It was hard getting used to how to get around the school. Too many people, too many rooms. I wait in the lunchroom. Waiting. Watching. A woman in a police officer uniform approaches me. She greets me with kind words and a smile upon her face. She asks me what's new with my life. I don't tell her much. There isn't much to tell. It's the same routine every day. The officer is my mentor. She helps me keep my voices in check. She doesn't know much about them, nor does she know I see things. She just knows that my family abandoned me because I was sick. She knows I live with my sister.
She knows everything that happens on the outside, but doesn't know anything on the inside. She makes herself comfortable on a chair, placing her elbows on her knees. She looks me in the eyes.
"Do you know what you are sick with?"
"No...I really don't" I respond. I start to get confused. Does she know what I'm sick with?
"I think she knows something." Favain's voice echos behind me. I see him walking to me out of the corner of my eye. The lights in the lunchroom creates a glare off his glasses. He dressed up today. He has a black suit and tie on today. He places his hand on my shoulder. "See what she wants to tell you. You might find it valuable."
I listen to his words and consider it. I take in a sharp breath. She looks at me with concern. I let her know that I'm ready to listen to what she has to tell me.
"Hun, you have schizophrenia."
I looked at her even more confused than I was before. Schizophrenia isn't a sickness. Is it? What is it? What does it even make me do? What does this new found knowledge even mean?
Favain puts a hand over his eyes and sighs. "I knew it. I knew this day was going to come." He smiles as he pats my shoulder. "It'll be alright kid. I'm here for you."
I ask to excuse myself to go to the bathroom so that Favain and I could talk in private. She excuses me. I hurry to the bathroom near by and ask Favain what was going on. He tried to describe it to the best of his ability to get me to better understand but sometimes he forgets that I don't understand some of his complicated language. He uses bigger words than what I'm used to and sometimes uses words that we don't use anymore in the 21 century.
What I get out of his mini complicated explanation was that I have to take medication in order to keep the voices in my head in my head. To help me feel emotion when I take my medicine. If I don't take my medication I apparently don't feel any emotion. If I don't take my medicine I don't find things fun to do. I don't enjoy life.
I sort of understand what is he is telling me, but I don't really. I leave the bathroom and pretend like nothing happened. I go back to my mentor and of course like always she checks on me. I continue to tell her that I am fine.
For God's sake I took my meds this morning. That should mean that I'm fine, right?
Favain disagrees with me. "Even though you take your medicine, doesn't mean that you are completely cured. You still have some symptoms." He sits in a chair next to my officer.
She doesn't notice him. She continues on about how I need to keep up with my schooling, and what I need to do to make improvements on my life. Sometimes I wonder if she thinks I have autism or something. She talks to me like I'm stupid sometimes. When she's done lecturing me about my school and home life and how I need to be better, she helps me up from my chair and walks with me to my next class. She bids me good-bye and with the best of luck before returning to her original job as the school's resource officer.
I roll my eyes at Favain who nudges me forward toward the classroom door. I push him back playfully. He laughs a little, adjusting his tie and vest. I open the classroom door. There was a couple people who watched me enter but most of them were focused on either the teacher or whatever they were doing on their desk. At least half of them looked dead with boredom. I sit in my seat and try to get a general idea of what the teacher was instructing.
Just with my luck it was about mental disorders. Specifically psychopathy and sociopathy. None are interesting and I found myself staring out the window at the landscape.
"Aren't you going to pay attention? This is quite interesting work."
I look up at Favain, standing in front of the window.
Really Favain? Now?
I look away and at my desk. There were doodles on the wood face in pencil and pen from over the years. I sigh quietly. Before I knew it the bell rang for class to be dismissed and the teacher yells over the commotion of children leaving. She tries to inform us on the homework.
I don't really care. I just want this day to end.