Out Of My Mind

It’s fascinating how a child will create a person out of thin air, look into emptiness but see a three-dimensional friend. Psychologists and professionals say that it’s normal, that it’s okay for a kid to latch onto the air that kid has assigned to be his friend; but is it okay to still see that friend a full decade after you made it?

I suppose a lonely childhood with one hard-working and one deceased parent and a personality that would drive away the most tolerable of people would come with a lasting imaginary companion. But is it normal? Is it really okay? Does that make me crazy for still seeing him?

Am I crazy?

Everything started when I was about six years old. I’ve been told that I’d been a weird kid even before the car accident that snatched my mother from me. I said strange things. Sometimes, they were innocent, but random. The rest of the time, it was a different story. No little six year-old girl I know wanted to hear about blood and monsters while they were playing with their perfect Barbie dolls. Not even the boys wanted anything to do with me either except for just one.

Justin Creevey’s mom was friends with mine in college so we always spent a ton of time together. Every Saturday afternoon we would have play dates. We used to tell each other stories if we weren’t having an adventure in the woods in my backyard. He mostly talked about pirates and Power Rangers while I focused on princesses and fairies. He didn’t seem to mind the girly topics, but because Justin was such a squeamish boy, I had to censor the gruesome parts and avoid zombies and vampires.

When my mom died, I didn’t bother worrying about freaking him out. I just didn’t care. My stories got weirder and darker while the play dates got shorter and scarcer.
One day, at school, the scrawny, little boy came up to me and without any hesitation said, “Sam and Nick told me that you’re weird.”

That didn’t faze me. It’s not like the other kids hadn’t already informed me of my not so normal tendencies. I knew that I wasn’t like the other kids but I thought that that made me special in a way, different from them. Who would want to be a carbon copy of other people? I didn’t try to be different, but I did try to be who I was: just a goofy kid.

“They said I shouldn’t be friends with you anymore,” Justin continued. Knowing what was going to happen next made my stomach tense up and fill with hyperactive butterflies. Looking past him, I could see the two boys staring intently at us as if they had double-dared Justin to do this. Who knows? Maybe they had. He always had been a push-over.

“If I stay friends with you, they’re gonna stop being friends with me.”

“Okay,” was all I said to him as I released him from our friendship. I couldn’t muster up anything clever or witty or wise to say from my relatively innocent mind.

I watched him turn and walk away to play basketball without a care in the world with Sam and Nick while I stood alone on the asphalt with only a sinking feeling in my heart to keep me company. I didn’t cry, not until I was in the comfort of my own bedroom.

Having a friend leave you behind for someone better just might be one of the worst things to happen to the average little kid. Knowing that you’ve come in second place makes you wonder if you really mean much to the world. You wonder if there’s any point to come to school when you’re isolated in a crowded room. What is the point when everyone else comes before you, when you’re a useless slave to the world?

Since then, I’ve wondered what friendship really is. If two people talk casually in the hallway or help each other with homework, are they friends? If they have a sleepover, are they friends? Are there certain checkpoints you have to reach in order to call someone your friend? And how exactly does one obtain a best friend?

I always wanted a friend that would stay with me forever since Justin left. I wanted someone who was bound to me and couldn’t disappear from my life. I scanned the playground. There was a line of kids at the swing. They chatted away about class or elementary-school-gossip while waiting for one to open up. Others were chasing their friends around on the jungle gym
laughing and screaming lightheartedly in a world of playful imagination.

They have everything: friends and both parents, I thought to myself. I wasn’t so lucky.
That night, as I was weeping into my pillow, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I thought nothing of it. I figured it was my dad. He most likely emerged from his makeshift office, abandoned his huge workload just to comfort me, his only child.

I glanced behind me and didn’t see my father, but a stranger I’d never seen before. I gazed pathetically into his deep, brown eyes and immediately, my world began to light up again. Deep down I knew that my imagination had spawned this man and that he wasn’t real; however, that didn’t stop me from pretending that he was.

He was my companion whenever a tiny bit of loneliness reached me. When warm tears built up behind my eyes he’d rush to me to hold my hand and tell me funny things until I smiled.
He was with me when I went to school and sat by myself under the shade of the tree in the playground with our backs against its thick trunk. We had great conversations.
It gave my classmates even more to talk about.

Since the economy went down, my dad started working for himself as a land surveyor. Because he was cheap and efficient, everyone wanted my father just as much as I did.

He was busy.

When I was a freshman in high school, I would descend into the basement where he practically lived all day. Papers were scattered around on the green felt of the pool table my dad used to use for entertainment. File cabinets filled with hours of his work lined the newly painted walls. My father sat in the corner typing ferociously at his desk.

I would ask him to help with algebra homework. I didn’t understand how a quadratic equation could possibly be factored the way my teacher explained it countless times before.

“Dad, can you help me with algebra? I have a test tomorrow,” I asked sheepishly. I already knew the answer. Maybe later.

“Maybe later,” he grunted not moving his eyes from the glow of the computer screen. “A ton of work just came in. There people just can’t give me a break.” Yeah, me neither.

My father would type and type and type nonstop for hours as I stared at the review guide clueless and not comprehending a thing.

I could always feel a tiny glimmer of hope shining somewhere in my heart that refused to believe he wasn’t coming to help. ‘Maybe later’ simply meant ‘no way, it isn’t happening.’ I knew this story. It happened every single time. I tried to suppress and suffocate that fire of hope. There’s no point in climbing higher when you know that at any second you will fall. It’s best to just climb down.

Out of confusion, anger, and desperation, I cried taking my first step down. My friend was there. He told me not to worry, that my test score didn’t really matter. It didn’t help, but he stayed with me anyway.

What use is having a father if he couldn’t help you with math homework, laugh with you, spend time with you, be a dad? I knew that he loved me. He worked 12-hour days to keep our live right-side-up. I just wanted to be like the families you see on TV. I wanted us to spend time together and to feel comfortable with each other’s presence.

I can’t remember the last time I hugged my dad. Is that normal?

Despite the icy glares and the biting, whispered insults, I’ve returned to school for my junior year. This summer I didn’t do much that strayed too far from sticking my nose in books.

I did help my dad work a few times though. He drove me down to Capemay to get measurements for the land survey. All I had to do was hold a pole that measured feet up while standing in strange spots on the property. Each spot was filled with spiders and webs right where I was standing so that I was face-to-face with my biggest fear. I hated spiders. Knowing that they were probably staring at me and watching my every move made me want to scream and run home.

I didn’t do that for him. I wanted to help him to make him proud of me. I thought that he’d notice me if I was at work with him. That’s always where his mind was anyway.

I didn’t complain and tried not to flinch away or squirm around. He would tell me, “Butch up! How old are you?”

I didn’t want to bug him…. He wouldn’t be proud of a sixteen year-old daughter who runs away from creatures not even an inch tall.

My friend was there with me though. He wasn’t afraid of the insects and spiders crawling around his feet and above him like I was. He tried to distract me by rambling on about one of the books I’d read excessively.

I didn’t respond to him though. My father would have thought I was crazy. He doesn’t like crazy people….

When I got back to school, I didn’t expect much. If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, it’s that these people will never like me. I was too strange for them.

The first day back was rough. I saw that everyone I knew was with someone jabbering away about their excitingly social summers. Friends were hugging, couples were kissing, and even teachers were having a good time talking with each other. I sauntered down the hallway avoiding eye contact. I felt like a ghost surrounded by living beings, like a black-and-white blob in a world of vivid colors, like a misplaced teenager.

Their voices and laughter sounded like demonic cackling piercing into my ears.

At the end of the hallway behind the jumbled chaos of high school students, I caught sight of my companion leaning against the wall nonchalantly.

Looking around at my surroundings, I debated on whether or not I should go to him or not.
They already think I’m mad, I thought bitterly to myself. I quickened my pace to meet up with him and leaned against the wall just as he had.

“What’s wrong?” he asked me. That’s usually how these conversations started, with him jumping right in and trying to fix the problems I had.

“Nothing,” I mumbled keeping my voice low.

“Ready for another year?” he asked cheerfully.

“No,” I replied dully. “Not really.”

“You’re not still scared of those people, are you?”

“I’m not scared!” I barked. Uh-oh.

Two freshmen girls walking by turned their heads at me and glared at me and the emptiness I had just shrieked at. They gave me a strange look. Embarrassed I turned my head down, hide my face with a wall of my hair, and burned holes into the floor with my eyes.
Once they left down the stairs, I lifted my head. Freshmen even thought I was crazy and stared at me like I was the strangest thing they’d ever seen. I glared up at my hallucination.

“What?”

“They think I’m weird… because of you. I’ve got no friends because of you. It’s all your fault.”

“What about all the times I made you feel better? Would you have wanted me to stay away?”

“Yes! Then they wouldn’t all hate me!” I was starting to raise my voice and draw attention to the argument that wasn’t really happening. More people would probably start staring at me yelling at myself. How pathetic. “This is all your fault!”

“My fault?”

“Yes! You never leave me alone so everyone gets to watch me make a fool of myself.”

“Well, if you’d cheer up every once in a while, maybe I wouldn’t have to always be here for you.”

“How can I “cheer up” when the only person who pays attention to me in this whole world isn’t even real?”

“Then maybe you’re blaming the wrong person. Maybe it’s all your fault,” he replied darkly.

I stood there frozen and baffled staring up at him for what felt like minutes.

Defeated, I turned around sharply without saying a word.

For two weeks I hadn’t seen him. I didn’t want to. I hated him, hated myself. With him gone, I felt relief sweep through me and take away every bad feeling in me.

I had never walked away from him. Usually our encounters ended with him fading away as I forgot my troubles and moved onto something else. I guess that’s why he always kept coming back, because I never leave him.

This time, he couldn’t return to my head. He hadn’t faded. I had stormed away from him. He was gone.

Life without him was peaceful. It was like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. This was the perfect time for me to study and focus on school.

One night, I had homework in every class. There were worksheets to do, books to read, an essay to write, some tests to study for, and a mountain to climb. My mind was foggy and I couldn’t make my thoughts coherent.

The stress was building up. My throat ached with urge to yell. I started to scream and cry out of complete frustration. I checked the clock. Only an hour more until I should have been in bed and I wasn’t even halfway done all of my work. Dad couldn’t help. He was already asleep, getting ready for the next day of work.

My mind was racing, running back and forth. I pulled at my hair and stomped my feet against the ground but nothing helped me understand a single thing. I was supposed to be better, not completely psycho without him.

That’s when he finally did show up. All that he said was,

“Butch up.”

I walked into school the next day dazed, hoping it was just a nightmare. Most of my work was left unfinished so I figured I’d fallen asleep. But as I got closer to my locker, I saw him leaning against it waiting for me.

I turned around freaked out and disbelieving of his return. I darted down the stairwell and saw him again at the bottom waiting for me. He smirked pompously knowing that I had spotted him and that he terrified me. I turned around and ran up the stairs, flung open the door and saw him facing me inches away from my face. I yelped and ran again. I didn’t want to see him. He made my life difficult and lonely. He made it impossible for me to be normal. I was better without him. I wanted to live my life without him in it. I didn’t want to be crazy anymore. I wanted to be normal. I didn’t want to be insane anymore. I wanted to be normal, to be okay. I couldn’t do that with him lingering around in my mind.

I stormed halfway across the entire school. I felt more fogginess in my head and knew that he was getting closer and closer. I could hear his steps pounding in my head like a concert bass drum. Each step frightened me more and made my heart beat and his steps quicker.

I cowered and crumpled into the floor trying to hide from my mind but that’s impossible….

I heard his voice next to my ear.