Jongdae sighs as he stares at the suitcase in front of him. Ten years worth of memories and livelihood reduced to a basic brown container. He’s going home. Jongdae isn’t even sure he wants to go home, not knowing what is going to be waiting for him except misery. His parents don’t know what they are getting themselves into. They only want their perfect son back, a normal family, a happy life. But he can’t give them that.

A snicker sounds behind him and Jongdae bites his left cheek when the snicker turns into full on laughter. There’s no one behind him, his mind is laughing at him, but he can deal with the laughter, the giggles, the snickers. Jongdae is just waiting for the words to mix in with the laughter, the reminders that his mind is his enemy and the reason he can’t ever provide his parents with the family they want.

You’re stupid, they start out. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Jongdae is inclined to agree but he knows that he can’t give in to the voices. He needs to ignore them and he needs to work on ignoring them, now that he’ll be leaving. There will be no one to hold him down when the voices become overwhelming, no one to bring him back to reality when his mind obscures it all.

He closes his eyes while he listens to the degrading words, the whispers of his stupidity, his inability to be the perfect man everybody wants him to be.

“Jongdae,” a female voice says and Jongdae opens his eyes to look at his favourite therapist. She sends him a sad smile when she enters the room and Jongdae sinks back against the wall and presses his knees against his chest. “You’ll be fine if you remember your medication. Don’t let the voices get to you. Remember, you haven’t had a psychosis in months now.”

Jongdae rests his chin on the top of his knees and looks at her.

“Are you sure?” he asks, unsure of his own abilities to keep it all at bay. She nods and sits down beside him on the bed.

Jongdae directs his gaze to his socked feet. He closes his eyes and focuses on the voices in his mind that repeatedly tells him how bad he is, how stupid he is, how worthless he is. He’s not supposed to focus on them but there’s no way to ignore something that’s inside his head. Plugging his ears keeps them in, but doesn’t make them softer.

Walking away doesn’t do anything since his mind follows him wherever he goes. The voices follow him wherever he goes. Still, Jongdae is going to do his best, if it means he’ll be able to survive in the world.

The woman pats his shoulder before she gets up from the bed and sends him another smile. She barely exits his room before another person enters. Jongdae opens his eyes but doesn’t look up from his socked feet.

“Jongdae, sweetheart,” his mother’s voice fills his ears. She squats in front of the suitcase and looks at him. “Are you done packing your things?”

She doesn’t wait for his answer before she closes the suitcase, pulling it with her as she stands. She reaches a hand out for Jongdae to take but he stays on the bed.

“Jongdae, come. Your father is waiting for you in the hall. Have you said goodbye to everyone?”

Jongdae lifts his head and looks at his mother. He nods and slowly stretches his legs so he can stand from his bed. As they walk out of the room, Jongdae gives it a last glance. His home for the past 10 years is suddenly no longer his and the comfort of the familiar space starts to leave as he knows it will no longer be his. In the hall is his father talking to a doctor.

They both look towards the mother and son as they enter. The doctor sends him a smile and continues his conversation with Jongdae’s father. The young man ignores them both in favour of leaving the mental hospital he has called home for so long.

Walking through the front doors of the facility, with the knowledge he is leaving brings an unsettling feeling. The pit of his stomach feels heavy, but he brushes it off. He’s a grown man. 25 shouldn’t be an age where he still feels nervous over new things.

Yet as he steps across the sunny parking lot, the faint breeze of spring brushing his bangs to the sides of his face, the dread doesn’t dissipate.

As he steps to the door behind the passenger’s side with his mother going ahead of him to open her own door, the voices fill his mind. Ringing in his ears hurt his head as a random scream clutters his thoughts, making the mild sunshine seem blinding to his now sensitive eyes.

Luckily his father finally appears on the other side of the car, reminding his son to open his door already and get inside the car. Jongdae decides to just sit behind his mother, feeling the middle seat is too childish, even if he wants to see both of his parent’s faces on the ride home.

“So sweetie, have you eaten yet?” the woman says from the front seat.

His father turns to look through the back dash as he has already started the car and is pulling out of the parking spot.

“Yeah. Same old same old,” Jongdae replies, blinking as he looks around the new car.

It’s a newer model than whatever they had dropped him off in so long ago.

“Your father got a promotion,” the woman said, making her husband nod in agreement as he turns the vehicle onto the road. Jongdae nods as well.

A brief silence hangs in the air as no one speaks for a moment. The young man looks out of the window, watching the tarmac run by as the car flies down the empty main road.

The hospital is located on the outskirts of town, far away from suburbs and corner stores and all the things cities have. Being brought back into this side of town feels so stale. He looks up to check what buildings now stand on the sides of the road. Most of them he still recognizes, but some are either new or ones he never paid attention to before.

“How are you doing?” his mother asks.

Jongdae stays quiet. Not the best, he thinks to himself.

“I’m fine,” he answers, pushing the corners of his mouth up in a small smile and catches her eyes in the rear-view mirror.

“That’s good,” she says with a relieved sigh.

Jongdae doesn’t really want to elaborate, but he knows that he will have to at one point. His mother won’t stay satisfied with only this. For now, he enjoys the silence. The silence doesn’t last long when his mother starts fidgeting in her seat.

“Do you see we’ve gotten a new car? It’s only a few years old but I cleaned it before we came to pick you up,” she says.

Jongdae snorts but nods.

“Yeah. It’s a nice one, mom.”

His mother continues on about the car like there’s nothing else to talk about. Maybe there really isn’t. Maybe they have been apart for so long that their relationship has revert to that of near strangers. He rests his head against the car seat and stares at the ceiling.

When he doesn’t answer her question, she turns around in her seat and Jongdae abruptly closes his eyes so he can pretend he’s asleep. He doesn’t fool his mother, but she quiets down and softly starts talking to her husband instead.

The car enters the parking basement 30 minutes later. The apartment building is made of grey concrete and hosts a myriad of identical apartments. Jongdae has spent his childhood in one of the apartments and the sight of the concrete pillars and the lines on the ground when he steps out of the car has distant childhood memories surfacing again. His father grabs his suitcase from the car and his mother walks ahead of them towards the elevator.

Jongdae bites his cheek as the voices in his mind tell him that he’s stupid. He steps onto the green lines and focuses on walking directly on them until he has to break away and follow his parents into the elevator.

“Home sweet home,” his father says when they step inside the apartment. Jongdae’s suitcase is left in the hallway with their shoes. The kitchen is no longer an ugly shade of dirty yellow and the living room is no longer carpeted.

There’s an old family portrait hanging over the television, showing the family as his mother had always dreamt of. A happy couple and their healthy, young son.

Jongdae walks closer with careful steps until he stands in front of the picture. He reaches out to gently touch the young boy and imagines what life could have been had he not been diagnosed and hospitalized with schizophrenia. His father joins him in the living room and puts a hand around his shoulder, surprising Jongdae and the young man turns away from the picture of what once was, what once could have been.

“It’s a nice picture, isn’t it?” the man asks, focusing on the image from so long ago.

Jongdae looks over at him, noticing the wrinkles on the sides of his eyes and corners of his faint smile. He can even spot a few grey hairs hidden in the dark hair.

“Yeah, it’s a good photo,” he says aloud but the voices in his mind shout otherwise.

He’s already had his medicine for today, but the thought of knowing where his mother plans to store it comes to mind. When he was younger she often doted on him and reminded him of things, which had sounded more like nagging to the already well-rounded boy. But he isn’t so well-rounded anymore. So maybe now her nagging will serve as helpful reminders to aid his sanity.

The man patting his shoulder brings him back to the current moment. His father turns around, heading to the couch. Jongdae hears his mother moving things in the kitchen, so he heads to see what she’s doing.

“Did you bring my medicine back?” he asks, expecting a ‘yes’.

“No,” she replies, facing the cupboards as she collects ingredients to start dinner.

Jongdae does a double take, not believing what he heard.

“You don’t need those silly things anymore. You’re healthy now, aren’t you?” she states more than asks while turning to face him.

He merely blinks, unsure of how to respond. He has been taking medication for the past decade to keep himself in control. It may not make him one-hundred percent sane, but a little less crazy is better than letting his delusions take control of him completely. Jongdae opens his mouth to respond.

“Our son is fine, right boy?” his father calls out from the other room.

Jongdae feels a headache scratch the front of his temple as snickering emerges from the back of his mind. He takes a deep breath, not wanting to upset his parents, but unable to speak. The noise coming from all the voices starts to run through his brain, deafening his own thoughts. He swallows as he looks at his mother who has turned back around, once again busy with her task.

Jongdae walks out of the room and sees his father on the couch watching television as if nothing is out of the ordinary. As if he isn’t in the same home as his schizophrenic son for the first time in years, a son he just picked up from the mental hospital.

“I’m not a psycho,” Jongdae whispers to himself.

“What is that?” one of his parents ask him, the snickering in his mind being too loud for him tell which one.

He just shakes his head and goes to his old bedroom. Once inside he flops down on the fresh comforter his mother must have recently washed. Not bothering to inspect the room to see if it’s changed, he closes his eyes and listens to the voices yell at him. Unable to think, unable to process what he should do, he sits and listens until his mind tires itself out and he falls asleep.

The first day is tough, but Jongdae collects himself enough to play pretend with his parents. Eating dinner with them, taking a shower, changing into his pyjamas and going to bed.

Waking up the next day, going to the supermarket with his mother to help her grocery shop. This is when reality starts to crumble.

“Oh my goodness, is that Jongdae?” the voice of a random woman catches the young man’s ears.

His mother smiles proudly as the woman approaches them. The two women begin engaging in a conversation about Jongdae and how he is doing, not giving him any room to speak.

“So, they finally let you out of there huh?” the woman asks.

He does his best to not be taken aback, but his mother lets out a light fluttery laugh.

“We picked him up yesterday. He’s fine now. My healthy son has become so handsome, hasn’t he?” she says, making the other woman give a pitiful smile as Jongdae forces one himself.

“Why yes, yes, he has,” she says with a laugh.

Jongdae doesn’t understand what’s so hilarious, but chalks it up to middle aged women conversation that he just doesn’t understand.

But this isn’t the end of fake pleasant conversations. The shopping trip continues as multiple people stop them, pausing their browsing of produce to check up on the Kim’s ‘sick’ son. Jongdae forces a grin until his cheeks hurt, this being the first time in his life he is happy to hear voices in his head instead of being subject to pay attention to whatever these random people are saying about him.

Even when an old classmate confronts them, his mother takes the lead in saying her same spiel of how well and healthy he is now. Jongdae nods along when he sees his mother nod, his attention really on the berating comments in his mind, confirming that he is worth nothing, how much of an embarrassment he is to put his poor mother through the embarrassment of having such a worthless son.

Once they return home, Jongdae struggles to help his mother put away the groceries. Doing his best, he is still only able to put away a few things before he has to go back to his room and calm himself down. It’s the first day in who knows how long that he hasn’t had his medication and while the effects aren’t immediate, the worry causes him more grief than usual.

The evening comes and goes with his parents knocking on his door to come out for dinner, but he is unable to bring himself to follow their simple request. It doesn’t feel so simple now that he has been wrapped up in his mind, uninterested in any of the things his mother has gotten for him. He barely cared when she was showing them, and he can barely remember what they even are now that he is preoccupied.

After ten minutes, he stands up to open the door, his father’s voice coming from the other side. He swallows and tries his best to ignore the screams in his head. Until he hears a scream outside of his head, outside of his bedroom. It is a short yell, but he can make out it is his mother calling out to his father. Jongdae shakes his head and turns the handle, opening the door and following his father to the dinner table.

It starts mild as always. Jongdae is slowly getting used to the voices and their increasing volume now that he doesn’t get his medication but still he manages to convince his parents that he is healthy, free of the terrors of his mind.

It’s not that Jongdae has to stay in his bedroom at all times, it’s just safer that way. The feeling of being watched, of being observed follows him when he leaves the house and his room and the voices turn worse. So Jongdae retreats to his own safe spot, if only because it means less stress. His parents, however, aren’t happy about his isolation and they do their best to find him friends and coach him back into society.

Society is scary, though, and Jongdae can’t shake the feeling that something is after him when he shops with his mother or takes driving lessons with his father. It’s dangerous, he thinks, to be outside and do normal things when he can’t control his mind, but nobody seems to care. Jongdae hears the gossip from his window, listens in on conversations in the living room.

The Kim-son is strange, weird, sick. It doesn’t feel better to hear his parents fight in the evening. His mother cries at odd hours in the night, praying for someone to fix him, but Jongdae can’t be fixed.

It starts mild with a scent of coffee entering his nostrils in the middle of the night and waking him up. The house is silent save for the voices in his mind and Jongdae closes his eyes for a second or two before he forces himself out of bed. He tiptoes down the hallway and peeks into the kitchen only to find the coffee machine turned off and empty. There’s no coffee brewing but there’s definitely the scent of coffee in the house.

The voices laugh at him, at his failure, but Jongdae continues. He must find the source of the scent. In the living room is a cup on the coffee table. It’s empty, the bottom filled with the last few dried drops of coffee. It must come from here, Jongdae reasons.

He takes the cup with him to the kitchen, cleans it thoroughly in the night and goes back to bed but the scent doesn’t disappear.

There’s the smell of smoke in the air. Jongdae looks left, then right but finds no signs of fire. He turns to his mother who’s walking briskly beside him but she doesn’t seem to notice anything out of the ordinary. The smell is there, though, Jongdae is certain. It creeps up his nostrils and has him grimacing and he reaches out to grab his mother’s sleeve.

“Mom, do you smell smoke?” he asks and she turns around to look at him quizzically.

“Smoke?” she asks. “Have you been smoking? Did they teach you such awful habits?”

Jongdae shakes his head and sniffs again. The smell is definitely there and it’s not the smell of cigarettes. No, it’s a fire burning somewhere and by the amount of smoke Jongdae smells, it’s not a small one either. Nowhere near shows any sign of fire, though.

The sun is shining from a blue sky and birds are singing happily in spring, but Jongdae’s panic increases when his mother frowns at him.

“What’s wrong with you? Do you have a fever?” she asks and fakes concern. It’s mostly for show because she can’t truly be concerned about him, he’s worthless. “Jongdae, come.”

She grabs his hand and forcefully drags him away from the curious eyes that are now looking at mother and son. Jongdae is too far gone in his fear to recognize old classmates and neighbours and he doesn’t hear the words that spread throughout the crowd.

The second they enter the hallway the smell disappears and Jongdae gasps relieved after air. His mother looks at him with increasing worry but says nothing as she retreats to the living room. Jongdae sinks towards the floor and closes his eyes, lets the voices drown him and the safety of his home comfort him.

Jongdae is 25 years old and he hasn’t showered in a week. The shower is dangerous. Someone has put a CCTV in there, Jongdae has seen it with his own eyes. When he asked his parents about it, they stared at him long and hard and did their best to convince him there was no CCTV. But Jongdae has seen it and he doesn’t trust his parents. Why should he if they allow strangers to look in on him showering.

His father has ordered him to shower, his mother has tried begging but both are unsuccessful. The shower is dangerous, they tell him, the voices in his mind. They’re looking at you, they’re coming for you. Don’t open the door, don’t answer your phone. They can’t find you here. So Jongdae listens to the voices, hides under his blanket and loses weight because he can’t eat when people are watching him.

His parents’ fights grow in volume and Jongdae covers his ears but not even the voices of his own mind can drown out those of his parents when they discuss what to do with him. The only thing Jongdae wants is for it all to stop. He can’t leave his bedroom because people are looking at him, laughing at him, hurting him and he can’t stay either because the CCTV’s are watching, observing, planning his demise.

It grows stronger when the spiders suddenly crawl under the door to his bedroom. Jongdae shakes in fear as the voices tell him to squish them. He can’t do that, however, because they’re already on him, crawling up his arms and leaving red dents in their wake. He scratches and hits himself like he’s a madman and maybe he is, but Jongdae needs to get them away, needs to run away.

The spiders are small electronic devices, sent from the government to spy on him, to lodge themselves into his neck and control his every move, his every thought. He rises from his bed and violently shakes his body before he runs. His parents reach out towards him but fail to catch him in their fight and Jongdae runs. He runs from his home, from the spiders, from the government.

He runs from the voices although they follow him wherever he goes and spew comments that he doesn’t want to hear. Worthless, stupid, worthless. Bad boy, Jongdae. You’re stupid, look at you run, stupid. And he continues running until he’s out of breath and his legs are giving up. The spiders are coming after him and he sees them from the corner of his eyes. Jongdae doesn’t see the people looking at him like he’s crazy when he flops onto the pavement and cries.

“Help me,” he whispers and crawls from the spiders that are coming closer. “Help me.”

He doesn’t see nor does he hear people shouting at him. Slowly, even though all energy has left his body, he gets on his feet again, and drags his body towards the park.

“Make it go away,” he prays and they laugh at him. It will never go away, they say. We will never go away. Jongdae screams when something grabs his foot and he falls forward onto the dirty pavement. His sobs grow stronger as he succumbs to the thoughts of dying.

Jongdae is 25 years old and the only thing he wants from life is death.

A man’s face comes into focus when Jongdae lifts his own from the green tiles. It’s marred with worry and confusion and Jongdae almost listens to the voices when they tell him it’s a nightmare of his own, an image his mind has conjured, someone that is out to get him. The man stays in front of him, though. His hair is dark brown, softly flowing into his brown eyes and the worry only strengthens when Jongdae doesn’t have the energy to look at him anymore.

“Are you okay? Do you need help?” he asks but Jongdae can’t hear him over the noise in his mind. Instead he just nods, hoping that he’s answering correctly.

“Can you stand?” the stranger asks again and Jongdae flinches as a strong arm grabs his skinny bicep and helps him into a sitting position. A scream splits his head in two and he cradles his forehead with his hands, tries desperately to claw his way inside. He can feel his hair tangle around his fingers as he pulls and the voices taunt him with degrading comments.

“I’ll take you to the hospital,” the man before him says and that’s all it takes for Jongdae’s world to turn quiet for a split second before it explodes into chaos.

The hospital, the voices screech. We can’t go to the hospital! They’ll drug you. They’ll kill you. The hospital is dangerous, we can’t, we can’t.

The man looks at him with concern before he pulls Jongdae with him as he stands. Jongdae can’t hear him talk but he can see his mouth moving. He’s shaking like a leaf, covering his ears and casting long glances over his shoulders as he’s carefully led to the stranger’s car.

They’re going to kill you, Jongdae, his voices shout. The hospital, they’ll kill you. He’ll kill you. It’s a dangerous man. He’s sent by the government. The government is out to get you. The hospital will kill you. He’s got a gun. The government knows who you are. They’ll kill you. The hospital is dangerous. You’re stupid, so stupid. Don’t get closer. Stupid. They’ll kill you. Die. Die. Die. Stupid.

Jongdae screams as the car speeds down the main roads, weaving in between other cars.

“Stop it, stop it, stop it,” murmurs Jongdae before he screams again and clutches at the car door. The door is locked, however, and Jongdae pulls the handle desperately. The door doesn’t give away and Jongdae starts scratching at his skin as the spiders crawl on him again, waiting to bury into his skin and change him, alternate his personality.

It isn’t until the car stops in front of the hospital that the door unlocks. Jongdae tumbles out of the car and falls to the ground, his chauffeur hurrying to his side. He’s trying to crawl from the car and the hospital, but he doesn’t get very far before the man puts his hands on Jongdae’s shoulder. He can hear someone shout towards the hospital and he can see feet rushing, squishing spiders in the process. He doesn’t know what’s real and what’s not, not any more.

The voices demean him as he’s led into the hospital. Jongdae doesn’t feel the prick from the needle but he cries out when he sees a spider crawl towards the IV line in his hand and he violently shakes, pulling the plastic tube out in the process.

“No!” he screams when a doctor in a coat filled with blood steps inside with a syringe. “No,” he cries and pulls the blanket above his head. “Don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me.”

He doesn’t feel the prick when the doctor’s make another IV line and he doesn’t feel the haloperidol as it slowly calms him down and lulls him into sleep.