Dear Readers,
Okay. So I know I overreacted. I know that there are hundreds of mental illnesses that have long, blinding headaches as a symptom, but given my history, I couldn't help but illogically jump to schizophrenia. And I was afraid the doctor would too. I realize now, since I've calmed down, that I was kind of rude to that doctor. He was just explaining things to me. But really, he should have read my file and seen that my mom had schizophrenia. He could have, should have assured me he didn't think it was anything serious, given my occupation. He could have been more demanding and assertive, he could have made me listen to his suggestions. But really I know each and every illness that it could be. I know it's most likely just stress from the job; trying, and more often then not failing, to save people from death, really puts a stress on the mind.
The hallucinations…well, premonitions really, could be chalked up to the Orishas. I know I tried to convince myself that I found Julio from that photograph, but really I know he was calling me. Somehow, even before the case started, I had seen that gate clanging in the wind. Julio had called me. And I had heard. I can't help thinking the man with the dog was right. Doctors don't do anything but make things worse. Maybe I should have asked Julio to cleanse my brain from ghosts. But really, I am a man of rational thinking…most of the time.
I couldn't help the terror I felt when Julio handed me his Orula's Ide. That Hotchner was right there, that he and Rossi heard that I needed protecting. They asked from what and I responded truthfully, I don't know. But I don't think I convinced them that I didn't need protecting. And now I wear Orula's Ide all the time. I haven't taken it off since Julio gave it to me. I wear it in the shower, while I'm sleeping, and as much as it annoys me, under my clothes at work. I feel if Morgan, Rossi or Hotchner (or any of the team really), sees it and thinks I believe I need protection, they'll think there's something wrong. And while there is something wrong, they don't need to be bothered with it. It's my brain that's rebelling, not theirs. And I'll be okay…
During the interrogation of Julio…I knew, somehow that he was innocent. As soon as I laid down those pictures, I knew. I played along for the team, but I knew. That intense moment when his saint was yelling at me…I could see Morgan out of the corner of my eye looking between us and the mirror like "WTFH is going ON in here?" I would have laughed had I not been trying to memorize the words…and then my headache was gone…for a few minutes. I knew his saint had done it…or I made myself think his saint had done it. Hotchner was surprised that I wanted to go back in there after the suspect had yelled at me. I suppose it was unlike me to not be unnerved but I couldn't let him get away without knowing what he said. It could be a key to what is wrong with me…because even then I knew there was no tumor in my head, nothing physical to cause the symptoms. And it was strange, Julio could tell, just by looking at me that something was wrong…Thinking back on it…he had been staring at me in the soup kitchen. I suppose he decided that since I was a cop that I didn't need his help…but when we showed up in "God's House" he must have 'known' that he was to help me.
God sometimes I wish I were religious, so I could just pray or ritual away my illness, or that I could just believe and it would be gone. Alas, I am not religious and never have been. But that's beside the point. The point is I really hope I don't have schizophrenia. I know the odds, males in their thirty's, a child of someone with the illness…So either I've been crazy for years and haven't known, haven't even guessed; I'm one of the lucky, unlucky ones who develop it after the prime age; or it's not schizophrenia. I suppose I'll just have to wait and see if I get any more symptoms. And if I continue to wear the Orula's Ide Julio gave me, who cares? Even if it doesn't help, as my brain oh so logically points out, it makes me feel better. Its weight has become comforting. I know. I know it isn't logical. But I'm so scared. I love my job, as stressing and depressing as it is. I love my life, as little love as I get. And I really don't want to give it up for a mental institution. Really. We'll see where the future takes me. Someplace good I hope…
Spencer Reid
AN:/ A big thanks to etienneofthewestwind for the correct name of the bracelet, and for pointing out a few medical errors.
R&R please. =]