à la folie

"Schizoid Personality Disorder.”

“Schizoid...”

“Clinical depression, as well, that’s Dr Howes diagnosis. He’s one of the older doctors here, so you can trust his diagnosis.” Angelica didn’t seem very happy, at that. The nurse who had replaced Mr Howes for the day smiled carefully and gestured towards a small, black pot.

“Anti-depressants, the dosage information will be on that label on the side.” Another smile. Another blank stare.

I hadn’t really talked to him. Not really. He didn’t know me.

I was glad the pot was black, though.

The meeting of sorts went on for a while longer, Angelicas grip on her hand-bag growing increasingly more pressurised, and my grip on reality slowly fading away. It was just another set of pills, another name to add on to my life.

Anaemic, clinically depressed Fleance, with Schizoid Personality Disorder...

I didn’t even know what it meant. Didn’t want to either.

“Fleance, were you listening?” I nodded my head, pulling the sleeves of my black sweater down over my fingers and concentrating hard on them. Her voice wasn’t very pretty, at all.

“One pill in the morning, one at lunch time, and one at the end of the day. Their giving it to you in small doses at first, but soon you’ll only have two pills a day of a higher dosage.” She sounded mechanical. Boring.

My ears hurt.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” her voice was much softer, a little easier on the tongue. On my ears. I nodded, looking up at her then back down at my hand.

Stupid pale hands.

“You know I still love you, no matter what.” she continued on, her voice rising at the end of her sentence. I looked out the window, towards a cow-ridden field.

No matter what.


Lesley wriggled around the new piece of metal implanted in the cartilage of his ears with his finger, telling me about how it had hurt. The metal wormed in and out of his cartilage, making multiple holes in the top of his ear, it was a dull black with a small ball at each end.

Apparently, Lesley had wanted it for a while. And he was talking about it, a lot. Which made my head hurt. I was tired, the pills that were now part of my daily medication made me sleepy, more in need of coffee.

My life just seemed more like a blur every day, slipping through the holes in my reality.

“...Seeing them live soon. Honest to god their good, give them a listen?” I looked up from my own hands and up to Lesley’s excitable features, confusion tinging my own. Lesley sighed, and pushed his black iPod towards me, artwork of a grave showed on the screen.

“Listen, alright? You can keep the iPod for the rest of the day; I need it back tomorrow though.” I stared down at the screen.

Avenged sevenfold

He must have caught my look and sighed again, leaning forward in his chair and letting the brown scarf he was wearing catch on the table edge.

“I don’t know what you usually listen to, but they are my favourite. Just try it, please,” I looked in his eyes, then away again. Say no to green?

I nodded, pulling the iPod towards me across the greying plastic table, stopping it just before it hit the silver edge. Hesitating, I picked up the candy-red earphones and placed one in my right ear, turning the iPod the right way round and pressing play on the screen.

Drums.

Guitar.

Hey kids, do I have your attention?
I know the way you’ve been living
Lives so reckless, tragedy endless,
Welcome to the family


It was loud, and...strong, and nothing like The Beatles, or Placebo. It blocked everything out, narrowed my world to sounds, with no colour.

Except black. There was always black.

Not long to go you find the answers were so crystal clear
Within a day you find yourself living in constant fear
Can you look at yourself now? Can you look at yourself?
You can’t win this fight.


I pulled the earphones out, then placed them down on the grey surface, looking down at the way they had formed in my untidy placing.

“Well?” I shrugged, avoiding his eyes.

I don’t have an opinion. Lesley didn’t want me to talk. I wasn’t even supposed to be looking at him. I didn’t want him to get mad, like Angelica, and Jack. My brain was already too fogged up.

We were late to school, after that. The teachers weren’t too bothered, I think. One got angry at Lesley. The brown haired one with sharp eyes, but pretended like I didn’t exist.

Which I liked.

Lesley showed off his new piercings, Pam cooed over it, then I lost track of the conversation. But at some point Lesley said I should get a Monroe piercings. I don’t know what a Monroe is, so he pointed just above his lip. Annabelle agreed, and so did Emma.

I still didn’t like the way her name sounded. Emma. It wasn’t that it was common, but I’ve heard it before and it connected to something I didn’t like.

God my head was a wreck.

Stop. Thinking.

And now I’m back again, in my bland room with Lesley’s dark iPod, listening to drums and guitars, and loud, loud voices.

So how does it feel to know that someone’s kid
In the heart of America has blood on their hands,
Fighting to defend your rights
So you can maintain the lifestyle that insults his family’s existence?


It made my ears and head ache, but I liked the way I couldn’t hear anything else, and the pain for some reason was just so satisfying and wearing. Like it was eroding at my soul, and my being. The lyrics made some sense, sometimes. The voice was loud and broken, and the guitars were harsh and spine-tingling.

It just made me feel alive, but dead at the same time.