All in my Mind

IV.

So the thing about the Bee was that Alexander couldn't stop thinking about it after it happened. He tried really hard, but it just hung in the back of his mind buzzing like it was actively still flying around his head or something. He was a smart kid, and he had a really logical way of approaching things like that. He came up with multiple plausible theories.

He was actually really stressed on the day that it happened. He was having a good time with his friends obviously, but he also had a test in calculus that he was going to be a little late for. He didn't actually like calculus at all, but he liked how smart people thought he was when he told them he was acing it, so he had studied extensively. He understood it, but it was still hard. Even for him. He just didn't like math tests.

Also he had a 9 year old sister named Emily, and Emily had been sick that morning. It wasn't the big sick or anything. She'd actually been in remission for more than a year, but she'd woken up with a cough and a stomach ache. When your little sister has had a raging fucking cancer before, every time she coughs you can't help but worry. Emily was fragile. Recovering from cancer isn't ever actually a full recovery in a body that small. It has lasting damage.

So he deduced that he was stressed and that's why he was imagining bees that weren't there. Stress induces the brain to do crazy things. He'd read that in several textbooks.

But then why did he have a delusion that it was going to kill him? He'd never been allergic to bees. He'd actually been stung once as a child, so he knew that for sure, but the feeling wouldn't stop. He'd genuinely gone so far as to Google whether or not someone could become spontaneously allergic to bees. Why had that bee made  him terrified? Why had his brain constructed a whole situation of death and fear and carnage?

With those questions, something else came to mind. His father.

Because really, when I think about our father, I know that it wasn't the bees that signified the beginning. It went much further back than that.

"It was my dad," I said to O'Conner, when I sat down in her office that day. A day had passed since waking up in a medical bed. Maybe more. I'd had a lot of thoughts. I'd also eaten two more bananas and some toast. I'd taken my pills and the multivitamin. I'd changed my clothes. I was being an exemplified version of a good little psych patient.

O'Conner had noticed me walk in, but she still looked surprised to find me talking to her so immediately. She hadn't even put her book down yet. I was early. She was reading a book about relationship struggles. I'd have bet money she was getting a divorce.

"Your dad?" She asked curiously. She folded the corner of her page down like a heathen and then closed the book. For the record, I did the same thing with the library books.

"You asked about the beginning," I clarified. Didn't she want me to talk? She needed to look less surprised. She was gonna trigger my brain fog and it was going to drag me back into the hole. If I stopped eating again, I was blaming her.

"And you've been thinking about it for several days now?" She asked like it was almost amusing. She was doing a terrible job. I was thinking about leaving again. Thanks a lot O'Conner.

"My dad," I repeated determinedly. "He's the start."

Here's the thing about Alexander's dad: he was gone. I mean, Alexander was pretty sure he wasn't dead, but he definitely wasn't around. He left when Alexander was 13. Emily was 5 and was in the midst of the leukemia battle royale. Things were already very tense.

He didn't just up and leave one day though. He cracked under the pressure actually, and eventually Alexander's mom told him to get out before he took someone down with him. It was a reasonable move. The guy was literally cracking at the seams. He wasn't the same as he was before. I'll touch more on the specifics of that later.