The whole seeing and hearing things that other people can’t is like something straight out of Harry Potter. Like in The Chamber of Secrets when he heard the voice through the walls. Keeping it a secret made me feel privileged, like waiting for my letter from Hogwarts to arrive. I thought maybe it would mean something.
But then Ron ruins that possibility when he says, “Hearing voices no one else can hear isn’t a good sign, even in the wizarding world.” Harry ended up being fine. Nobody sent him to therapy or tried to give him pills. He just got to live in a world where everything he thought he’d heard and seen turned out to be real. Lucky bastard.
I can’t really complain about pills, though. Things have gotten better since I started the new drug. We won’t know how it really affects me until I’ve been on the full dosage for a while. They’re easing me into it, which you already know. Part of the reason I’m required to sit in your office once a week is so you can spot any problems and report back to the clinical trial doctors.
You asked what I know about my treatment. So I’ll tell you all the stuff you already know. The drug is called ToZaPrex, which, according to the label, can cause, among other things, (1) decreased white blood cell count (which hinders the body’s ability to combat disease), (2) seizures, (3) severely low blood pressure, (4) dizziness, (5) trouble breathing, and (6) severe headaches.
My doctors have assured my mother that the worst side effects are really rare. And not to worry. Ha. Yeah. Don’t worry.
I’ve experienced some of the side effects. Headaches mostly. The kind that sort of nest in your brain and throb for a while until they get bored and leave you alone. I don’t feel compelled to act out everything that runs through my mind, which is nice. But it doesn’t make the visions go away. I still see things I know I shouldn’t be seeing. The difference is that I know I shouldn’t be seeing them.
What do I see? Well, let’s start with who. I see Rebecca. I know now that she isn’t real because she never changes. She’s beautiful and tall—like Amazon tall—with huge blue eyes and long hair that falls to her waist. And she’s sweet and never says a word. As far as hallucinations go, she’s completely harmless. I’ve only ever seen her cry once, the day my mom found out about me. When it happened, I still thought Rebecca was real. I didn’t understand that she was crying because I was crying.
And no, Rebecca isn’t the only one I see, but I don’t like to talk about the others. The more I think about them, the more likely they are to appear, and they…ruin things. It’s like they wait for my mind to quiet down before they show up.
Anyway, the visions usually start with something small, something moving out of the corner of my eye or a voice that sounds familiar and then stays with me for hours. And sometimes it’s just a feeling that someone somewhere is watching me, which I know is ridiculous. Why would anyone bother, right? But I still keep the blinds drawn. I don’t really know why. I guess it’s just the need for privacy. I’d like to, for once, feel properly alone.
A month ago, before I started taking ToZaPrex, I couldn’t tell when I was slipping out of control. I would be afraid for no reason. Everything I saw was real to me. Once the hallucinations started, there was no switching them off. I could be lost in them for hours.
Now, when my mind starts misbehaving, I can at least watch its projections like a movie. Real CGI shit. Sometimes it’s actually kind of beautiful. I can watch a whole field of grass erupt into a cloud of butterflies. Sometimes voices serenade me to sleep, and now that I know they’re not real, I’m not afraid of them. So that’s nice. It’s the stuff that jumps out at me that makes me look like a spaz.
No, I’m not nervous about starting school.
I got my new uniform. White polo shirt, red wool vest with school insignia, and butt-ugly navy-blue shorts that flare out from my waist and hang like elephant skin. And I’ve done all the required reading for my classes, so I guess I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.
You know something, though? I honestly don’t get how you can sit there, read my journal entries aloud, and then ask questions for an entire hour while I say nothing. That’s weird. I’m crazy, and I think that’s weird.
DOSAGE: 0.5 mg. Same dosage. Adam starts new school. Still unwilling to speak. Perhaps new environment will act as catalyst for progress in therapy.
AUGUST 29, 2012
It’s pretty shitty to start school before Labor Day. I mean, like, really shitty. But I guess the first week back sucks no matter what. And it’s not even over yet.
I don’t have my driver’s license, and I have no intention of getting it anytime soon because it just seems like one more thing I have to figure out and be responsible for. And it’s just not worth it.
At my last school, I usually walked, but my mom insisted on driving me on my first day at St. Agatha’s. There was something manic in the way she drove, like she wanted it to be casual but she was way too nervous to actually pull that off. But when we finally got to the line of cars outside school, she just smiled and said, “Have a good day.” I could tell she wanted to kiss me goodbye, but once, when I was eight, I got mad at her for doing that in front of people, and she’s restrained herself ever since. I wish I hadn’t done that.
Pretty sure I just trudged out of the car with my backpack. I meant to smile at her reassuringly but forgot at the last minute. So she probably thought I was nervous when I actually wasn’t.
You had questions about my first day. Let’s focus on those, shall we?
You asked how it was different from my last school. It wasn’t, really, aside from the uniforms. Everyone still looked miserable. No one was awake yet. And there was a definite feeling of Why me? So there was some solidarity in that, I suppose.
My first mission after finding my locker and putting my stuff down was to meet with my school ambassador, Ian Stone. Apparently, all new kids are assigned a school ambassador who is responsible for showing them the school and walking them to class. He was waiting in the front office when I got there, and I knew immediately that he was a douche. It wasn’t the hair or the way he looked me up and down when we shook hands or the fact that he was chewing gum with his mouth open. It was just something about the air around him. It was like he was taking up more space than was strictly necessary. His grin never quite reached his eyes as he scanned the room.
Sometimes it takes a while to get to know a person before you can tell what they’re like, but he was easy to read. He was a collector of information.
I could tell by the way he made small talk with the old woman behind the front desk, asked about her kids, and took a handful of mints from the jar on the counter and casually stuffed them into his pocket. She smiled at him, and just as he was turning to leave, I saw him take the wad of gum out of his mouth and stick it under the counter.
Then he led me into the hall.
“So you’ll need to pick up your PE uniform, and then you have bio, right?” he asked.
I nodded. There was a well-practiced laziness to the way he walked, like he was moving quickly but didn’t care enough to be in a hurry. He pointed out a few buildings along the way and then gestured to a door off the side of the gym.