Outside My Head

“Angel. Demon. Whoever he was, inside her head, his pounding made her rage. Rant. Weep. Sometimes, to make herself feel better, she took to hitting things with her fists. Walls. Doors. Herself.” 
—Impulse, Ellen Hopkins    

“Life is an awful, ugly place to not have a best friend.” 
—Someone Like You, Sarah Dessen   

I am okay now. I can go to a regular school.

At least that’s what Katie told me. Katie is my psychiatrist. The only person, aside from my parents, who knows about my “special case”.

But my case is anything but special. I was diagnosed with Paranoid Schizophrenia about two years ago when I told my mom I keep hearing voices inside my room especially when I’m alone—angry voices, commanding voices, grieving voices, enthusiastic voices, voices that will keep you awake at night, voices that will never stop until you do what they want you to do… voices that only I can hear. And they’re not in my room. They’re inside my head.

Sometimes the voices are my friends. They tell me if someone is planning to hurt me. And them. So I am always aware. But most of the time, they are like my masters. I have to do whatever it is that they want me to do.

Apparently those voices aren’t real.

When my parents brought me to Katie and she started giving me meds, the voices aren’t as loud as they usually are. Sometimes I can’t hear them at all. But there are times that the meds aren’t working. And the voices are so much louder. They party when I’m suffering. They like it a lot.

I banged my head real hard five times on the wall. Sometimes I cut. Or punch everything I see. A few months ago, I saw a scar on my mom’s left hip. She said she had it when she was young. But I know better. I know I gave her that scar. That was when I saw a shadow swallowed her up. And so I have to stab the shadow with a knife so I can set my mom free. Turned out the shadow isn’t true. At all. I did all of those horrible things because the voices told me so.

I also spent good six months at Harmony—a psychiatric ward for teens at Long Beach. My stay there was hell. I don’t even want to think about it.

Sometimes anxiety is trying to ruin me but Katie told me a technique—I should go hide in a place where I can get my thoughts straight and relax. And the magical slow breathe in through the nostrils and long breathe out through the mouth. I thought it was only a Zen thing but apparently it’s also a psych thing.

But how can I do that here at Arcadia High School. I don’t even know where to go. I suddenly can’t breathe.

Somehow I was able to hide on the gym. I don’t even know how I got here. I just ran. Since it’s almost time for the first class, you can see no one in here. It’s also very quiet. I did what Katie taught me. Breathe in through the nostrils, long breathe out through the mouth over and over again until I calmed down.

And that’s when I realized that I am not alone. Not far from me, a lanky Asian kid with Harry Potter glasses is staring at me.

“Are you okay?” Am I?

I ignored his question and checked the time. I’m late. I’ll skip my first class.

“Hey,” he sat beside me on the polished floor of Arcadia High “Are you okay?” he should stop asking me that question. I am so tired of hearing it.

“Yeah.” This isn’t good. Nobody in here knows that I am a wacko. I’m from Long Beach and we just transferred here in Arcadia about a month ago. Katie told my parents that a new environment will be good for me. But I think it’s absurd. I’m still in LA and Arcadia is just an hour away from Long Beach.

“Well you look like you’re not a few minutes ago.” He said casually.

“So you followed me?” Is he some kind of stalker? Because I swear horrid thoughts are starting to fill my head.

“I was here before you.” I kind of calmed down a little because of that. But I really thought I was alone a few moments ago.

“You’re not going to attend your first class?” He looks like a decent person and Katie told me to make friends.

“Do I look like I’m going to?” a crease formed in his forehead as he said that.

He looks cute.

“Well… no.”

“We have an hour and fifteen minutes to spare. Do you want to talk about anything?” I swear… ad astra per aspera… I made a new friend.

For the past hour we literally talked about everything. He listened to every word I said. An hour ago I was too afraid that he’ll know that I’m an actual wacko but when I told him about it he just smiled and said “we are all crazy, anyway”. 

I made it to my second class without panicking (so much). At least.

I looked for him everywhere. No such luck. I wasn’t able to find him.

But every morning I would go to school early and I will find him at the gym. He said he’s an early bird and I can find him here (at the gym) if I want to talk to him. But when I asked him why can’t I find him sometimes, his only reply will be: I’m everywhere.

I told Katie—everyone calls her Dr. Vuong but Vuong sounds weird to me so she told me I can call her Katie instead—about my new friend. She said that’s very good. And I told her I am able to make friends with people in my class, too. She said even better. I told her that sometimes my anxiety is still trying to eat me up and she told me that’s okay.

One time when Ms. Flowers—my Literature teacher—asked me to read my poem in class, I almost fainted. I ran out of the room without saying a word and halfway through the gym (where I can relax), he approached me. I didn’t even asked where he was going. He never even told me.

Weird thing is that he’s always there whenever I’m having a panic attack. Every time I run out of the classroom, he’s always there as if he knew I needed someone to help me calm down. Someone I can trust.

I have a friend aside from him. That’s true. Now I have Caitlyn. She’s Korean-Vietnamese. She’s beautiful. I can talk to her about literally everything, too. But I never told her about him because he told me not to. I didn’t tell Caitlyn about me being a wacko, too. But she knows about the anxiety.

Things are getting smooth these days. Christmas ball is about to come and everyone’s just way too excited. I told him that he should be my date because why the hell not. He said he won’t be able to come. I asked him why… he didn’t answer. And I rarely see him now and it kind of because I like talking to him. He’s a good friend.

Last time I saw him was about a week ago. But I really want him to attend.

“Have you seen Jae Park? I was looking for him a full week straight but I can’t find him.” I know I can’t ask Caitlyn about him. He warned me not to. But I don’t know how to find him!

“Who?” her brows raised and she I can tell that she’s shocked by my question.

“Jae. Park. Lanky Asian kid with Harry Potter glasses.”

“What are you saying?” she looks… horrified “Jae Park is dead. Two years ago he went to Long Beach but some schizophrenic girl stabbed him twice around his chest.” I can feel my heart pounding in my chest. And I can feel the sting of my tears sliding through my cheeks. “Everyone likes him. Too bad some wacko girl ended his life.”

xxx

Hear me out! :)

First: this is a piece I've written for my lit class last semester. I named the guy (originally) Parker Lee but Parker Lee is actually Jae Park lmao.
Second: I wrote this to show everyone what schizophrenia is like. It's not something that you just laugh about. Or you should laugh about. I want y'all to have a deeper understanding about mental health. You don't go around calling a person who's suffering from mental disorders a wacko. You don't ing say that. You don't have the ing right to insult people.
Third: You will notice that her "friend" Caitlyn called the girl with schizophrenia a wacko. She represents the society. The lack of knowledge of society about mental health.
Fourth: CUT THE ING STIGMA.
Fifth: It's not a horror story. I can explain the whole story to y'all but I'll leave it to that. It's also not fantasy or anything like that. It's reality.. well it could be.