Quiet, you fool, it’s listening to your every word

skeleton readingA disease that lives in your mind is very, very clever. It reads what you read, hears what you hear, and thinks what you think. It is able not only to filter all the information that comes in, but it can also backchannel constantly, chatter away as a second voice when you’re having conversations with people. Some people, it tells them that they aren’t sick at all, and that everyone else is deluded. This is why strapping them down and forcing them to take medication doesn’t work. They get “well” to you, but they were always well to themselves, and they won’t take their pills left to their own devices. Some people, it tells them that they’re sick, yes, but that they’ll never get better, so what’s the use of trying? Who run Bartertown?

Now these voices can be metaphorical, or very literal. I don’t hear voices, myself. I’m an exotic bird, but not of that genus. No, I just have hella thoughts. Tonight, someone was telling me that I need to make more of an effort to get better. The thoughts told me it was no use at all.

“You can write a gratitude list, Seer,” she said. “Just five things.”

There’s nothing to be grateful for, The Disease said.

“And write down what your expectations of an ideal medication are. I don’t know if you know what they are, so how can you tell your doctor?”

You’ll never get any of them. Oh yes, they’ll be quite reasonable, but you’re never going to get a single one. You’ll be a fat zombie again. This is all you’re going to get. This is the best you can expect. These table scraps are what you’re holding onto at this point.

“Seer?”

“I’m here.” I’m sobbing silently. I’m quite good at it. Ninety-eight percent of the time I’m crying, the world doesn’t know. Even when I’m racked with sobs no one knows. I don’t think I should be as proud of that as I am. I hold my mud, and that’s what it is: mud.

“Will you do that? I don’t normally tell you to do things, but I want you to do that.”

“I’ll do it.”

It won’t help. Nothing will. Tomorrow you’ll get your dose increased. Looking forward to that, are you? Bridges. Let’s think about bridges.

“You’ll do that, Seer?”

“I’m scared of what will happen.” A sob squeaks out. I’m exposed.

“I want you to do that. Do that and call me tomorrow after your appointment. You don’t know what’s going to happen.”

You know what’s going to happen.

“You can get another doctor if you need to. And we can go through the grieving process for whatever we have to if we have to, but that’s then, not now. You just have to get through tonight, honey.”

You can’t keep doing this.

“I believe in you. You’ve got fight left in you.”

No, you don’t.

“Seer?”

“I’m here.”

“You’re going to do that.”

“I’m going to do that.”

And I did. I didn’t do it last week when I said I would, but I did it today after I got off the phone. And I had to put up with a lot of, This is stupid, This won’t make any difference, You won’t get what you want, and even some very scary, Bridges. That scares the shit out of me. I think that’s a side effect of the Kayoed. It doesn’t say on the bottle, “You may think a lot about bridges,” but that seems to be happening to me. Hopefully that’s enough to get me off this stuff.

I’m tired, and my eyes hurt from crying. My head aches. I finally got to yoga and managed to tweak my neck. Like a dumbass. Quiet, you.

Please don’t worry. I’m not going to do anything stupid. I’ve seen the damage done. I won’t.

If you see my life, tell it to wait right here for me.

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