I'm Not Insane

Stranger Danger

Safety.

Comfort.

Love.

Acceptance.

These are things that Eric had searched for his whole life, things he felt he needed. He didn’t get them at home, school, or from friends. He wanted to know that he was okay, that he was normal. He wasn’t. He was sick. His sickness hurt people. He could never tell the difference between actual reality and his dream world. Were the birds real? The scary things? He was only normal to one person, the person he knew was bad news.

Roo.

Roo was his safety blanket, he could do no wrong in her eyes. He knew the difference between bad and good, but she knew of no such line. She thought they saw things differently, that there was a reason for it and that the doctors were the crazy ones for thinking otherwise. They were special. Can you imagine that? Can you imagine being special? It gives you this sense of warmth, your questions have all been answered. The reason you’re not like everyone else is because you’re special.

Not only was he special, but what he saw and heard was too. The flowers, the spot lights, birds singing at night while the crickets chirped in the morning. No one else could understand, but she did. She told him that the birds sang to her too.

But she never saw what he did, the monsters. They creep into the room by slithering under the door, between the cracks. They had no nose and their eyes were sewn shut, but they could still see, they could still smell. They could smell the fear, taste it, feel it in their bones. Twisted smiles haunted Eric all night and day. He couldn’t get them out of his head. Every time he thought he was safe he saw them. The black figures would melt and slip under the door. They’d make him remember the happiest moments of his life only to invade them and destroy them. Now he doesn’t know the difference between what’s real and what isn’t.

The thing that confuses him the most are the strangers. There are billions of people in this world, but how many are real? Eric could have an hour long conversation with an old man only to have someone tell him that he was fake. No. He couldn’t be. He’d been in Vietnam, met the love of his life and lost her to a richer man. That poor man had dealt with years of heartache never to be fixed, that couldn’t be fake. That overwhelming depression Eric felt when the man told him his story couldn’t have been anything but real.

And what about the young boy who’d lost his parents? Only twelve years old and he was living by himself. He had to be real. He had to be.

All of them had to be!

The Doctors never believed him, but she did. Maybe that was why he trusted her so much, because she trusted him.

They also told him that Roo was lying. That she didn’t hear the birds and that she didn’t feel the warmth when he was holding her. She was a liar. She wasn’t able to feel anything for him.

Eric never told the Doctors this but he thought she did care for him. He never fully explained the accepting feeling he got when she was around, that the spot light was on her when she walked into the room. Her smile made the harps play. It was wide and bright, full of laughter and mischief. When ever she smiled at him Eric felt as if he were young again, like he was a stupid teenager that was young and troublesome.

Boy, did he wish she could come into therapy with him.

“Eric, it looks like you’ve lost weight.”

The boy sighed and nodded his head, “Yeah, I mean. I’ve been working loads lately and haven’t been sleeping too well.” He stayed quiet for a moment. Dr. Ashwood didn’t speak and waited for his patient to continue.

“I don’t see them anymore,” Eric said desperately, “I promise, I don’t. But sometimes…” Sometimes he wanted to. “Sometimes they’re in my dreams. I wake up and I’m cold.”

His colored fingers tapped quietly on his hands, the Doctor was going to prescribe him more medicine. More pills that turned him on auto pilot. One of the patients once compared him to a zombie when he was on them. That patient’s friend said, “Hair dye, black eye, deep sigh, big lie.” He only spoke in rhymes.

“I got another tattoo.”

The frown quickly turned into a bright smile, he lifted his pant leg and revealed the Cat In The Hat that was now permanently on his shin. Unlike most of his tattoos it was black and grey. “Used to love the book when I was younger so I figured, why not?”

Dr. Ashwood was quiet before he smiled warmly, it made Eric smile.

“That’s a mighty fine piece of art you’ve got on yourself. Are you using all the right types of lotions for the scabbing?”

“Of course, Sir.”

The smile never left as Dr. Ashwood scribbled something down on a pad of paper.

“Take this to Abby,” he tore off the paper and handed it to him. “It’s your newest prescription, I’d like to try something different with you. With your consent of course.”

Take the pills and become a zombie or don’t take the pills and see the beasts? Roo hated the pills, he hated the pills, even the patients hated the pills. They kept him safe, they kept everyone safe. One day he’d have taken so many of the buggers he’d be cured for life, he just knew it. For now he’d just have to deal with it. Just knowing that he’d be better one day gave him the confidence to take the prescription and bid Dr. Ashwood a good day. It was that confidence that made him give the paper to Abby and wait patiently for her to fill a small orange bottle with little pills.

Eric missed the sound of the birds and the harps.