All in my Mind

II.

Stupid questions.

"Have you been sleeping okay Alex?"

Doctors suck. I know they went to medical school to help people, and I know that they have this vast expanse of critical knowledge to share, but they can suck it. I don't like them.

This doctor in particular was checking my pulse or my blood pressure or both while asking me these incessant questions. This was a regular occurrence for us. We were old pals at this point.

At the very least, I kind of liked the vibe of the patient room in the medical center where the ritual took place. The tile floors tapped under my bare feet when I walked in. The lights were way too bright, but the exam table was comfortable, and it sat me high enough that I was still taller than him when I sat up.

"Stop asking me that," I stated in response. They were always watching me on the cameras. They knew I didn't sleep. They knew after Nurse Taylor left, I'd lied there talking to nobody for a while. They knew that after that, I'd stared at the ceiling for hours and they also knew the answer to his next stupid question.

"When was the last time you ate something?"

"I had a piece of toast at breakfast this morning," I said. I stared at him and waited for his rebuttal. His aged eyes seemed annoyed at that.

The doctor sighed disappointedly, rummaging through my report on the counter beside him. "It says here that isn't true."

He didn't even give a thought to the possibility that the papers might be wrong. He didn't even give me the benefit of the doubt. He knew better than that.

"That's because Taylor's a bitch and she's overdoing it with the documentation," I muttered irritably.

The doctor raised an eyebrow confused. "What?"

"Doesn't matter," I enunciated even though I was well aware he heard me.

He sighed again. Wasn't it rude to sigh where it was clearly audible to the patient? Someone should have been reviewing that.

"Alex have you been taking your medication?" He acted concerned like I hadn't heard the sigh. Maybe he was sighing because he was tired. Maybe it had nothing to do with me. Unlikely.

I laughed with a deadened smile that I thought would look bad if I could see my reflection. "No. I told you I wasn't going to. "

And I knew they could see me not taking it on the cameras. They knew I threw it out the window. That's why my window wouldn't open that morning, I was sure. The meds were just sitting on the nightstand this time. I imagined they'd be gone when I went back.

"Alex you need them," he informed me. Then he frowned. His decorum just sucked.

I didn't though. I didn't need to be his little lab ape. I wasn't going to wait around to try his next miracle drug that was sure to 'make the difference.' It wouldn't work. I already knew that much. Nothing made it better. Being catatonic and nauseous and fuzzy wasn't going to save me. He was a general practice doctor anyways. He wasn't the one prescribing this shit.

"I think we're having a professional disagreement," I said with another smile. His nose scrunched like he really hated the sentiment in that.

"Alex, paranoid schizophrenia is treatable," he began.

God, he sounded exhausted by me. I wondered if he stayed up at night thinking of the next treatment to try on my brain. He probably had a list of antidepressants and antipsychotics he planned to consult with the psychiatric care team about sending my way. He probably had plans, more plans, and back up plans about what pills they could fry my brain with. If electroshock therapy was still a thing, I'd have probably been fried like an egg by now. I bet he complained about all of that to his wife at night. She probably wasn't too fond of me. I probably ruined their pillow talk.