Prologue

I felt the alcohol losing its influence on me, so I laid down. As soon as I did that, the voices in my head took over: “You aren’t worth it. You have no purpose, you are nothing so don’t even bother trying. Just kill yourself.” Another voice kept fighting against it, and it felt like a fight of demons in my mind. The good voice seemed to have won for a moment, but then I turned around, exhausted from the fight inside my head… As soon as I did that, I saw my arm right in front of my eyes. The sudden urge to grab a knife and slice it open pushed itself into my head, clouding everything else. It consumed me while I clenched and fought against the thought. I know I won this time, but what will happen the next time? I tried getting up but fell back down and pinched myself, hoping to be back to normal, but I didn’t feel anything. It was dark outside when I could finally get up. I was alone. Alone on my way to the bathroom to take a shower but as soon as the water touched my skin and the shower’s glass walls steamed up, I turned around. He was back but where did he sit, where did he wait for me?

I see, your depression is bothering you and I’m here to work through it with you but tell me, who are you talking about? Who was back waiting for you? She asks while she looks me in the eye. 

I feel safe so I answer: Michael.  

Who is Michael? You never mentioned him before.

I don’t know. I wish I would, maybe then I wouldn’t be scared every time I’m alone. 

Is he real?

I look at her, not quite sure what to say. Of course he is, why else would I feel his presence?

I’ll be honest with you… This lets me think of schizophrenia. We’ll have to look into this a little more next week. I’m sorry, time flies and my next patient is probably waiting outside. Take care dear. 

We stand up and say bye, little knowing what would happen next.

It has been a year now that I saw Dr. Andreya but I never felt like anything changed during that time. Depression. Trauma. Schizophrenia. What else was she going to diagnose me with? I feel like a sick person at times even though I know she was not going to judge me. But still, it makes me quite insecure to know something is wrong. You’re okay. You’re perfectly fine, Madison, nothing is wrong with you, I say to myself.

I open the door, looking at my phone to check when the next subway arrives. Then I leave.