A Physics Prodigy From Ukraine
17.
“Ryan.”
I was sick of my name.
I was going to change it.
I was going to be Vladimir Kusov.
A physics prodigy from Ukraine.
I knew nothing of physics.
“Ryan - I hope you’re paying attention.”
I nodded.
Why not?
It didn’t matter what I said anymore.
“How’s things at home?”
Good question.
Mum was always at work.
I was either at school,
Or sleeping.
I shrugged.
Spencer cocked his head.
“You don’t know?”
I shook my head.
“I sleep too much.”
“Ah.”
He winced.
“Any less than when you were on Trazodone?”
I shrugged again.
Maybe.
“Just, and you don’t have to consent, Ryan, but Jon and I were considering increasing your dosage.”
What?
Was I not hopeless enough?
I’d spent two years on Trazodone.
In constant psychotherapy.
Two years.
With no effect.
Even switching to Sertraline.
I raised my eyebrows.
Spencer pushed across a list of side effects.
“It would be to 300mg - seeing as 150 isn’t really having an effect, perhaps this will be more beneficial.”
It was less rejection.
More ignorance.
My brain was ignoring drugs.
Stupid, worthless brain.
I looked up at Spencer.
“Might as well. It’s pointless anyway.”
He pulled a face.
A ‘caring’ face.
“Is that how you feel about treating your condition?”
Oh.
Was that the wrong thing to say then?
I shrugged.
“Just change it. I don’t care.”
“Ryan. How do you really feel?”
I threw my hands in the air.
So patronising.
“I don’t know! Depressed?”
Oh gosh, that had tired me out.
I let my face rest in my hands.
Spencer brushed my arm.
“I’m gonna put the dosage up.”
I nodded.
“If it doesn’t work, Jon going to try and get you on the waiting list for electrotherapy.”
I nodded again.
Sigh.
I had just turned sixteen.
Normal kids didn’t need stupid electrotherapy.
“I’m sorry, Ryan. But I just don’t see anything else we can do.”
I was sick of my name.
I was going to change it.
I was going to be Vladimir Kusov.
A physics prodigy from Ukraine.
I knew nothing of physics.
“Ryan - I hope you’re paying attention.”
I nodded.
Why not?
It didn’t matter what I said anymore.
“How’s things at home?”
Good question.
Mum was always at work.
I was either at school,
Or sleeping.
I shrugged.
Spencer cocked his head.
“You don’t know?”
I shook my head.
“I sleep too much.”
“Ah.”
He winced.
“Any less than when you were on Trazodone?”
I shrugged again.
Maybe.
“Just, and you don’t have to consent, Ryan, but Jon and I were considering increasing your dosage.”
What?
Was I not hopeless enough?
I’d spent two years on Trazodone.
In constant psychotherapy.
Two years.
With no effect.
Even switching to Sertraline.
I raised my eyebrows.
Spencer pushed across a list of side effects.
“It would be to 300mg - seeing as 150 isn’t really having an effect, perhaps this will be more beneficial.”
It was less rejection.
More ignorance.
My brain was ignoring drugs.
Stupid, worthless brain.
I looked up at Spencer.
“Might as well. It’s pointless anyway.”
He pulled a face.
A ‘caring’ face.
“Is that how you feel about treating your condition?”
Oh.
Was that the wrong thing to say then?
I shrugged.
“Just change it. I don’t care.”
“Ryan. How do you really feel?”
I threw my hands in the air.
So patronising.
“I don’t know! Depressed?”
Oh gosh, that had tired me out.
I let my face rest in my hands.
Spencer brushed my arm.
“I’m gonna put the dosage up.”
I nodded.
“If it doesn’t work, Jon going to try and get you on the waiting list for electrotherapy.”
I nodded again.
Sigh.
I had just turned sixteen.
Normal kids didn’t need stupid electrotherapy.
“I’m sorry, Ryan. But I just don’t see anything else we can do.”