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Authors: Sheri Whitefeather
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105. Auditory or visual
hallucinations, like the “people” Abby routinely saw, often
factored into it, too. Speech and reason could become disorganized.
Paranoia, of course, was another common symptom. In cases like
Abby’s, the capacity to care for one’s self was at risk and
required more than just medicine.
Abby was still clinging fiercely to
her people. She continued to talk about the warrior, too. Although
he’d yet to appear to her, she defended his absence, insisting he
would show up when the time was right.
For me, the time would never be
right.
But by next year, it would be okay.
Both the warrior and I would be twenty-one by then, the age of his
predestined death, and he would no longer be an issue.
Or so I prayed.
I hadn’t told anyone, not even Aunt
Carol, about him. He was a secret that Abby and I kept to
ourselves.
But at least I wasn’t hiding from my
fears altogether. Instead, I’d taken what I hoped was a proactive
approach. I’d joined an online schizophrenia support group, and
some of the members were meeting in person this afternoon. I needed
an outlet that wasn’t manned by mental health professionals, like
the family counseling sessions at The Manor. This would be much
more casual.
Exhausted from lack of sleep, I
climbed out of bed and went into the bathroom to shower, letting
the warmth of the water soothe me.
Afterward, I blew dry my hair and
brushed it until it gleamed. I did my makeup, as well, adding
precise placements of color to my fair complexion. I was fanatical
about my appearance, determined to separate myself from Abby’s
unkempt grooming habits.
Next, I searched my closet for
something to wear. I chose a bright blue dress that enhanced my
eyes, but quickly changed into a minty green one instead. Sometimes
when I wore blue, I looked too much like Abby.
I glanced around my room. It used to
be riddled with frilly doodads and pop star paraphernalia, but now
the décor was sleek and subtle, with natural woods and grown-up
accents. This had always been my room, with Abby’s being down the
hall, except that Abby always wanted to stay in here,
too.
I opened my door and caught the
delicious scent of bacon and eggs wafting in the air.
Immediately growing hungry, I entered
the kitchen where Carol was making breakfast. Not only did we live
together, we also worked together at Carol’s consignment shop. But
today was my day off, giving me the opportunity to pursue the
meeting.
“ Morning,” my
sixty-three-year-old aunt said, pushing a strand of graying brown
hair away from her eyes. She wore her usual morning attire: a
cotton nightgown, soft-soled slippers, and a smidgen of hastily
applied lipstick. “Have a seat. It’s almost ready.”
“ Thanks.” Although I
appreciated her nurturing nature, I was concerned about Carol
turning into a lonely old hen. My life wasn’t so great, either. I’d
never even had a boyfriend. Like Carol, I spent so much time
focused on Abby, I’d missed out on the types of things I should
have been doing. The heartbeat in my head didn’t help, either. How
was I supposed to think about having a relationship with the
warrior rattling around in there?
“ Are you going to L.A.
today?” Carol asked.
I nodded. I’d told my aunt about the
online group, but I hadn’t gone into detail. Carol wasn’t keen on
it. Even now she was frowning.
“ How many of you will be
there?”
“ There’ll be four of us,
including me. We’re the only ones who live close enough to see each
other.” Or sort of close. I was about sixty miles from the
gathering.
“ Are any of them
ill?”
The question made me flinch, along
with the ever-present fear of becoming like Abby. “It’s a support
group for family members, not for people who have it.”
“ How much have you said
about yourself?”
“ Mostly I just lurk and
read everyone else’s posts. But I did mention that I have a
sister.”
My aunt hesitated. “Are you sure this
is a good idea? Going off
hallucinations, like the “people” Abby routinely saw, often
factored into it, too. Speech and reason could become disorganized.
Paranoia, of course, was another common symptom. In cases like
Abby’s, the capacity to care for one’s self was at risk and
required more than just medicine.
Abby was still clinging fiercely to
her people. She continued to talk about the warrior, too. Although
he’d yet to appear to her, she defended his absence, insisting he
would show up when the time was right.
For me, the time would never be
right.
But by next year, it would be okay.
Both the warrior and I would be twenty-one by then, the age of his
predestined death, and he would no longer be an issue.
Or so I prayed.
I hadn’t told anyone, not even Aunt
Carol, about him. He was a secret that Abby and I kept to
ourselves.
But at least I wasn’t hiding from my
fears altogether. Instead, I’d taken what I hoped was a proactive
approach. I’d joined an online schizophrenia support group, and
some of the members were meeting in person this afternoon. I needed
an outlet that wasn’t manned by mental health professionals, like
the family counseling sessions at The Manor. This would be much
more casual.
Exhausted from lack of sleep, I
climbed out of bed and went into the bathroom to shower, letting
the warmth of the water soothe me.
Afterward, I blew dry my hair and
brushed it until it gleamed. I did my makeup, as well, adding
precise placements of color to my fair complexion. I was fanatical
about my appearance, determined to separate myself from Abby’s
unkempt grooming habits.
Next, I searched my closet for
something to wear. I chose a bright blue dress that enhanced my
eyes, but quickly changed into a minty green one instead. Sometimes
when I wore blue, I looked too much like Abby.
I glanced around my room. It used to
be riddled with frilly doodads and pop star paraphernalia, but now
the décor was sleek and subtle, with natural woods and grown-up
accents. This had always been my room, with Abby’s being down the
hall, except that Abby always wanted to stay in here,
too.
I opened my door and caught the
delicious scent of bacon and eggs wafting in the air.
Immediately growing hungry, I entered
the kitchen where Carol was making breakfast. Not only did we live
together, we also worked together at Carol’s consignment shop. But
today was my day off, giving me the opportunity to pursue the
meeting.
“ Morning,” my
sixty-three-year-old aunt said, pushing a strand of graying brown
hair away from her eyes. She wore her usual morning attire: a
cotton nightgown, soft-soled slippers, and a smidgen of hastily
applied lipstick. “Have a seat. It’s almost ready.”
“ Thanks.” Although I
appreciated her nurturing nature, I was concerned about Carol
turning into a lonely old hen. My life wasn’t so great, either. I’d
never even had a boyfriend. Like Carol, I spent so much time
focused on Abby, I’d missed out on the types of things I should
have been doing. The heartbeat in my head didn’t help, either. How
was I supposed to think about having a relationship with the
warrior rattling around in there?
“ Are you going to L.A.
today?” Carol asked.
I nodded. I’d told my aunt about the
online group, but I hadn’t gone into detail. Carol wasn’t keen on
it. Even now she was frowning.
“ How many of you will be
there?”
“ There’ll be four of us,
including me. We’re the only ones who live close enough to see each
other.” Or sort of close. I was about sixty miles from the
gathering.
“ Are any of them
ill?”
The question made me flinch, along
with the ever-present fear of becoming like Abby. “It’s a support
group for family members, not for people who have it.”
“ How much have you said
about yourself?”
“ Mostly I just lurk and
read everyone else’s posts. But I did mention that I have a
sister.”
My aunt hesitated. “Are you sure this
is a good idea? Going off
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