|The Diary Of An AntiPyschotic
Author: MetalCloud PM
*"The me in my head is a completely different person to the me in real life, and the Head-Me and Real-Me might float off, like kites without string, and then I’d lose all grip on reality." Diary of a teenager struggling with pyschosis. Darkly humourous.Rated: Fiction T - English - Angst/Humor - Words: 2,122 - Reviews: 1 - Published: 08-24-09 - Status: Complete - id: 2713386
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Title: The Diary Of An Anti-Psychotic
Beta: No, 'cause I'm lonely
Warnings (possible): Self-harm (mentions and actual description), sex, bad language, masochism, mental illness, and a tendancy to go non-linear. I think that covers everything for the moment.
I've never kept a diary before. Well, unless you count those things you do when you're, like, six. And that's usually only when you get a pretty notebook for Christmas or something, and you write down what else you got. I mean, you might write what you had for breakfast, what you did until lunch for a few days after that, but it peters out pretty quick. I mean, I never kept a diary before, because I always thought that there my life was way too boring. I mean, what would I write? "Dear diary. Today I had toast for breakfast. Millie said I should try cereal, but all we've got is cornflakes, and I hate them." See, I didn't realise when I was younger that voices in your head were unusual.
So I used to write diaries for other people. Like people off the TV or in books. Then I started writing stories about them. I would live vicariously through the lives of fictional characters. I still do now, only I call it fanfiction and don't think I'm the only one who does it.
But anyway, I do now realise having conversations with people in your head is at the least considered odd, and Dr Roberts suggested I should try writing down what I think. He reckons it might help me get my thoughts sorted more coherently.
I'm not really sure how one goes about it, really, writing a diary entry. I mean, do you report your day's events chronologically, or write the more important ones first? Do you leave things out all together if they're irrelevant or uninteresting? And who is the diary too? I mean you write "Dear diary," but who is this elusive "Diary"? Anne Frank used to write to a person called Kitty, who I think was a character from TV or a book or something. I'm not sure, I never did read her diary. Still, I think that's cool, cause it's basically like fanfiction, isn't it? Only bringing the character into your world, rather than putting yourself in theirs. Like the opposite of self-insertion.
I like fanfiction, as you will have noticed, dear diary. I also like Harry Potter, and seem to relate a lot of things to the books. Harry Potter fanfiction therefore sends me into a state of bliss that is near orgasmic, especially if it's well-spelt with proper grammar and punctuation. And there are some really good Harry Potter fanfictions out there, like…
But see? This is the point. Whether I go on depends on who I'm writing to. I mean am I writing to someone who also likes Harry Potter and/or fanfiction? Or am I writing to someone who abhors one or both of them, in which case I should move on and change the subject.
Dr Roberts said you should write a diary for yourself, which I think is just silly. I mean, I know everything I could write down, don't I? If I'm just writing it to me, then it would start with "Dear Light…" and then blank. I need to be writing to someone, else I've got nothing to say.
So in the end, I've decided to write it to whoever comes along. I'm just assuming that they know nothing about my life, but haven't come from like, Mars or something, so I don't need to explain who Harry Potter is. Just an average person.
Which is weird, cause I don't really know many average people. Or perhaps that's why I'm writing it to them. I mean, if everyone I knew was average, maybe I'd be writing this to a totally un-average person, like a farmer from New Zealand who is in love with his horse and is planning to elope to Spain with her. That's fairly un-average.
So I went to the GP's today, and I told him about Mr Hoppy and the Core and the Others, and I told him how I'd tried the anti-psychotics Dr Roberts gave me, but they made me feel utterly crappy, so I stopped, and anyway I didn't want to lose Mr Hoppy, because he is my one and only friend, and he takes care of me. I explained how the me in my head was a completely different person to the me in real life, and without Mr Hoppy the Head-Me and Real-Me would sort of float off, like kites without kite-string, and then I'd lose all grip on reality.
At least I think that's what I said. I don't like talking about it much, so what I'm trying to say, and what I actually do say can often be two different things. There's a word for when you can't describe what you're feeling or thinking – Dr Roberts told me – but I can't ever remember it.
Anyway, the doctor told me that he thought maybe it would be a good idea for me to lose Mr Hoppy, as well as the Others. I got all teary at that idea, so I reverted my usual response to people who make me cry – "Fuck off, baldy." He's not actually bald, but he is thinning a bit on the top, with somewhat of a receding hairline, so really I was close enough. I got my point across, anyway, and he dropped the subject. It's not his decision anyway, it's Dr Roberts's, he's the psychiatric one. I told this to Dr Lewis and said that he was just a GP, and he couldn't make me take meds if I didn't want to, and there was definitely no way I was gonna let anyone convince me to kill Mr Hoppy and what the fuck did he know anyway?!
And I'd been doing so well.
In the end I pretty much left feeling crappy, but Dad stayed behind for his appointment. I waited for him in the waiting room.
There was a mum with this little baby, while I was waiting for Dad. I turned off my iPod and listened to her cooing to him while she got him ready to take back outside. It was very soothing – way better than any music, I think. So I got quite calm, but then she left, and I was left on my own.
There was a little girl reading to her mum. She had pink tights with multi-coloured polka-dots. She girl was about six or seven (maybe, I'm rubbish with guessing ages) but I could read way better than her when I was her age. Mind you, my dad had me reading Charles Dickens by the time I was six, so that's not much of a surprise, really.
She did have cool boots though. I wouldn't mind a pair of boots like those.
The receptionist's desk had carpet running half way up it. It looked silly. I mean, I suppose it looked fine when it was first done, but the carpet on the floor had faded, so it was about three shades lighter than the carpet up the desk, and it looked like two different sets of carpeting. It's one thing to like a carpet so much you want to put it the side of the desk. It's another thing to put two different types. That's just daft.
Then there was the hassle with collecting Mum's prescription. First they lost the paper it was written on, then they lost the prescription itself, so we were sitting in the chemist's for ages. And the sofa there's rubbish. It would be comfortable, but it looks like it's been designed for children. I mean, it's far too small – my arse was hanging halfway off the edge, so whenever you sit on it, you keep on shifting to try and find the best way to get the most of your bottom on the seat, and it makes you look like you've got an itchy behind or something. Just not attractive.
And I couldn't look to the left, because there was an evil-looking rabbit grinning at me, a bit like that one in Donnie Darko. Maybe it wanted to tell me when the world was going to end. Well, if it did, I didn't get the chance, because I stoutly refused to look at it.
So by the time that was done, I was just about ready to go home. I was hungry and bored and fed up. But then when we got home, my dad kept insisting on trying to hug me, when really I just wanted to be left the fuck alone. I didn't tell him that of course, I just let him hug me a bit. Well, until I got really fed up, then I wriggled out. When he was hugging me, I was so squished against him that when I let my breath out, it was go upwards, because I had my hand over my nose – Dad's breath really does stink; I've never had the heart to tell him, I just hold my breath – so it fogged up my glasses, which was something to focus on.
Anyway, by the time he let me go, I really wanted to be on my own, but he kept on babbling about how the doctor was only trying to help, and how he knew it must be very scary for me. In the end I told him to "go away", which he did do.
I'm still hungry though. He offered to make me something to eat, but I'm gonna wait till Mum gets home. Dad pretty much can't cook worth a damn (well, he makes good chips) and I can't cook at…all, so I'm gonna wait for her. I'm hardly gonna starve if I wait an hour, I had a quarter packet of biscuits this morning.
So anyway, then the cat came in and sat in front of the computer screen. It's really hard to type with her in the way of half the screen, but she was being cute so I didn't kick her off. She didn't stay there long anyway, because she heard Mum come home pretty soon, so she went running into the kitchen. It was getting near her teatime. She always gets the most sociable around then.
I hope Mum and Dad aren't planning on hogging the TV tonight – I feel like playing on the Wii before I go to bed. And that's another thing. Who came up with that name? I mean, it's Japanese, and probably in Japan is just like DS or XP or something, but surely when they were marketing it over in America or wherever, someone would have pointed out that maybe they should reconsider the name for the English-speaking market. I reckon that in some boardroom in America, there are a bunch of high-up executives giggling like schoolboys.
"I say; Wii! Sounds a bit rude, doesn't it?"
That sounded a bit British, didn't it, dear diary? I mean for American executives. "I say, old bean, pip pip!" Not that British people talk like that, unless we're taking the piss out of the upper classes. Then we thoroughly exploit the cultural stereotype.
That's another thing – how long do diary entries have to be? I mean is this too short or too long or just right? I sound like a literary Goldilocks now, don't I? "She read War And Peace, but it was too long. Then she read See Spot Run but it was too short. Then she read Harry Potter and The Deathly Hallows, and it was just right."
I told you Harry Potter would reappear.
A/N: There's a pole on my profile page about what should happen to this story. Please go and vote, I'd love to hear your opinions. After you've reviewed, of course! ^__^ Please review, I know it would make Light very happy! Hell, even address your reviews to her, she doesn't get out much, I'm sure she'd love to hear from you.