Imagine [UNEDITED, ON HOLD]

Chapter 6: Niall

[Age 15]

I changed into a pair of red plaid pajama pants and a grey t-shirt. The smell of hospital was overwhelming. I'd only been living here a week, and I still wasn't used to the sharp antiseptic smell, nor the sterile fluorescent lights, almost blinding me.
I sat on the bed and sighed. I hated it here. I didn't need to be here. But I was.
My parents thought I was crazy, and brought me in to the hospital. I was diagnosed with maladaptive daydreaming disorder, schizophrenia, and bipolar disorder.
In reality? I had none of them.
The truth was, they were all just memories I couldn't control. I was fulfilling my duty of protecting Jade, so I would get random bits of her life, except I couldn't choose when.
I could be walking down to the shops or at the cinemas with my family and I'd just lose myself. At first I thought I was going crazy, but then I realised what it truly was. Of course, nobody believed me, instead it just backed up their claim that I was mentally ill.
I seriously doubted this.
Maladaptive daydreaming disorder is when you have daydreams that are vivid, complex, and you can't control them. They screw with your life. Schizophrenia is partly the same thing, but more serious with different side affects.
The bipolar diagnosis was because my mood did change quite rapidly. I'd be laughing at a comedy program on the television, and then suddenly I'd have a "daydream" and snap out of it and be sad.
After the diagnosis, the doctors consulted with my parents. Since I was only fifteen, and with my parents' and doctor's consent, I was forcibly(and legally) admitted to the psych ward for crazies.
To be fair, I was only surrounded by other teenagers that were depressed or something, not actual full scale mentally ill adult patients.
But it still sucked.
I was taking medication for diseases I didn't even have, and the result was depression.
I found myself spiraling into the same despair Jade was facing in the memories I was able to see. How could I protect her when I could barely protect myself?
I passed the time by singing. I'd always had a guitar in my room at home from a young age of twelve, but I'd forgotten most of the chords I'd learned.
I requested a guitar.
They allowed it.
When I wasn't doing schoolwork or sitting through long hours of group and personal therapy, I was playing guitar. It made me happy in a way only Jade did.
I'd strum different chords, I'd start picking, and then I began singing. I'd become so obsessed that I'd walk around the hospital with the guitar strung over my back.
Even when I wasn't playing, I'd finger a G chord and pretend to strum it, shifting into an A minor and then an E minor, my fingers selecting the right strings without me even realising I was doing it.
"Niall?"
I looked up. "Oh, hey, Jake."
"How are you?"
"I'm fine."
Jake was my favourite nurse, but following protocol, he had to ask the same boring shit questions when I talked to me.
Finally he relaxed into normal people speak. "Yeah, sorry, mate, it's time for your meds."
"Yeah, alright, fine. Give it here," I sighed. My hands claimed the two Dixie cups of pills and water. I inspected my medicine to check for anything new. I saw the same white round pill(two of them) with blue print on them, a plastic coated long one with orange powder on the inside(one of them), and three plain whites, the anti-depressants, and the only pills actually useful to me. I downed them in one go, swallowing the water down quickly.
"Thanks, Jake. Oh yeah, tomorrow I don't think I'll be in for the lesson," I said.
"Why?" He looked surprised.
"Just feeling a bit tired and a bit ill. You know, legit ill. My throat's sort of hurting and I just feel so exhausted. I reckon a bit of sleep will do me good," I lied.
"You sure?"
"Of course."
"Horan, if you're lying to me, I swear to God--"
"Jake, calm down, man. Besides, what's the worst that can happen? I'm in a goddamn hospital anyway," I reminded him.
"Yeah, alright. I'll put the sign on your door. Lights off?" he asked. I nodded.
He left, the closed door shutting out all of the illumination except the few monitors.
I switched the light back on. If I was going to be here for a while, which it looked like it, this room had to not look so creepy.
I taped a yellow khaki colour tissue paper over the white lights to make the glow look the slightest bit more natural. I put some pinups on the wall of some singers and footballers I liked. I took out a black sharpie and wrote Jade on the bed frame where nobody looked. I stacked my closet with normal clothes.
I refused to wear the hospital gowns, they were ridiculously ugly and failed spectacularly to function as actual clothing.
So my wardrobe consisted of sweatpants, pajama pants, and grey t-shirts with the occasional black or grey jumper or sweatshirt.
But I was done with that shit. Along with the room decorations, I asked my mum to bring me some of my normal clothes, the jeans, the plaid shirts, the vans. I started bleaching my hair again.
Of course, I was still slightly depressed from the crazy people meds I was shoving down my throat each day, but I figured the sooner I made an effort the sooner I'd be out.
Why did I want to be out?
I wanted to be a singer.
That's what I decided.
But at the same time, I couldn't help but think about what others would think.
I saw how it was; you become famous and you lose any sense of security and privacy you had. I could imagine the tabloids filled to the brim with a thousand articles saying the same thing.
Niall Horan, singer, pop star, mentally ill teenager.
I tried to pretend that wouldn't happen. Maybe it wouldn't. If I tried my best and just forgot about Jade.
Instead, I developed a new form of therapy to get me out of the hell hole that was the hospital. Honestly, it wasn't that bad, but I still hated it.
Whenever I felt a memory coming on, I'd start playing. That way, I was trapped between reality and the memory, but I was conscious enough to appear just lost in the music.
Then, I'd write down everything I'd seen before I forgot.
It worked.
A month later I was out of the hospital and back home, but I still had to take the pills. I felt like a test subject. All the kids at school thought it as well. When they heard I was in the hospital ward for crazies, they pictured me strapped down while a needle prodded my arm and scientists in bleached coats and rubber gloves mixed phials of chemicals that bubbled and hissed.
It couldn't have been more far from the truth.
I tried to explain that my schedule consisted of Netflix, school work, eating, guitar, and brief therapy, but nobody listened.
So I changed secondary schools where I could start fresh. Everybody thought I was cool for playing guitar, and they thought I was such a bad boy for being able to walk around with the instrument slapped onto my back.
It was only allowed because my doctor knew it helped, but I pretended I was just a badass. Why not?
When I was just turning sixteen and about to start my A-levels, the memories stopped. I didn't know why. I had a theory that the medicine was actually provoking the memories and "daydreams" and since I started crushing the pills and flushing them down, I'd stopped having the memories.
The truth was, they stopped because Jade had finally gotten her shit together and didn't need me to watch her anymore.
She didn't need me till I showed up again, but I was there in person that time, and I wasn't leaving. I wasn't making the same mistake.

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I feel like this is necessary disclaimer; this is fiction. I don't thinks niall was ever admitted to any variation of a mental hospital or treated for any mental illnesses.