Medicine Man

“So you don’t have fun at all?”

“No. I’m not a fun guy.”

I watch his lips form the words, and every syllable that comes out of his mouth makes my need to shake him, kiss him, mess him up, stronger. Stronger and stronger.

The need is so consuming that I hardly notice when he puts his hand on my palm and takes it off his body. It’s final and smooth, his action. Effortless. As though my touch barely registered to him.

“But I think you have a point. It’s after hours and I should go… have fun rather than spending my time with a patient.” He steps back then. “I’ll see you next week. Same time.”

There’s a sun stuck in my head.

It’s bright and glaring. It hurts my eyes, my skull, my very bones.

I shove a pillow on my face, trying to shield myself from the rays. Obviously, it doesn’t help. Because the sun is inside my head.

Inside. My head.

There are some things people might not know about depression. Like, if you’re lucky, you’ll see the signs and you’ll know it’s coming – the episode. But other times, there’s no warning. You wake up and it’s just there, either sitting on your chest, or shoved inside your head, like a giant light bulb that won’t go off.

Depression is also a whore for attention. Just when you think you’re okay. Meds are great. There’s quiet and peace and maybe, just maybe, a little bit of happiness, it strikes. In a whiny voice, it says, you didn’t forget about me, did you?

And then it’s there. It’s real and everything else is fake.

Like the fact that it’s a rainy day. I can see the splatter on my window above my bed. And yet, it feels like sun is glaring down at me, leaching away my strength, drying me up, leaving me a mass of heavy bones.

I’m exhausted, and I haven’t even opened my eyes yet.

My body feels like it’s heavier than yesterday. I know it’s not. I know it’s impossible – I haven’t lost rational thought – but it still feels like it.

In most cases, mental illness is not the absence of rational thought, but the presence of irrational ones, despite all rationality. Well, until you really lose it. Then you don’t know the difference between anything anymore.

At exactly 6:45AM, the knock on my wall comes. Renn and I have a ritual of talking through our paper-thin wall every morning. But today, I groan and tell her that I can’t.

“Willow, you okay?” she asks, concerned.

But I ignore her. I can’t do it today. I want her to go away. I wanna sleep.

At exactly 7AM, the knock on my door comes as well, and a nurse tells me that breakfast is in thirty minutes.

“I know,” I snap at her from under the pillow.

At my answer, she goes away.

Good.

Of course I know breakfast is in thirty minutes. I’ve been living here for twenty-four days, haven’t I?

Damn it.

I’m not this grumpy, usually.

That’s another thing with my episodes. They make me snappy, irritated. Everything bothers me. The crowd, the daily chores, my mom, school, teachers. Everything. But I tried my best to hide it on the Outside so I don’t seem crazy to anyone.

I toss the pillow away and cover myself from head to toe with my dark blanket. Another knock comes at my door and this time, the nurse’s voice is louder. “Willow, get up. Come on. It’s way past time.”

“Go away,” I tell her through my blanket.

“Willow, come on. Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine. Just please go away,” I repeat, hoping she will.

Hoping. Praying.

But when has that ever helped me?

She asks me to get up again, but this time her voice seems to be coming from closer, and I tighten my muscles under my covers.

Is she approaching me? Is she going to touch me?

Because if she does, I swear to God I’ll…

I’ll fucking scream. I’ll scream my heart out.

Because that’s what’s happening inside of me. Someone’s screaming and thrashing and blazing. And I don’t have to hide it. I don’t have to pretend or lie. Not on the Inside.

I’m already locked up. I’m free to be insane.

A second later, a fist is pulling down my blanket. “What the….”

The nurse is looking at me, both stern and concerned. We’ve never had a problem before today. In fact, we smile at each other whenever I see her in the hallways or at the nurses’ station.

“What’s going on?” she asks with suspicion in her voice.

And here I thought we were friends. Or sort of friends. But I guess I’m like any other patient for her. She’s nice to me but she can’t trust me.

Do it, Willow.

Do it. Do it. Do it.

Do. It.

Scream.

“Go. Away.” I grit my teeth.

I’m not sure who I am asking to go away right now, this voice in my head or the nurse. But I just want all of them to leave me alone.