They do not know me.
They claim to know me, but really, I am a stranger, a mystery left unsolved.
I am another patient. Case closed.
They think they know me, but they really don't.
I can see my breath in this room. I keep telling them, "It's too cold in here, you need to turn up the heat!" but they don't listen.
They don't believe me, even when I exhale mist right in their faces.
They don't care.
I'm just another patient, crazy and not worth their time.
Maybe it isn't cold in here.
Maybe I have some weird, mutant disease that causes me to breath out mist. Maybe I'll die of this disease.
But I really am cold.
They tell me it's because I'm malnourished, and if I eat more I'll have more body heat and I won't shiver and have mist floating from between my lips.
I tried smelling the mist once, but I couldn't smell anything. I guess that means it is mist, not smoke or breath. It would definitely stink if it was breath, and it would be more gray and deadly i it was smoke, so it has to be mist.
If it's even real. The stupid pills that they sneak into my daily oatmeal (the only thing I ever eat, and only once a day) makes me doubt my eyesight. They tell me the pills make me sane. I feel like they're driving me crazy(er?). I don't like the pills, but I can't avoid them without avoiding my food, and if I avoid my food they'll lock me up and shove a tube into my stomach and feed me that way. So I'm stuck with crazy-pills, stuck with insanity.
I've noticed that there is more mist than usual tonight.
One of them said something to me, something that included a strange but familiar word. "Simon, did you finish that math worksheet?"
Simon. Simon, Simon. Simonsimonsimon.
What does it mean?
It's my name, I think. I keep seeing a hand writing it at the top of the papers that are always sitting in front of me. Simon Kree.
Why do doctors like seeing my name at the top of papers? I don't want the doctors to be happy.
I think I'll stop writing my name.
There's some girl, she keeps hugging me and opening my lips with hers and saying "I love you, Simon." I don't know who she is or why she is doing this. Is this a symptom of insanity? I don't know. But I go along with it, because kissing her is actually really nice, and I want to get rid of that little worried look that I keep seeing in her eyes. Something else she says a lot is "How are you doing, Simon? Does your head still hurt? Are you still having nightmares?"
No, no, no. Why would I say yes to any of those questions, the answer is definitely no.
Now that I think about it, my head does hurt a bit.
I had a terrifying dream last night. I think the doctors are giving me new pills, pills that frighten me into insanity.
I was in a car with an older man, and we were laughing, singing off-key with some song on the radio.
Then everything exploded around me, and the air was filled with glass and blood and metal and gray upholstery.
My head was throbbing with pain, my eyes were coated in red, and when I looked over at the man, he was deaddeaddead sosososo DEAD
and then I woke up and I was shaking and sweating and screaming, and there was a woman standing over me saying "It's okay, sweetie, it's okay, you're okay," and I screamed at her to LEAVE ME ALONE!
Then I fell asleep again.
Her face was so sad.
I received a severe scolding from a doctor wearing a Spongebob tie. He asked me why I wasn't putting my name on my papers. I told him I was doing it just to piss him off. He asked why I wanted to that, and I said "Because I hate doctors." and he just gave me this really sad look and told me I could go.
Where am I?
I don't know what's happening...
Everything is so strange...am I dying? Is the mist killing me at last?
I DON'T KNOW.
"NO! DAD! Dad, please, just WAKE UP! PLEASE! Please..."
"My name is Simon Kree. I am seventeen years old. I have been diagnosed with a form of schizophrenia caused by brain trauma. A year ago, my dad and I were in a car accident. He didn't survive, but I did despite a severe head injury. I know this now, but I didn't after I went home from the hospital. I didn't know much of anything, and I thought I was a patient in a mental ward. The truth was that I was at home, safe.
I was finally brought to the hospital after a concerned phone call from my science teacher, and was finally diagnosed and treated. That was a month ago. I'm better now. I know who I am, where I am.
I am Simon."
"Thank you for sharing, Simon. Who's next?"