I smile, wider than I did a minute ago. “Thanks, Dad, they're pretty cool.”
“You like 'em?”
“I love them,” I say. I don't get up and give him a hug or anything, though. Robyn leans over and hands me a small box, wrapped in shiny paper. I raise an eyebrow, and open it. Inside of the box is a ball, which looks like jelly, with little spikes all over it. I take the ball out and when I squeeze it, a little lump pops out and I see pieces of glitter. I toss the ball in the air and catch it.
“It's a sensory ball,” Robyn says. “I thought you'd like how it feels.”
“I do,” I say. I cup the little ball in my hands and wiggle it around like jell-o. “Thanks, Robby.”
We exchange a few more gifts. I get a gift card for my iPod, if I want to buy some music I don't already have, a gift card to La Senza (From Lynda), a case for my iPod, and a pair of pajamas that are very Christmas-y. Robyn gets a mouse for her new computer, a gift card for her iPod, and gift cards to a bunch of stores. Brian gets a pair of leather gloves and a book by some guy I've never heard of. Lynda gets a new hat and a warm-looking winter coat.
When the wrapping paper is put in a garbage bag, when I put my gifts up in my room, when the TV is turned to a radio station playing Christmas music, I call Collin and tell him Merry Christmas. Collin tells me that he got a signed baseball glove (Derek Jeter, his favorite player of all time), two new games for his Xbox, and money from his grandparents. I tell him what I received and we hang up.
After an hour, I get dressed in sweats, put on my hat and gloves and boots and tell my Parental Units I will be back in less than thirty minutes; I just need some fresh air and I will be heading to the corner store to buy some tampons. I take a ten dollar bill with me to prove I'm not lying, and I head outside.
Christmas morning is covered in snow and the lights are still on, the (red and green) ones hanging from windows. Inflatable Christmas creatures have drowned in the snow, but the roads and sidewalks are plowed. I hear someone with a snow blower down the street, but I don't look. I cross the street without looking both ways because I hear no cars. All is quiet and the snow blower fades as I walk. I head the same direction I did five days ago, to find a payphone.
I walk faster and the falling snowflakes attack my vision. I close my eyes, feeling like an Eskimo. Or at least a Canadian (Author's note: Don't be offended if you are Canadian, because I am too! ). I stuff my hands in my coat pocket and continue my adventure to the payphone.
Eventually, I reach my destination. I lock myself inside the booth. It's not warmer than it is outside. In fact, it's probably colder. I insert a quarter and press the correct numbers with my gloved finger. 555-2327. I wait, my heart thumping against whatever, trying to leap out of my chest and stain the snow outside with my blood.
The phone stops ringing and It picks up. “Hello?” It asks.
“Merry Christmas, you slut.” I hang up.
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Jul 24, 10 at 7:43am ^re: Schizophreak [COMPLETED!]
I see, confused but it ain't important.
Anyways I am sensing a show down between her and it. I so can't wait to read some more!
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Jul 31, 10 at 6:02am ^re: Schizophreak [COMPLETED!]
Great, as always but I noticed how when she was opening her presents;
when she opened her moms it says she raised her eyebrow and the same when she opened robyns. Btw I reallllyyyyy loved her sckitzo episode extremely descriptive writing for never expericening it yourself
I love you. You love me. Together, let's love the world. In fact, we have so much love, we can remove the hate.
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Aug 3, 10 at 2:59am ^re: Schizophreak [COMPLETED!]
Thanks Alexxxxxsxxxs (god damn your username is terrible for dyslexics!) :3 I'm still deciding whether there will be a 'showdown' between them, I'm still working on chapter 20.
Thanks oscar too, and Alyx was raising her eyebrows because, as you can tell, she hates Lynda with a passion. As for robyn, they had an uncomfortable discussion and Alyx was still unsure of what Robyn would get her as a present. And thank you, I try my best to write about things I've never experienced, for example, what goes on in a schizophrenic's brain. That will be explained in chapter 21. Or maaaaybe 20 if I don't think it's long enough.
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Aug 10, 10 at 4:57pm ^re: Schizophreak [COMPLETED!]
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So I updated the first post with a thread index indicating chapters and fillers and the like. ...In case any one cares.
twenty ~ 2 kool 4 skool
credit to NintendoChick109 @ Deviantart.
The next week of Winter Break is boring. I mostly sit around the house, talk to Collin on the phone when he calls. I listen to Lynda ranting about how she's not getting paid enough to design that new doctor's office, and Brian yelling about how he lost a goddamn case and his client is going to jail for thirty days. Robyn is usually out with her friends, Kiki Katastrophe and Valentina Venom. I have suspicions that my little sister is starting to do drugs, but she is starting to become quite distant from all of us. She's turning into me, except less crazy.
Collin calls once every two days during the break. He's starting to drift out of talking about baseball into the story of his life. He tells me about his birthday, how his brother reacted to him being born, which town he grew up in (Olympia, he didn't live in Coldgrove all his life, you know), the works. I mostly listen because there's not really much I can tell him. Collin always talkstalkstalks. If you dare interrupt him, he will interrupt you in return.
I do not call It. I do not pretend to be Amy Walsh. I do my homework and finish an essay on George Washington for History class, a French worksheet package for Madame, my journal for Mr. Lenhart, a math package for Ms. Carter, a sketch of a Christmas tree for Mr. Jackson (he said we didn't have to stick with our themes for the break's assignment) and a worksheet for Business class.
The day before school starts again, Sunday the 2nd of January, my report card comes in the mail. I'm the one who gets to see it first, since Lynda has given me the duty of getting the mail. I ignore the top part of the sheet, which has my student number, lates, absences, and which classes I am taking for the year.
MY REPORT CARD
Comments were made in a separate section. Mr. Lenhart states I am doing well, but need to pay more attention in class. Ms. Carter says I should see her for help, which I will not do. Mr. Hatcher, history, says I am doing well. Mr. Desai, my business teacher, says I need to put more effort and care into my assignments. Ms. Carmona says I am doing wonderful in Psychology. Madame LaBlanche (So that's her name!) says I have excellent reading/writing/oral skills in French. Mr. Jackson states I have great knowledge of the concepts we have learned so far in Art. Finally, Coach Michaels says I lack the skills in basketball, but the + came from volleyball, which I excel at.
Lynda and Brian are happy at my As and Bs, but are disappointed in my Cs and Ds. They agree with my report card that I need tutoring in math, but I bet they won't do a thing about it. I don't really get a reward or anything for my As, but Brian pats me on the back and Lynda hugs me and asks me what I want for dinner, and I reply that it doesn't really matter because I'm starting to lose my sense of taste. First my knowledge of color recognition, now my sense of taste. Everything that goes in my mouth is like the air in an attic. Dusty. Old.
I'm getting worse every day. Not that Lynda/Brian/Anyone notices, though. The inside of me screams for someone to just listen to me, but no one is willing to listen. Not even my Psycho Therapist, Jessica Varner, Ph D. I hate her and think she's the worst therapist to ever exist, but I have her business card in case there's an emergency. Her secretary says she is currently on vacation with her family in Mexico. I think I'll burn Jessica's business card with Brian's lighter. I should tell him, or Lynda, that I need a new therapist. There's no point trying to “get better” with Jessica Varner, anyways.
* * *
The first morning of back to school. Woo-hoo. I wake up and throw on the first things I see in my closet, a pair of ripped jeans and a t-shirt from a band that's on my new iPod. Speaking of, Brian helped me transfer my 47 CDs onto the computer, after downloading the program to sync my iPod. The whole process took about four hours because I have so much music. Since I spent the whole winter break in my room or by myself, I listened to my iPod while wearing my headphones while working on a painting with the canvas and paints Collin got me.
Breakfast is bacon with scrambled eggs and buttered toast. I try to add salt and pepper to my eggs but there's no difference to the taste. Oh well. Brian offers to drive me and Robyn to school, and we oblige. Robyn gets dropped off first, and we drive off to Coldgrove High. The streets are still filled with snow, and it's a new year, too. Collin called me at the stroke of midnight, screaming into my ear about Ohmygodit's2011it'sawholenewyearohmygod. Nothing feels different to me at all, but I feel funny knowing that I haven't talked to It since last year.
“I'm thinking of buying a new car,” Brian says to me at a traffic light. We are right behind a Dodge Caravan. “A Hummer.”
“Oh,” I say. “That's nice.”
“I'm still not sure what to do with this ol' truck if I decide to get the Hummer,” he continues. “What do you think?”
“You should sell it,” I suggest. “Make some extra money.”
“I'm making quite a bit with being a lawyer, Al,” Brian informs me. “Hey, do you want the truck? I'll teach you how to drive, then maybe you could be tested for a learner's permit, get your own license so you can drive without getting put into jail. You know, for not having a permit. It'd be easier for me to teach you. You're not exactly the type to be put into classes for this kind of thing, if you know what I mean.”
“You really think I can drive?” I ask, not in the sarcastic way, in the areyouserious? Way.
“I've seen you driving my truck around before, Aly. You're getting better. Maybe having having a permit would be good for you; you could go out to places with that friend of yours. What's his name? Collin? There's a little movie theater not far from your school.”
I look at him. “No!”
“Okay, okay, I was kidding. Still, going out would be good for you. Robyn has a lot of friends; you could drive them around to places. You have a pretty good sense of direction, you know.”
“No!” I say again. “No! Nonononono!”
“Why not?” Brian asks. “Well, I guess you don't have to drive. I mean, you're almost grown up. Your birthday's in three months. You'll be eighteen one day, an adult. Wow, my girls are growing up so fast. It's unbelievable, huh? Well, maybe when you become a parent, you'll—”
I don't exactly know what he's talking about, but “No!”
“No what, Alyx?”
“No! Just...no! Shut up, okay? I don't want to talk about that. Just shut up and drive me to school so I can learn and you can go to work. I don't want to talk about it! No!”
“Okay! Okay!” Brian lets go of the steering wheel and puts his hands up for surrender. I watch the wheel in case I need to grab it if we steer into a ditch or something. We don't. “The point is, just let me know if you need me to teach you how to drive.”
“I know how to drive.”
“All right, then. Just let me know when you want to take a driving test.”
“I never implied I wanted to take a test.” My words are sarcastic, strong. On the inside, the town of My Brain, Alyxland, is screaming with worry. Testtesttesttest? The word test makes my heart pound, panic rise inside of me. Tests were taken one year and a month ago, all kinds of tests, to see what was wrong with me. I was hearing (real) voices, I was hallucinating (not hallucinating, it was reality, but nobody understood), I was
Tests meant sitting in a 6x6 room with (white) walls/safebed/securitycamera/barsonwindows. I was to sit in the room for two hours and pretend the camera wasn't there. Of course I couldn't pretend the camera wasn't there. The camera was filled with voices/evil/evil. I sat in the corner and cried, rocking back and forth and whispering to myself.
Tests meant talking to Dr. David A. Marshall, psychotherapist/psychiatrist/psychologist, thirty years of experience. He sat in his chair while I lounged on the lounge chair, hands behind my head, talking to the ceiling about what was going on in my head. I told Dr. Marshall that I was hearing people talk to me, even though I couldn't see them. I kept hearing my name being whispered during tests, when the whole room was supposed to be quiet. Alyxalyxalyx. I saw shadows in dark rooms, I felt like everybody was out to get me. Mommy and Daddy kept murmuring about Alyxalyxalyx in their room every night, wondering what the hell was wrong with me.
Dr. David A. Marshall, PhD, MD, said he was going to diagnose me with schizo-affective disorder. I had no idea what that was. He tried to explain it to me, but I was staring at the wall, not listening. I do remember him saying this diagnosis was temporary. “They” (doctors?) would have to evaluate me a bit more to make an official diagnosis.
I stopped eating, drinking, talking. I withdrew from all my friends except It. It stayed with me for a while, but dumped me on the last day of school.
No. No. No. Nonono. Can't go there.
In the real world, the truck stops, and my hands have stopped shaking. I look out the window and we have arrived at Coldgrove High, the car resting in the Kiss N' Ride lane. I blink and look at Brian, who is looking at me with a raised eyebrow. “Alyx? Are you okay?”
I shake my head no. “No.”
“You're having a panic attack. Maybe I should take you home.”
“No.” I shake my head. “Bye, Dad. I'll see you later.” I grab my backpack from the backseat and place my hand on the door handle.
“Aly, are you sure? You don't exactly have to go to school if you have a panic attack in the morning.”
“I'm not having a panic attack. Goodbye.” I open the car door and jump onto the concrete outside.
“I'll pick you up later for your appointment with Jessica at three-thirty,” Brian says.
“I have an appointment with her today?” I ask, turning around to look at him.
“Yes, you do,” Brian says.
“Oh. Well, bye, dad.” I close the door of the truck. Through the tinted windows I see him waving, then he drives off.
* * *
It's day One in school, so I have English and Math before lunch. I take what I will need and head to English, head down, feet shuffleshuffling. I don't see Collin anywhere, which makes me upset but relieved at the same time. My mind seems to be everywhere. My heart is still racing inside my chest, my head is throbbing. The voices of students shouting for their friends makes the throbbing worse. I fast-walk into Mr. Lenhart's room and sit at my usual seat. I am the first one in the room.
“Hey there, Alyx,” Mr. Lenhart greets me. “How was your winter break?”
“Meh,” I say, making the so-so gesture with my hand. “It was all right.”
He nods. “I see. Did you complete your journal assignment?”
“Yeah.” I nod. “I did all my homework.”
Before he can answer, two boys walk into the room and Mr. Lenhart greets them. One by one, two by two, my classmates pour into the room and the first bell rings. Mr. Lenhart assumes his position at the front board and starts talking. He starts off by welcoming us back, telling us he graded us as fairly as possible on our report cards. He then starts telling us about his Christmas and the break: He went to visit his extended family in Tacoma, he went to Seattle to some kind of museum, he did this and that. We go around the classroom, sharing what we did for the holiday. When my turn comes up, I say that I got a new iPod for Christmas. Someone asks me, Whoa, the latest iTouch? and I reply No, it's the classic. And that is that.
The bell rings; class has gone by quickly. I hand my journal entry to Mr. Lenhart, and exit the classroom. I have a brilliant idea—skip math. I can't stand ms. Carter, and knowing her, she'll probably humiliate me for my D+ on my report card.
I pass Collin, who has come out of History class, and we greet each other. “Aly!” he hugs me. “Are you going to math?”
“Uh, no,” I say. “I have really bad cramps. Girl issues.”
“Oh,” he says, nodding. “That's not good. Do you want me to take you to the nurse's office?”
“No, I can make it,” I say. “But here. Give Ms. Carter my work that I did over the break, and tell her I'm not feeling well.”
“Sure thing.” Collin takes my math package. “Will you still be able to have lunch with me?”
“Yeah, I just need to lie down for a bit and I'll be fine. See you.” I head down the hallway, swimming past all the students heading into their period two classes. I reach the front foyer of the school and dramatically stumble into the nurse's office. The school nurse, Miss Kimber, looks at me over her book.
“You need to lie down?” she asks, setting the book on the table beside her.
“Yeah,” I say. “Period cramps. It's like someone is kicking my abdomen over and over again, while wearing kleets.”
“Ouch. Alyx Sawhill, right?” Miss Kimber walks towards a closet and pulls out a thin blanket, which she spreads on the cot nearby.
“Yes. I'm supposed to be in Ms. Carter's math class, but I told my friend to tell her I'm in here for the period,” I lie. I set my books down on the table beside the cot. I've been in here a few times before, all during the times I was supposed to be in Math or Business.
“I'll phone her in a minute. You lie down and I'll get you a hot water bottle. It'll help your cramps.”
I nod. I take off my shoes, because I don't want to get the paper sheets dirty. I place them beside the cot, and I get under the blanket. The weight of my head makes the thin pillow crinkle a bit, but I don't mind. I stare up at the ceiling for a while until Miss Kimber comes back with a hot water bottle in her hands. She gives it to me and says, “Place it where you feel the most pain and it should help. I just boiled some fresh water, so place it on your shirt.”
“Thanks, Miss K,” I say. “I'll just lie down for a bit.”
“You should feel better by lunch time. If you don't, I'll be calling home.” She gives me a stern look, then exits the room, closing the door. I'm tired, but I don't want to fall asleep. Maybe I'm just physically exhausted, even though I do not have gym today and the only physical activity I've had so far is walking down the stairs, walking into the school building and do English class, and so on.
My eyes open again, looking up at the ceiling. I can't roll over, unless I want to place the hot water bottle in a very awkward position. The sounds of people rushing to their classes dies down. The doors of nearby classrooms close. A phone in the main office rings faintly. All is quiet, and I can finally think.
* * *
Once upon a time, on the first day of third grade in Lowell Heights Elementary school, I arrived in my new classroom with a Barbie backpack and new shoes. My teacher was Mrs. Lanning, and she said we could sit anywhere we wanted; those were our seats from now on. I decided I would sit near the side chalkboard, so I set my backpack beside the desk and took out my pencil case.
My classmates piled in, and the best friends sat beside each other, of course. I had friends, but not a best friend, until Autumn walked into the room. She was new; I hadn't seen her in the second or first grade. She had long, curly, brown hair that went past her shoulders. She was wearing a yellow t-shirt with a butterfly printed on it, jeans that went just past her knees, and high-top sneakers.
There were only three seats left, so she sat down beside me and smiled at me. I smiled back.
“Hi,” she said. “My name is Autumn, like the season.”
“My name's Alyx, like Alex, but with a Y,” I replied. “It's really Alyxandra, but I like Alyx.”
“That's pretty cool,” she told me, nodding. “I'm new here, my family moved from Portland, Oregon. You know where that is?”
“Yeah, it's pretty rainy down there, right?”
Autumn nodded. “We moved over the summer break. My dad got offered a job up here in Seattle which pays real good money—a cop—so we decided Seattle would be good. I have an older brother, do you?”
“No, I have a little sister in first grade named Robyn,” I answered. “A brother would be cool, though.”
“You're so lucky! I've always wanted a sister!” Autumn's green eyes widened. “But, hey, I'm a sister for my brother so I guess I'd better be happy about that, right?”
I giggled. Before I could respond, Mrs. Lanning clapped her hands for attention. Class began. Elementary school meant staying in the same classroom all day with the same teacher. There were two recesses, one in the morning and one in the afternoon. The first hour an a half of class was Mrs. Lanning going over the school/class rules and telling us what projects we were going to do.
When the bell for first recess rang, Autumn looked at me. “Hey, Alyx? Do you want to play with me at recess?”
“Sure,” I said.
We headed outside into the hall, out the nearest door and into the school yard by the sandpit. I sat in the sand and started an attempt at a sandcastle, but the sand was too dry to do so, so I sat while Autumn talked. She said her name is Autumn Demetria Anderson, her birthday is March 27th, her favorite color was orange, she liked Britney Spears, she had seven Barbies, her older brother, Jason, was in the fifth grade.
I told her my name is Alyx Leigh Sawhill, my birthday is April 1st (Ha.), my favorite color was purple, I liked Britney Spears, I had five Barbies, my little sister Robyn was in the first grade. I also loved watching Arthur.
“I love Arthur!” Autumn Demetria Anderson exclaimed. “I used to run home after school just to watch it! What channel is it on?”
“It starts at three-thirty, channel eight,” I told her.
“Awesome! We just got the cable box the other day; we actually moved here a week ago. TV without cable really sucks, you know? There's only boring grown-up shows that I don't even get!”
“I know, right?”
“Yep. Hey, do you know if there are any good malls around here? I love going shopping with my mom, but we haven't really had a chance to go downtown yet.”
“Yeah, there's this really big mall downtown, I'm not really sure what it's called, but it's near the Space Needle, that's all I know.”
The bell suddenly rang, and we raced to the doors that were nearest to our classroom. “Hey, Alyx?” Autumn said as we lined up. “Do you wanna be my friend? I don't really know too many kids from my neighborhood, they're mostly in middle school, so I don't really have anybody to play with.”
“Yeah, I have friends, but they're just people from class,” I said. “I'd really like to be your friend, too, Autumn. Where do you live?”
“Helsing Street,” she replied.
“Oh, I live on the other side of it!” I exclaimed. “I think there was a house on sale behind my house and three houses down. Seven-seven-seven, I think.”
“Yeah! That's my house!” Autumn grinned, and we followed the kids in front of us into the school building. “We're practically neighbors! This is soooo cool!”
I grinned with her. We traded the snacks in our lunch bags when the lunch bell rang, after a welcome-back assembly from our principal. Autumn had Pringles, I had blackberries. We traded snacks, shared the lunches. Mommy picked me up from school because there were a few minor issues with bussing for the first week of school. It turned out Autumn and I took the same bus and arrived at the same stop, so for the rest of the year we took the bus home and to school together.
We rode bikes together, we slept over at each other's houses, went to the mall together with either or both our moms, who ended up being friends, we went and did everywhere and everything together. In school, when projects were assigned and we could choose our partners, Autumn and Alyx were always together, and still got good marks, despite warnings of “Children, I'd advise you to work with someone who you don't talk too a lot, otherwise y'all won't get much work done.”
* * *
I take a shaky breath. Bad memories aren't really the greatest thing to take over my brain, but they're better than The Voices whispering/shouting/hurting. I've forgotten how to do most things, but the memories refuse to leave me. They're probably controlled by Them, which makes a lot of sense. Today, They hate me. Whenever They hate me, They haunt me with memories like these. Though, I should be grateful because They're not making me remember the bad times.
The hot water bottle burns my skin. I don't even need it, but I need to rest without going home. I don't think Lynda is home today; she's finally going to pick out furniture for that office she's designing. Brian is either at a courthouse or in his office. Robyn is at school. I am at school. It is...well, I have no idea where It is. It is either skipping school, or at school. I remember the first time we skipped school together.
* * *
Once upon a time, when we were twelve years old and both in the seventh grade, I skipped school for the first time in my life. It was Autumn Demetria Anderson's first time, too. She called my house before I left for school, which was kind of stupid, since she could have just shown up at my door. I answered the phone.
“Autumn?” I asked.
“Aly. Listen. I'm not going to school today.”
“Why not?” I took the cordless phone up into my room and closed the door, just in case
“I'm skipping school. It's my first time, and I want you to go with me.” Autumn sounded confident, but worried at the same time. “I've got it all planned it. I'll even pay for your bus fare. We'll go to the bus station—its in the way to school, right?--and take the number eight bus to Seattle and hang out at the Northgate Mall.”
“You want me to ditch with you?” I whispered. “Sure. I could use a break from school. Why don't you just come to my house and act like you're going to pick me up?” Why I gave in to her pleas so easily, I don't know.
“You'll do it? Awesome! I'll be at your house in two minutes. Bring your wallet, if you have money. Do you?” Since Autumn had a cellphone at the time, I heard her front door closing and her footsteps walking down the stairs.
“Yeah, I have some in my bank account,” I said.
“There's an ATM at the bus station. I'll see you in a minute and a half.”
“Wait! Are you sure we won't get lost?”
“I'm sure we won't, I take the bus a lot. See ya.”
“See ya.” I hung up, opened my bedroom door and headed down the stairs. I put the phone back in the kitchen and yelled goodbye to Mom and Robyn, and that Autumn was picking me up. Mom yelled goodbye and told me to have a great day. I headed out the door and waited on the porch steps for my best friend. My wallet was already in my black and white checkered backpack. It had ten dollars, my library card, my bank account card ($400), my student ID, and a picture of Tyler Richmand I cut out of last year's yearbook.
The morning was cold—Well, duh, it was November—but I was wearing my hat with earflaps, so I knew my ears wouldn't fall off. I saw Autumn at the street corner, so I stood up and jogged to join her. “Are you sure the school won't call?” I asked as a greeting.
“We'll get home early, or whenever you want,” Autumn explained. “Is your mom working today?”
“Yes, she told me she wouldn't be home till after four,” I replied.
“So if the school calls your house, just erase the message on the house phone,” she said. “Melanie told me all the basics of skipping school.”
“Oh, I see,” I said. “Let's get going.”
Autumn nodded, and we headed down the block, across the road, and into town. The bus station wasn't too far from our block, so we arrived there in ten minutes. There were signs everywhere, indicating the bus number, which meant the bus stopped there. We headed to bus number eight's stop; I sat down on the bench and Autumn checked the little sign to see what time the bus would arrive.
“It comes in seven minutes,” Autumn informed me. “It's eight-thirty now.”
“Ah.” I nodded, and stuffed my hands in my jacket to keep them warm. “Are you sure you know what we're doing?”
“I'm sure. Melanie's done this numerous times. She's in your math class, right?” I nodded once again. “The number eight bus goes to the Northgate, anyways.”
“I feel like a rebel,” I said, giggling. “I've never ditched school before.”
“Me neither. I just really needed a break from school, you know? Christmas break is in a month, but we're getting loaded with work. It's pissing me off. Imagine the workload we're going to get next year in the eighth grade!”
“Ugh,” I agreed. “Miss Smith's math class is making me crazy. We keep having pop quizzes; I keep failing them. I thought this was supposed to be the class where the work is easier than the math class you're in, but apparently not!”
“I hate Miss Smith,” she agreed, rolling her eyes. “I went to the bathroom in the middle of social studies last year, and I even had the hall pass, and she demanded proof it was the real hall pass and not photocopied or something. It was ridiculous!”
I laughed, and the bus
8 – To Northgatepulled up beside the curb. “Hey, it's early.”
“Here.” Autumn pulled out two dollar-bills and handed them to me. “Told you I'd pay for your bus fare.”
“Thanks.” I took the money and stood up. We headed to the doors of the bus, which we already open. I stuffed the bills into a hole to put money in, and the driver handed me a transfer, which said I could take another bus at 10:30 AM. He handed a transfer to Autumn, and we took our seats at the very back of the bus. Three old ladies hopped on, an old man with a newspaper, a young woman of maybe eighteen, a guy with tattoos and piercings, and a woman dressed up, possibly to go to work. Autumn and I were the only young people on the bus.
The bus roared to life, and drove off, heading down the streets. “What stores should we go to?” she asked, excitement in her voice.
“We should visit every single one in the mall, except for the ones we don't like,” I said. “Oh, crap, I forgot to get money from the ATM!”
“I'm sure there's a bunch of them at the mall,” she said. “And can't you just scan your card with the credit-card machine they have at the store counters?”
“Oh, true,” I said. “I don't know whether I'll buy any clothes, though. My mom will get suspicious.”
“Yeah, but my mom is pretty chill, lets me do whatever I want. You don't mind if I shop, do you?”
“I don't care, all I want is a break from learning today.”
Autumn laughed. We passed a street called Gretchen, which made me burst out laughing at the fact Gretchen was a very ugly name. Autumn leaned in and whispered into my ear, “Gretchen.” I laughed so loud the old people at the front of the bus looked at me with raised eyebrows, but I was too busy laughing to notice. That's how this all started too. The laughter. I've always laughed too hard at things that were supposed to be only mildly funny.
Catatonia + Schizophrenia = Catatonic Schizophrenia (laughing too much for no reason at all).
We eventually reached the mall, and the bus stopped at the main entrance. We hopped off and headed into the mall, the wind blowing like crazy. There was a map erected when we stepped in, to assist people in finding the store(s) they were looking for. Autumn knew the mall like the back of her hand, and I had been there a few times, so we wandered around, waiting for the stores to officially open. Managers with cups of coffee fast-walked to their stores, keys jingling.
A few minutes later, the stores magically opened and the mall's music began to play. It was November, and since Halloween had passed, Christmas was coming. Bright, red and green and white and rainbow lights lit up on fake Christmas trees. The Christmas ads in store windows were flashy with promising deals.
We did not get kicked out of the mall. Autumn bought a hooded sweater for herself and I added a few things onto the Christmas list in my head. We had lunch at McDonald's; Autumn bought a burger combo and gave me a bite, I ate my lunch Mommy had packed for me: potato salad, two cookies, a pear and a juice box. That was the start of many days off from school.
* * *
When I open my eyes, I'm shaking all over, panicking once again. I put my hand over my mouth to keep from screaming or something, because if I scream, all hell could break loose and I'll be tossed in a
My heart clangs against my chest like the bell does in school when there's a fire drill. I breathe in and out through my mouth, trying to help myself without screaming for Miss K or whoever happens to be in the office next door. I shut my eyes, panting. I feel like I'm giving birth, but without the pain. I hear the school bell ringing, signaling lunch and making my head hurt.
“I hate you,” I whisper, eyes still closed. “Shut up. I hate you. I hate you I hate you I hate you you you...”
“Alyx?” I hear the door opening and Miss K walks in. She sees me sitting on the bed, probably looking like a woman jungle woman having a mental breakdown. “Are you feeling okay?”
I shake my head before I can lie. “N-not r-really.”
“You're having a panic attack! Hold on one second!” Miss K runs out into the office and returns with a paper cup filled with water. “Drink this.”
“No.” I stand up and slide my feet into my shoes. “I'm f-fine. MycrampsaregoneandI'mfine.” I grab the books I left on the table and run out of the room, out of the office, and down the hall. I keep my head down so no one looks at me. I finally arrive at my locker and try to open it, but it's kind of difficult with shaking hands. I give up after three tries, and rest my forehead against my locker. The metal is cold, and it feels good against my boiling face.
“Alyx?” Collin's voice usually makes me jump, but not today. I'm too used to it by now. He doesn't tap me on the shoulder like usual. “Alyx? Are you okay?”
“Yes...no...I don't know. I think...I think I'll go home.” Since I don't have any homework, I put my stuff on the shelf in my locker and take out my coat, hat and backpack. I put on my hat, coat, then save my backpack for last. “You can call me after five, if you want.”
“So you're just going to leave?” Collin asks.
“Okay, then. Do you want me to walk you to the office?”
“No. I'll see you tomorrow.”
|posts in thread|
Aug 10, 10 at 7:42pm ^re: Schizophreak [COMPLETED!]
*points to self*
Melanie does not like her name... >:U
Anyway, awesome chapter, no flaws, really interesting as usual.
I used to laugh at anything and everything [still do that sometimes...], so I can kinda relate to being stared at by people... .__.
Homestuck | Tumblr | deviantART | Okami
|posts in thread|
Aug 15, 10 at 8:03pm ^re: Schizophreak [COMPLETED!]
credit to BloodType0 from Deviantart
“You don't seem very happy to be here today,” my Psycho Therapist says in her usual monotone, bored voice. She looked tanned, but still very bored, as usual. She's only in this for the money, I can tell.
I pick at invisible lint on the couch I am sitting on.
“I don't know. Do you like coming here, Alyx?”
“I see. How does it make you feel, coming here when you clearly don't want to?”
“It makes me feel...well, golly, I don't know how it makes me 'feel.' You obviously can tell, Jessica, that I don't want to be here. My parents are so ignorant. If I tell them I don't want to be here, they wouldn't listen. They think you're a goddess.”
She looks flattered. She shouldn't be. “Why don't you want to be here, Alyx?”
“I see. How have you been feeling the past two weeks, Alyx? Over Christmas break?”
For the third time, “I see.” Then, “would you like to explain to me how you mean?”
“A few months ago, I realized that I can't identify colors. I can see them, but I can't place that their names are or how to really describe them. Now, I'm starting to lose my sense of taste. I can't taste anything. I'm starting to think I'll lose all of my senses—the five senses—one day and I'll be bodyslammed into the mental health institution.”
“Why do you think this is happening to you?” Jessica asks while writing something down in her notebook. “Do you think it's because of your voices?”
I nod. “They're starting to hate me again. I'm trying to take my medication, but they're...blocking it. Preventing it from entering my brain, bloodstream, wherever it's supposed to end up.”
Jessica nods slowly, continuing to write. “Alyx, I want you to write down what's going on in your head. Here.” She reaches over and hands me a lined piece of paper, as well as a pen. “I just want you to write down what's going on in your head right this minute.”
“Okay.” I sit on the floor, the table in front of me.
“I don't mean to be offending, but I can never tell what's going on with you, Alyx. I can't tell what's going on in your head. You're always looking away from people when they talk to you. Even your parents have noticed it.” Jessica pauses. “It may be a result of your catatonia, though. I'll try to see if we can schedule a check-up with Dr. Marshall.”
I avoid her eyes and I focus on my paper. I try to write what's on my mind, by myself, and it works out fine. But when I finish my writing, They take over. I try to edit my work, but They edit over it. If Mr. Lenhart were to read this, he'd probably think I'm just arguing with myself. Then again, he knows what's wrong with me. Or, he's forgotten. Or he hasn't. I don't know.
I struggle with my mini-assignment until They are done controlling my hand, when They make me give my paper to Jessica.
Jessica reads it over. The last part was all Them.
“I didn't write the last part,” I say. “I mean, I wrote it, but I wasn't thinking it. They were controlling my brain, my hand. I swear. They edited it, but I had to edit over it.” That sounds like a tongue-twister. “It looks like I'm arguing with myself, but I'm not. Well, maybe I am, but...”
“Is this what goes on in your head most of the time?” Jessica asks.
“Not really. Just Them whispering, talking, calling me the names on the side and top of the paper.”
“Do you know why they call you these names?”
It sounds like she's about to tell me, but I realize she's an idiot and doesn't know a thing about being a freak. “Because I'm crazy.”
“Now, who told you that?”
“Nobody, Jessica. I've figured it out myself, the day I was in the hospital for, like, ten hours. Everybody looks at me when I'm in school or walking around in public. They whisper and gossip and stare at me like I'm some kind of freak. They whisper into their friends' ears, She's crazy, what a freak, what's wrong with her? like they think I can't hear them. Lynda and Brian and all of our relatives, they talk on the phone together and all I can hear is my name, 'freak,' 'I don't know what to do,' 'hospital,' 'medication...' Scary words.”
I take a breath, but it's hard because my voice is all shaky. “Everybody hates me. I have a friend—well, probably not—named Collin and I'm sure his friendship is all an act. Ever since the first day of school he's been attached to me and I'm sure it's because someone is paying him to do this. I bet his whole Asperger's syndrome thing is an act, too. I think my whole life is a lie. Someone is writing a book about me, and I'm the main character, and they're some sick and twisted person making my life so miserable that I'll end up killing myself in the end.
“No, wait. Maybe this whole world is a lie. I've given up on going to church, but maybe there's a writer out there—God?--and he's making this huge book, making up all the characters he can think of—the people on the planet—and there's over six billion chapters. I have a chapter all to myself and he's screwing me up. He's picking on me. The reason? I don't know. He hates all of his characters and is punishing everybody. That's why this whole world is screwed up. He wants to add a twist to his story? Hurricane Katrina. Another twist? Screwing up this country's economy.”
“It sounds to me as if you're becoming a conspiracy theorist,” Jessica says with a smile.
“This isn't funny!” I explode. “The author of this story, the story of the world, is picking on me especially. I don't know why he hates me. It can't be because I gave up on church. I know people who don't go to church and their minds aren't f-cked up like mine are! Why me? WHY?”
I bury my face in my knees and burst into tears. I hate everything. I hate living. I hate breathing. I want to die, but I don't want it to hurt. I want to put life on pause and scream so loud I shatter all the glass, make the whole world vibrate like there's an earthquake. I want this all to end. I want to escape the pain. I want to go out, have friends, laugh and have fun. I want to go to movies with a boy, or maybe even a girl, hold hands and eat popcorn and have someone's arm around me.
I want to take the newspapers off my windows and maybe live in California so I can see the sunlight. I hate Washington; I hate the darkness and rain and clouds. I want to go out in public wearing a tank top and shorts in the summer, and warm clothes for winter, not the other way around. I want to listen to fun music, not depressing classical music and emo music. I want to be pretty and blonde with bright blue eyes and a perfect body. I want to play volleyball on the school team and get straight As and not be a disappointment. I want to be the perfect person, the perfect daughter, the one parents brag to their friends about.
I want I need I wish I demand I want want want—It won't happen.
for the record i made a video. LOL.
|posts in thread|
Aug 22, 10 at 8:09am ^re: Schizophreak [COMPLETED!]
Holy moses, she is so conflicted. I wouldn't know what to do if I were her, or her *psycho* therapist. I am starting to wonder about Collin now for some reason.
Ps. The name with the x's are funny huh
|posts in thread|
Aug 25, 10 at 12:27am ^re: Schizophreak [COMPLETED!]
nah i just have dyslexia.
twenty-one ~ you want to know what it's like? well, listen.
credit to kyoMiyavi from DeviantArt
When Collin and I walk into the Psychology room the next morning, there is something different about the room. At the back, three book racks have been set up, and instead of books resting in the shelves, are paper bags with names on it. Collin looks at me, and I shrug. The lounge chair which used to be placed where the racks are is nowhere to be seen. We take our seats and Ms. Carmona greets us. “Good morning,” she says pleasantly. “I'll explain about the racks when everybody gets here.”
I nod. I don't know about Collin, though.
The students pour into the classroom, Ms. Carmona greets them all and says she'll explain about the racks when everybody gets here. Eventually, the classroom is full and the bell rings. The door is closed, as are the other doors down the hallway. Ms. Carmona takes her place at the front of the room, on the stool in front of the white board. “Good morning, everybody, and welcome back. Did you all have a good break?” the class nods in unison. “Great! I had a good break, too, but we're not going to go around the class discussing it. I'm sure that happened yesterday, right?” she laughs a bit. “Anyways, you've all noticed the book racks at the back of the room.”
A few people turn and look, then look at the front of the room again.
“I had this idea over the break that for each of my classes, there would be some way to leave positive notes for your peers. At the beginning of the year, we did a short lesson on overcoming shyness, but I've noticed that a lot of you have trouble with oral presentations in front of the class. So, I decided that the paper bags—your bags are in the middle rack—can be filled with little notes for each student. For example, if you admired...Gina's opinion on how mental health needs more attention, you can leave her a little note in her bag. If you like Adam's shirt, you can leave him a note, and so on.
“The notes should be positive, in case I didn't make that clear enough. I'm not going to snoop around in the bags, and none of you will do that, either. The notes are going to be for whoever the note is for. If I catch anybody peeping in somebody else's bag, that will result in a detention. Got it?”
The class nods.
“And, finally, I have my own paper bag on my desk. You can leave me notes about what you think of the day's lesson, criticism—good or bad, I can handle it—about my teaching, and suggestions for the next lesson. Whatever you want to write me, go ahead.” Ms. Carmona is finished her lecture and takes a breath. “Any questions?”
Everybody is silent.
Ms. Carmona nods, though there is no reason to. “All right. Now, who remembers before the winter break when we discussed...”
I zone out. I stare at the wall and don't blink. I am probably exhibiting catatonic behavior, but I don't think anybody is noticing. I am practically a nobody, anyways, unless I go all crazy and make a fool out of myself in public. Before I was diagnosed with this, mother and father and sister and ex-best friend kept complaining, “Alyx, you're embarrassing me! Stop it!” How I was embarrassing them, I will never know.
I remember going online once, into a place that I stumbled upon after clicking the “history” button at the top of the screen. It was a forum, support for mental health, or something like that. One person wrote “i have a schizophrenic sister and shes 18 but acts like shes 3 she gets all the attention and living with her is so hard omg I dont know wut to do!!!”
Is it really that hard to live with someone like me? I guess I'll never find out, because my “family” keeps secrets from me. They tell me when I have certain appointments at the very last minute which is stupid. I don't throw tantrums that often. I can handle being told beforehand about an appointment with Dr. Whoever. I may act like I'm a little child, but it's not all the time I do that. Nobody understands. The doctors claimed to understand, told me if I need any help here's their cards and we can set up an appointment blah blah blah.
I think, after my diagnosis with catatonic schizophrenia, mother, father and sister took a couple of classes on how to cope with a schizophrenic family member. The classes probably didn't help, because nothing anybody did helped me or made me feel better about myself. I guess it was then that The Voices started to get louder, and I could understand Them better, because at first They were low and mumble-y, like the volume on the TV was loud enough to hear, but too quiet to actually understand. I could understand Them, and They were being so mean to me...
I snap out of my trance when Collin is shaking my shoulder. I blink, then take a few seconds to remember where I am. I am in the Psychology classroom, with my classmates. I am not in the psych ward in the hospital, I am not in Jessica Varner, PhD's room. I look at Collin, who looks quite worried. The room is filled with a buzz of chatter, which is good because no one can stare at me this way. The last thing I need is a bunch of people looking at me like I'm a freak, even though I am.
“Alyx?” Collin says.
“Yes?” I reply.
“Do you want to partner up with me, Ashley and Bruce?” he asks.
“You zoned out again, didn't you?” he mutters. “Well, Ms. Carmona just told us we have two minutes to find a group. We're going to do a short film depicting schizophrenia. It'll be due on Monday. Bruce figured that our table group right here is good enough, so, do you want to join us?”
“Yeah, sure, sounds great,” I say, not really listening.
“I think we can film at my house,” Ashley says. “I asked my mom if we could do it today—I figured we'd talk about the assignment during this class—and she said okay. Do you guys have phones to call your parents and ask?”
“I can do whatever I want after school,” Bruce says.
“I have an emergency cellphone, I'll call my mom,” Collin says. “She'll probably say yes, since it's for school and all.”
“I'll use Collin's phone,” I say absently.
“Great!” Ashley says. “After the last bell, why don't we all meet in the front foyer of the school, near the vending machines? We have to be fast, unless we want to miss my bus.”
“Sure,” we all say at the same time.
* * *
Later, after Art class and Gym, Collin and I are standing near the vending machines, waiting for Ashley and Bruce. I am dressed properly, for once—hat, gloves and a light jacket (I either can't feel the cold or it isn't that cold outside). I remember I need to use Collin's cell, so I wait until he's done calling his mom so I call whoever is home. I dial my house number and put the phone up to my ear. Collin's phone is a simple flip phone, a Nokia. It suits him. If I ever had a cellphone, it would probably be...well, I don't know. I've never had a cellphone. There's no need for one. Crazy people do not own cellphones.
Someone picks up. “Hello?” it happens to be Robyn.
“Hey, Robyn, it's me,” I say. “Is Lynda or Brian there?”
“Oh. Well, if one of them get home soon, can you tell them I'm at a friend's house for a school project? I'll probably be back before five-thirty. I'll walk home.”
“Yeah, sure,” Robyn says. She'll probably forget to tell Lynda or Brian. “Whose phone are you calling from?”
“Collin's,” I answer.
“Ooh! Can I say hi to him? Please?”
“I told you, Robyn, he's not interested in you.” I lower my voice in case he's listening. Then I realize he isn't beside me anymore; I have no idea where he went. “I'll see you later. You'll tell Lynda or Brian, right?”
“Yes, mother,” Robyn jokes. We hang up. I flip the phone shut, and look around. I see Collin standing with Ashley and Bruce, by the benches. I quickly walk over and Ashley greets me.
“Hey, Alyx,” she says. “Did your parents say it's all right to come over?”
“I told my sister to tell them,” I answer.
“Oh. Come on, let's all go on my bus. My house is near the grocery store, on Samson Lane, number eight-two-three, in case anyone is getting picked up.” Ashley leads the way to the doors, we follow. Her street is where my bus stops. Interesting. “We have a really great video camera we could use, plus we have a Mac with a kick-ass movie editing program. I bet we could get this done in one day. Does anyone have any ideas for our movie?”
Bruce shrugs, Collin shakes his head no, and I blink.
“I guess we could figure it out when we get to my house.”
We all climb on the bus. We sit in the back—Collin and me in one seat, Ashley and Bruce across the aisle. I have the window seat, so I stare out of it the next two minutes while waiting for everybody else to hop on the bus. The snow falls gently onto the ground and a few flakes stick to the window. Soon, the bus roars to life, rolls out of the school parking lot, turns left and rolls along the road.
“Since there's more than one type of schizophrenia,” Collin says, “what type should we display in our movie?”
“I think we should try and display all of them,” Bruce replies.
“That's a good idea.” Ashley nods. “We can make it like a short documentary. We can edit the video, first a black screen with words describing schizophrenia, and the type...then we can put in a sequence of one of us depicting it.”
I nod. “That sounds good.”
The bus stops. Nobody gets off. The doors close and it rolls down the road again.
“Do you think we should all take turns with the camera and directing?” Bruce asks.
“Yeah,” I reply. “I think we could take turns with the camera and directing, but not with the acting. I think one person should do it.”
“Alyx, you should do it,” Collin says. “You'd be really good at it.”
I think I'm blushing, but my face always feels hot, so I don't really know. “Okay.”
“I don't think we should have a script,” Bruce says. “I think we should just film Alyx doing her thing. If we use a script, I don't think it would sound very genuine.”
“True,” Ashley agrees. “My stop's coming up.”
The bus comes to a halt half a minute later. Ashley stands up, and we follow her. She thanks the driver, who nods in return. I'm the last in our line, so the driver stops me. “Hey,” he says, “didn't I just pass your stop?”
For a second, I want to punch him in the face. Howdoesheknowmystopholycrap! Then, I realize I see this guy practically every day after school. “I'm going to her house,” I say, gesturing towards Ashley, who is standing on the sidewalk.
“Ah,” the driver says. “Have a good time, then.”
I hop off the bus and watch it roll away. Ashley tells us her house is just this way, so we follow her. The sidewalk is plowed, though there is still an inch of hard snow beneath our feet. Ashley starts talking again, the chatterbox she is. “We could film in the basement,” she suggests. “We have a carpet and some furniture in there. It's not cold or smelly. My little brother will be home, but if we're in the basement he won't bug us. He's terrified of it.” She laughs. “I have two other siblings, twin brother and sister—Alyssa and Michael. They go to the middle school so they'll be home a little after we get there, but they won't bother us.”
We soon arrive at 823 Samson Lane. Ashley stomps her feet on the concrete porch, and I follow her lead. Collin just wipes his boots on the welcome mat, and Bruce kicks at the stairs to rid his hiking boots of the snow. “Mom, we're all here!” Ashley yells as we take off our hats, gloves, coats and boots. Ashley puts them in a closet.
A woman wearing a loose t-shirt, jeans and an apron walks into the front hall from the kitchen, hands covered with oven mitts. “Oh, hello everyone,” she says. “I'm Mrs. Wakefield.”
We all take turns shaking her hand. “Collin, nice to meet you. Bruce, nice to meet you. Alyx, nice to meet you.”
A little boy with short hair, wearing khaki pants and a polo shirt races over in his socks. “Hi!” he yells.
Ashley rolls her eyes. “That's Zack, my little brother. Zacky, these are my friends. We're going to be in the basement, working on a project. Don't bother us.”
“The b-basement?” Zack's eyes grow wide and he runs into what I guess is the living room. He hides behind the couch.
Mrs. Wakefield laughs. “I don't know why he's so scared of the basement. Here, Ash, I made cookies, in case ya'll get hungry.” She heads into the kitchen and returns with a large plate, covered in chocolate chip cookies. “If you need anything else, go ahead and get it.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Ashley says, taking the plate. “The basement is just this way, guys.” She leads the way and Collin turns the light on once we reach the stairs. The stairs are wooden and have a carpet going through the middle. There is a clean carpet on the floor, and two big couches face a plasma TV on the other side of the basement. Ashley sets the plate on the coffee table in front of the TV and looks around. “The camera's probably upstairs. I'll go look.”
Before anybody can respond, Ashley races up the stairs. I sit on one of the couches and take a cookie. I eat it, but it tastes like nothing. Collin and Bruce help themselves to cookies, and Ashley races back down to join us. “I found it!” she exclaims. She joins us on the couches, sitting beside me. “We have to be really careful with it, though. If it's dropped, I'll be grounded for life. We actually have a tripod upstairs, which I'll go get.” she takes a cookie and races up the stairs again. She returns, a tripod under her right arm. “Got it!”
Bruce picks up the video camera and lets out a wolf whistle. “Whoa,” he says. “Great camera. High-definition, too!”
“Yeah, we got it from Future Shop, in Seattle,” Ashley says, while she sets up the tripod near the wall.
“Lemme see.” Collin takes the camera and eyes it. He presses a button and flips out the part that records videos. “Say hi, Alyx!” I put my hand in front of my face and turn away from the camera. Collin laughs. “You're going to be on camera, anyways, Alyx. C'mon, say hi!”
“Hi.” I shift to the other end of the couch. Collin records the basement. Then Bruce. Bruce waves at the camera. The boys marvel at how great the high-definition recording is. I take another cookie. Ashley comes back to us after the tripod is set up. She scolds Collin, saying we shouldn't waste the battery because it dies fast. She takes the camera and shuts it off.
“Okay. We still have to brainstorm for a few minutes,” she says. “Does anybody have any last-minute ideas?”
“I think,” I say slowly, “we should just film something along the lines of what goes on in a schizophrenic's mind.”
“For each type of schizophrenia?”
“Yeah. I don't think I should portray, like, a day in the life of a schizophrenic. Just what goes on in their mind. For each type.”
Ashley nods. “Yeah. That sounds better. Don't people with schizophrenia have messed-up minds? Oops, that sounded offending. Their minds are all over the place, right?”
Collin nods. “Alyx knows a lot about schizophrenia.”
I want to punch him in the face, but I just stare at the cushions on the couch.
“Why? Do you have it, Alyx? Or someone in your family?” Bruce asks, intruding into my private life.
“Let's see. Alyx, do you have schizophrenia? No, but Alyxandra does.” I continue looking at the floor.
“So you do?” Bruce asks.
“Does it matter?” I shoot back.
“Well, I guess not...anyways, let's get on with our project.”
I stand up and head over to the area where the tripod and camera sit. Bruce and Collin follow me. Ashley looks at us. “Which type should we do first?” she asks.
“I think we should do paranoid schizophrenia,” Collin suggests. “If we show that one first, it will give an understanding of schizophrenia when we present the video.”
“We're going to present this?” I ask, my eyes wide in fear. The last thing I would ever be allowed to do is see myself on film. They would never allow it. Never.
“Obviously,” Ashley says, but not in a rude way. “We always present our psychology projects, remember?”
“Oh. Right.” I go stand against the wall. “Should standing against the wall be good?”
“Maybe you should sit in the corner, rocking back and forth with your hands over your ears,” Bruce suggests. “I've seen someone do that in a movie, once.”
I nod, and retreat to a corner. I do that more than once a day, rocking back and forth and whispering to myself. It's not going to be hard. Bruce and Collin stand on either side of Ashley, who flips the recording part out from the camera. “Do you know what you're going to do, Alyx?” she asks.
“Yes, I have a good idea.”
She nods. “Ready?...One...two...three...Action!” she presses a button.
I place my hands over my ears and shut my eyes and thump against the wall with my back. I don't have paranoid schizophrenia, but I do this action on a daily basis. Almost everything scares me. Before I was diagnosed, I kept feeling eyes watching me everywhere I went, in the scary way. I was being watched—in bed, in the shower, in school, despite I always sat at the back of the room. Everyone was—and still is—out to get me.
“Why?!” I screech, not acting. I am already getting the hang of this. “Why is everyone after me? Everyone keeps looking at me and whispering and I can't make it stop! Please, please make it stop! STOP! Get that camera out of my face right this second!”
Bruce looks at Ashley and shakes his head No, do not turn the camera off because this is getting good.
“Everyone is out to get me! Why are they all out to get me? I can't...I can't go outside anymore. There's a man outside the door waiting for me with a shotgun and I can't answer it. I don't want to die! I don't want to die! They're all out to get me! I can't make it stop—Nobody can make it stop. Please, please, please...it hurts too much. I'm scared and I can't stand up because the voices told me to stay here until the man outside leaves and oh my god I don't know when he's going to leave! He's going to kill me—everyone is going to kill me!
“I can't take this anymore! I...I...” I dramatically hyperventilate. I let out a scream, but not oo loud. I cover my ears and continue thumping against the wall. “it'sgonnabeokayit'sgonnabeokay it'sokayAlyxreallyit's...” I continue whispering until I stop. I look at Ashley, paranoid no more.
“Cut.” she presses a button on the camera and flips it shut. “That was great, Alyx! Let's take a little break. Are you guys thirsty?”
“Sure,” Collin says. Bruce nods. I shrug, not really caring. Ashley says she will be back and heads up the stairs. “Alyx, that was awesome!” Collin says to me. “How did you do it?”
“I just...you know, got into the mood,” I say, shrugging.
“That was amazing, Alyx,” Bruce agrees. “That seemed so real. You'll be a good actress someday.”
“I don't want to be an actress,” I mutter. I actually have no idea what I want out of life. I haven't exactly planned to live past eighteen, so I lie and say, “I want to be a doctor.”
“Cool. I want to be a pro football player.” He spreads his legs and stands awkwardly, one hand out in front of him, the other behind his ear as if he's going to throw a football across the room. I nod and look at the wall. Collin whips out his phone and texts someone, probably his mom. I can't imagine Collin having a million text buddies.
Ashley returns, carrying four cans of Coke Zero in her arms. She hands one to me/Collin/Bruce and keeps come for herself. “Thanks,” I say. Collin and Bruce echo me, and we open up our cans. I take the tabs off my can and put it in my pocket. We sip out drinks for half a minute, then Ashley sets her can on a nearby table. I set mine near the plate of cookies, and take another. A minute later, everyone is ready.
“Now what?” Bruce asks.
“I don't know. I guess we could do catatonic schizophrenia?” Ashley suggests, looking at me.
“Sure,” I say. “Should I go back to the corner?”
“Hey, I have an idea!” Collin exclaims. “You know how catatonic schizophrenics can stand or sit in a position for a long time? And how they suddenly stop what they're doing? Maybe, we can—wait, Ashley, can we film this outside?”
“Sure,” Ashley says. “Can we do it in the backyard?”
Collin nods. “I'm thinking Alyx could still portray a schizophrenic, and one of us can play her friend or something. They can walk into each other, kind of, but Alyx just stops walking and stares at the ground or assumes a weird body position. You know what I mean?”
We all nod.
“Yeah. Since catatonics don't dress appropriately for the weather, maybe Alyx could wear shorts and a t-shirt. I think you and Ashley are the same size.” Collin finishes his idea. I look at Ashley. She shrugs.
“Sure,” she says. “Let's go find something, Alyx.”
I follow her up the stairs. I should have worn a tank top and shorts today, but Lynda made me go back upstairs and change when I came down for breakfast the first time.
“My sister might not be home yet, but if she's in here, just ignore her,” Ashley says with a laugh. We climb up another flight of stairs. “You mentioned a while ago in psychology class you have a sister in middle school. Maybe they know each other.”
“Robyn is in eighth grade and hangs out with girls that wear too much eyeliner and wear striped hair extensions,” I reply.
“Oh. The scene queens. I hate those girls.” she rolls her eyes. “Alyssa is a total nerd, but she's also in the eighth grade. So's Michael.”
I nod. We reach her room, and she opens the door. It's a pretty big room, one bed on the left side and another on the right. There's a big closet on the left side, opened up. It's a walk-in, so we head inside. There is a dresser across the doorway, and a rack full of clothes on both sides of the closet. Ashley goes to the dresser and opened up the top drawer. She pulls out a t-shirt that says California Love on it, along with a printed picture of the sun.
“Is this okay?” she asks. “It's kind of ironic, considering California is always sunny, and the weather outside is all snowy.”
“Sure,” I say. I take the shirt.
She opens up the second drawer and ponders for a few seconds, eventually fishing out a pair of jean shorts. “They're a size five. Is that okay?”
“Yeah, I think they'll fit,” I answer. I'm not too sure what size I am in jeans, shorts and other pants, but they should fit.
“Awesome. I'll give you a minute to change.”
Ashley exits the closet and shuts the door. I strip out of my hoodie, plain t-shirt, and jeans. I pull the shirt on and it fits, surprisingly. The shorts are a bit tight, but they don't make my internal organs feel like they're squeezing in on themselves. I fold up my clothes, about to exit the closet, when I hear a creak. I stop in my tracks, eyes wide in terror. I turn around, slowly, and I see Seven.
The Voice that made me almost kill my sister.
I never really knew what Seven looked like, but I can tell it's Seven because he's wearing a shirt with a big number 7 painted on the front, like a jersey, but no team. He looks to be in his twenties, with a lame beard and short, messy hair. He is wearing ripped jeans, hiking boots. He leans against the wall of the closet, smoking a pipe. The smell is like cherries, but mixed with something foul.
“What do you want?” I whisper.
“Hello there, Alyxandra Sawhill,” he whispers back.
“Can you bother me later? When I get home? I'm doing a project for school!” I put my hand on the doorknob. “I really can't talk right now. I have to do a video on schizophrenia for school.”
Seven claps once, and gives out an “Oh, ho!” He grins. Then, “That's a tad ironic, don't you think, Alyx? All right, run along. We'll talk later.”
“Thanks.” I exit the closet and carry my clothes with me. Ashley is out in the hall, looking at something I don't see. She looks at me and smiles.
“They fit, right?” she asks.
I nod. “The shorts are a bit tight, but that's okay.”
Ashley nods, and we head down the stairs again, Seven watching from the doorway of her room. When we reach the basement, I hear the front door opening and two pairs of footsteps. Ashley takes the camera and says, “Okay. Do you want to film in the backyard, on the street, or what?”
“The street would be good,” Collin answers, since this was his idea.
We all nod, then head back up the stairs. I see two kids that look Robyn's age. The girl has rectangular frames for glasses, her hair down to her shoulders, but sparkling with snowflakes. The boy has a very similar face to the girl's, but his hair is shorter and messier, his glasses frameless.
“Guys, this is Alyssa and this is Michael,” Ashley introduces us. “Mike, Lissy, these are my friends from school. Don't bother us.”
The twins nod, and continue shedding layers of winter clothing. To contrast them, Bruce, Collin and Ashley put on their coats and boots, while I put my boots back on, since I don't need my coat. Collin tells Ashley his plans. He'll be the regular person going down the street, and he'll accidentally bump into me. I will then show catatonic behavior. I will imitate Collin. I will assume a strange posture. I will do this and that.
We are now at the sidewalk in front of Ashley's house. The snow is still falling, but lightly. I take my place on the sidewalk, my boots crunching in the snow. Collin stands about twenty yards away from me. Bruce stands beside Ashley, asks her something, and she nods. “Bruce will be our director for this scene,” she says.
She holds the camera, eye level, then back away a few steps. “Okay. We are good to go.”
Bruce nods and holds up his hands. “One...two...three...action!” Ashley presses a button on the camera. I put my hands in the pockets of the shorts and walk, head down, down the sidewalk. Collin dramatically bumps into me.
“Whoa, sorry about that,” he says. “Didn't mean to bump into you. Are you okay?”
“Whoa, sorry about that. Didn't mean to bump into you. Are you okay?” I repeat, robot voice and all. I take my hands out of my pockets and sit down in the snow. I cross my legs like a yogi, hands behind my head, arms bent funny. I stare at Collin's knees.
“Um...excuse me, but aren't you cold?” Collin asks, peering down at me.
“Um, excuse me, but aren't you cold?” I reply.
“Do you want me to help you up?”
“Do you want me to help you up?”
I feel Collin looking at me. “You're going to get cold,” he says. “Sitting in the snow like that. You do realize this isn't summer, right?”
I don't respond this time. I stare at Collin's legs, concentrating, trying to be a good actress. A few seconds later, I stand up, and start walking past Collin, my hands over my ears, whispering to myself. Gibberish. I'm pretty sure I am out of the frame, and I turn around to see Collin looking at me, confused.
“Cut!” Bruce yells. I retreat back to Ashley's driveway, Collin following me.
“That was great!” Ashley says. “Let's go back inside.”
We don't take a break this time. Ashley wants to right away film the next two scenes—undifferentiated and disorganized schizophrenia. All I do while we film, is talk gibberish, my mind all over the place, occasionally panting, “Ohmygodthey'reallouttogetme.” The last two types of schizophrenia are practically the same thing, so filming wasn't too hard.
After we are finished filming, we head to the computer in the corner of the basement. Bruce finds some chairs in the closet, and I sit beside Ashley. She finds a cable and plugs one end into the camera, the other into the computer. Something pops up, and she clicks the videos we made, and selects “Edit with iMovie.” A program pops up, and we spend an hour editing. We cut out the extra parts where the scene is finished, when “action” or “cut” is said, et cetera. We add words onto a (black) background, first giving general information about schizophrenia. Then, we describe the first scene, what type of schizophrenia it will be, including the symptoms displayed in the clip.
Eventually, our little movie is finished and we watch it. I can't see myself, I am invisible, but I can hear myself. My pleas and screeches and words sound so real. I do this all the time, so it doesn't give me chills, but I see Bruce's eyes widen, Collin shiver, and Ashley's jaw dropping open. When the movie is finished, with a little screen saying “thanks for watching!”, Bruce looks at me.
“You really should be an actress, Alyx,” he says. “You'd do great in a movie about schizophrenia.”
Collin nods. “You really would.”
“I think we'll get a great grade,” Ashley says. “It seems so real, Alyx. It doesn't seem like acting. It's not like we had a script or an official set or anything, but you know what I mean.”
I feel myself blushing. “Thanks, guys. Hey, what time is it?”
“Five-fifteen,” Collin answers, looking at his watch. “I told my mom she would pick me up in fifteen minutes.”
“I can stay,” Bruce says, shrugging.
“I should go,” I say. “I told my sister to tell my parents I'd be home at five thirty. I can find my way home, since I take the same bus as you, Ashley.”
“Okay. I'll walk you out, then.” Ashley saves our project and closes the program. “I'll put the project on my USB key so we can present it. I just hope it'll be compatible with the school computers.”
“That'd suck if it didn't work,” Bruce agrees.
“You know, you can convert the file, if you find out what type the school works with,” Collin says, the genius he is. “I think windows media player would work. You can find a file converter online...”
“I'll do what I can,” Ashley promises.
“I guess I'll see you guys in school tomorrow,” I say to Collin and Bruce. “Bye.”
“See ya,” Bruce says.
“Can I call you later, Alyx?” Collin asks. I nod, and he nods back. I take my sweater, shirt and jeans.
I wave to the boys as Ashley leads me up the stairs. She informs her mother I am leaving, and we shake hands. I thank Ashley and her mother, saying I had a great time and our project was a success. Mrs. Wakefield offers me a couple cookies for the way home, but I politely refuse. She then asks me, Hey, aren't those Ashley's clothes? and I reply, Oh, I forgot about that. Let me go upstairs and change.
Ashley follows me up the stairs. I see her sister sitting at the desk, working on something. We exchange Hellos and I head into the closet. I change from Ashley's clothes into what I was wearing for school, and head out of the room. Ashley walks me downstairs, and I put on my winter clothes. I grab my backpack.
“I had a great time today, Ashley,” I say, playing the part of the good, normal girl everyone likes. “It was really fun, filming our project. I'll see you in school tomorrow?”
“It was fun having you over,” she replies. “Say, do you want to hang out sometimes after school?”
My heart skips a beat. This is the first time I've actually had someone, other than Collin, ask me to hang out. Well, not the first time, but the first time in a very long time. “Um, sure,” I say. “And do what?”
She shrugs. “I don't know. Just chill out at my house? Or yours? You seem pretty cool, you know.”
I smile. “Yeah. Sure. Just let me know, my parents'll probably let me. I'll see you tomorrow.”
Ashley waves as I exit the house and head down the street. The snow has stopped falling by now, and the street lamps light the sidewalks. I fix my hair, shove my hands in my pockets, put my head down and walk quickly. I think my street is a couple of blocks away, but I want to walk fast in case a rapistorsomeonetriestokillme. I hear footsteps behind me, and I stop in my tracks. I slowly, slowly turn around and see Seven, this time wearing a jean jacket over his 7 shirt. He is also wearing a toque and leather gloves.
“It's later,” he reminds me.
“Go away,” I say.
“I don't have to, Alyx. The only reason I'm here, right here in the flesh, is because I want you to do something for me.” He smiles.
“What would you like me to do?” I glare at him, crossing my arms.
“I want you to kill Collin.”
He says this with such seriousness that I have to believe him. My mouth pops open, my eyes widen. “No!” I exclaim. “You've made me try to kill my sister! Do you want me to end up in the hospital again? Or in jail?”
Seven nods. “Actually, yes, I do,” he says. “I do want you in jail. You have no use here on the planet, Miss Alyx. You are a waste of time, money and space. The world would be better off without you.”
“Seven, you can't be serious about that,” I say, not believing this. “Your face is so serious. I can tell you're about to burst out laughing.”
“I'm completely serious. We hate you, Alyx. None of us like you. Not two, three, four, five, ninety-one...None of us. If you want us to like you, you're going to have to do me a favor. Hey, it wasn't just my decision, all of us had a counsel meeting while you were sleeping. They elected me to give you this mission, because I gave you the mission to try and kill your sister, which you absolutely failed.”
“I don't care whether any of you like me or not,” I retort, trying to sound vicious. “All I want you guys to do is go away and leave me alone.”
“All right. Fine. If you want us to go away for good, then you're going to have to kill Collin. I'm not going to tell you how, you're going to have to use your imagination. You have two weeks to do –”
“I don't believe you.” My face hardens. “No matter what I do, none of you are going to leave me alone. The doctors promised my family the medication, Invega, would make you guys go away, but here you are, trying to convince me to kill somebody who I actually kind of care about. I'm not going to kill him.”
Seven gives a cold laugh. “Alyx. Alyx, Alyx, Alyx. Your doctors, especially your Psycho Therapist, are stupid. All of us, all one hundred something, we have high intelligence and we—”
“Seven, I've gathered that my doctors are stupid,” I say, rolling my eyes. “But I trust them more than I trust you. They don't bully me and make me do unreasonable things like you do.”
“You're not making this easy, are you, Alyxandra?” he pinches the bridge of his nose with two fingers, closes his eyes. “All right. Fine. You seem to be very attached to Collin, despite the fact none of us like him. I'll let you go for now, but, I'm going to be in trouble when I get back inside your brain, just so you know. And, since you refuse to do me one little favor, you're going to be in trouble, too. Expect a spanking when you get into bed tonight.” he glares at me.
“Maybe I won't sleep!” I yell.
Seven glares at me, then walks up. He grabs my shoulders from behind, I gasp, and he pushes me into someone's lawn, making me fall into the snow, face first. I try to get up, but Seven is paralyzing me. I let out a shriek and grab for his throat. I pull him down with me and push him away, and he lets go. I kick him where it hurts before I quickly get up and start running as fast as I can down the quiet street. I hear him groaning in pain, but I don't look back.
After five minutes of running, I reach my house. I pass Brian's truck and Lynda's car, and race up the stairs to the front door. Thankfully, it's open. I slam the door behind me and lock it, panting. Lynda walks in from the living room and raises her eyebrows with concern. “Hi, Alyx, did you have fun with your—oh my god, are you all right?”
“No!” I shriek. I take off my boots/coat/hat as fast as I can, hands shaking. “He's going to kill me! I need coffee! I can't go to bed tonight!” I race up to Lynda and hug her, burying my face in her sweater. “He's going to get me, Mommy! Mommy, please, you have to help me, please, I need coffee, I need to stay up tonight, I can't go to sleep, please!”
“Alyx, what the hell is going on?” Brian asks, walking in. I rush up to him and hug him.
“Daddy, please, I need coffee,” I plead, still panting, still hysterical. “Seven is going to hurt me tonight if I go to sleep. Please, I can't go to sleep tonight! You have to understand, Dad!”
He looks at Lynda, who shrugs helplessly. “Aly, you can't skip your medication. I know it makes you sleepy, but you still have to take it.”
“No!” I let go of him, glaring. “You don't understand! God damn you! I'll make the coffee myself!”
* * *
Lynda unplugged the coffee machine. Daddy forced my little pill into my mouth. Forced water and forced me to eat dinner. Tasteless. Robyn just rolled her eyes at me. My heart was racing the whole time. I finished my homework, my writing shaky. I couldn't calm down. I locked my door and sat in the corner, knees pulled up to my chest, face buried in my knees. I am acting just like I did for the school project. Only this time, it's not acting. It's just as real as the slaps, the hits, the spanks, the yelling of The Voices. The bullying. The hurting. My crying. Nobody understanding.
|posts in thread|
Aug 26, 10 at 8:59am ^re: Schizophreak [COMPLETED!]
Shoot. Collin is on the chopping block! I don't really know what to make of that seven character, but it sounds like he would do that. I wonder why the voices don't want to kill ppl who Alyx hates? No need to answer that. Just a thought, the voices must really hate her.
I don't know who I'm rooting for, Collin since he's innocent or Alyyx since she is so tortured.
Big ups on the chapter Harvest Honey.
|posts in thread|
Aug 26, 10 at 8:38pm ^re: Schizophreak [COMPLETED!]
This. Is. AWESOME.
I just discovered it and read the first 5 pages last night, and just finished the rest. You're an amazing writer. =D
By the way - you mentioned indigo headphones with skulls on them. Would you be talking about...
...THOSE? <3 I have them and I love them so much.
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