Schitzo

If in all seriousness, I call a kid “schitzo”, would you judge me? Would you think I’m rude and insensitive? Yes, you probably would. You would probably say something like, “You know, there are a lot of people out there who really have schizophrenia, and they don’t think it’s very funny.” You would probably be eternally mad at me and think about lions eating off my face every time you saw me.

But then, you would start watching the kid like I do. You would see him come up and back our street within ten minutes. You would watch as he talks to someone about the baseball game he just played with his best friend, Chris. Then, you would look at me with the same realization that I had when you remember the crucial fact that Chris is dead, thanks to a brain tumor. Another thing would be bothering you as you continue to stare at the boy walking down the street. After only a few measly seconds of hearing him talk about his home run would you realize the obvious: No one is there. This boy, whose sanity you just tried to defend, is alone, talking to nothing but the open air around him.

Of course, you would try to keep your argument valid that there is nothing wrong with him.

You would start by telling me that he was talking to himself, like just about every other sane person on planet Earth does at some point in their life. I would just look back at you and ask, “Then why is there only one side of the conversation that we hear?” We hear him ask questions, but never get answers. We would hear things like, “Yes, that works” or “Okay, that’s good”. Then, he would have disagreeing or complimenting comments, depending on when you listen to him. “No, we shouldn’t do that. That’s not right.” “I like your shirt today.” “I hope it doesn’t rain today.”

Still not convinced, you would tell me he’s probably talking on a cell phone. Your voice would be a little weak at this point; we would both know that his hands are empty. You would rebuttal by suggesting something like a Bluetooth. I would tell you that if you were paying attention, you would have noticed that no such device could be found on this little boy.

In a final attempt to win this battle, you would conclude that he simply has an overactive imagination, and you would tell me that he has an imaginary friend. You would push this argument by telling me how normal it is for lonely kids to conjure up a companion. You would make the mistake of leaving out an important detail. I would tell you, “I would agree with everything you just said…if he were three.” Both of us had seen the obvious. This boy couldn’t be younger than thirteen or fourteen. I would know that at that age, sure, you can still imagine walking down the road with someone to talk to, but you would be embarrassed when caught. You also wouldn’t have as much seriousness and emotion in your voice if you knew that they were talking to no one tangible.

No, this boy that we watch has firm conversations. He has emotions of sadness, rage, joy, and even surprise. He makes facial expressions and looks over to an empty space when there is a pause in the dialogue.

We would review this argument in our heads, not speaking a word at first. Your side is looking pretty weak, yet you’re a stubborn person. You’ll keep trying to tell me that this boy is perfectly fine, when obviously, he’s not.

So, now I ask, would you judge me?