Disclaimer- I do not own The Outsiders
May 1966
The haze that had filled his mind the past months was unrelenting and has the medicine had increased he found himself more dazed and tired than ever. He spent more time sleeping then he did with eyes wide opened and awake. He used to be filled with dark thoughts, morbid memories and impulses that haunted him through his endless days and nights.
Now these it seemed that this thoughts had banished themselves into the depths of his unconscious. Any other thought worth cognition seemed to have whisked itself away. At times he could not remember his own name.
If he was silent once before he was nearly mute now. The therapy had little more effect on him then to confine his soul deep within. He found himself incapable of the strong intensity that had once before wrought his own destruction and yet he could not found solace.
His heart fluttered and there were times he could not catch his breath but he found no way to articulate this. School work was a laughable delusion. His mother tried but it was no use. He was incapable.
As for Margaret Curtis she hated seeing the young boy in such a manner as that. But there was nothing to be done. Doctor Housemen cautioned that removing the medicine would draw the boy deeper into a depression, increase the anxiety attacks. The irrational fears would plague his waking and sleeping hours. His whole life would be spent in a state of paranoia. He would more than likely try to kill himself. After all a zombie was far better than a corpse.
She wasn't so sure if she agreed with the assessment but if it kept her son alive….. She and Darrel had decided they would listen to the doctor. The thought of losing him completely hurt them both to the point that they were able to take their son in this state, if only just.
When her housework was completed Margaret would sit with her son, reading aloud or working on needlework. Sometimes she would pause and push his hair back, imagining a much happier time within the room. She could see a little boy staring back at her from under the covers, flashlight and a random chapter book in hand.
Sometimes he would give a soft contented sigh, the closest thing to a smile she would receive. If he was alert enough she'd help him to the living room where the pair of them would sit and stare mindlessly at the TV.
If the boys happened to be over and playing a game of poker Darrel would draw Ponyboy from his shell and onto the sofa in hopes laughter might bring the boy some joy. Though it never seemed to come.