Chapter 1 â€" Flies Are Cool
As I have so many times before, I sit in this dreary waiting room. As usual, my overbearing mother is here. Only this time, my father is with us. I’m getting the results of my psychological tests. Goody.
Dr. Brennen comes out and unfailingly shakes my hand. I wonder why he does this every single visit. It annoys the hell out of me. I follow him back into his office.
I sit on the right side of the couch. I always sit there, but someday I will surprise Berman and sit somewhere else. Probably on that brown chair, it looks comfy. I sit tensely, legs crossed, my fingers intertwining in my lap. Brennen starts talking. I notice the fly on the chair. Occasionally, I tune into him when I think he’s about to ask me a question.
Brennen: So tell me about these voices you hear.
I squirm and downplay it. “Well, everyone has a nagging voice, right? Its me, I know its is me. And sometimes I think I hear my parents calling me. But that’s no big deal.
I hope he will leave me alone. I concentrate on the fly.
Brennen: I don’t think you have a very good sense of reality.
No shit Sherlock.
Brennen: The world doesn’t seem right or real to you. Things that matter to others don’t seem to matter to you. Sometimes, you have no control over yourself or you spend time in a fog.
Exactly.
Brennen: But in other parts of your life, you are an A student, (Just barely), a tennis player, a musician. You don’t let others see you inner chaos, the turmoil of your mind.
I know he’s on to something here. He brings my parents in and tells them the exact thing he told me. My mom asks if she should take notes. Brennen looks at her like she’s an idiot and says that there is not need. I give her 5 minutes before she takes out a paper and pen. I was wrong. It didn’t even take two. Brennen raises his bushy eyebrows. I snicker. He continues with my problems. I feel guilty and broken. It sounds like I am crazy. My parents feel the same way.
Mom: So there is more to this than just anxiety and depression?
Brennen: Yes, there is.
Dad: So, is this a form of…. of…
He fumbles for the right word in his whiny voice. I’m half tempted to scream out “Schizophrenia!â€
As I have so many times before, I sit in this dreary waiting room. As usual, my overbearing mother is here. Only this time, my father is with us. I’m getting the results of my psychological tests. Goody.
Dr. Brennen comes out and unfailingly shakes my hand. I wonder why he does this every single visit. It annoys the hell out of me. I follow him back into his office.
I sit on the right side of the couch. I always sit there, but someday I will surprise Berman and sit somewhere else. Probably on that brown chair, it looks comfy. I sit tensely, legs crossed, my fingers intertwining in my lap. Brennen starts talking. I notice the fly on the chair. Occasionally, I tune into him when I think he’s about to ask me a question.
Brennen: So tell me about these voices you hear.
I squirm and downplay it. “Well, everyone has a nagging voice, right? Its me, I know its is me. And sometimes I think I hear my parents calling me. But that’s no big deal.
I hope he will leave me alone. I concentrate on the fly.
Brennen: I don’t think you have a very good sense of reality.
No shit Sherlock.
Brennen: The world doesn’t seem right or real to you. Things that matter to others don’t seem to matter to you. Sometimes, you have no control over yourself or you spend time in a fog.
Exactly.
Brennen: But in other parts of your life, you are an A student, (Just barely), a tennis player, a musician. You don’t let others see you inner chaos, the turmoil of your mind.
I know he’s on to something here. He brings my parents in and tells them the exact thing he told me. My mom asks if she should take notes. Brennen looks at her like she’s an idiot and says that there is not need. I give her 5 minutes before she takes out a paper and pen. I was wrong. It didn’t even take two. Brennen raises his bushy eyebrows. I snicker. He continues with my problems. I feel guilty and broken. It sounds like I am crazy. My parents feel the same way.
Mom: So there is more to this than just anxiety and depression?
Brennen: Yes, there is.
Dad: So, is this a form of…. of…
He fumbles for the right word in his whiny voice. I’m half tempted to scream out “Schizophrenia!â€