Medication:
Chapter Three: What Makes Me Real?
I get to my job; I'm a secretary for a very nice lady. She's the head stylist of Fabu-Locks, I believe. My therapist lined it up for me.
She calls my name with a harsh voice, but I know it's only because she's such a stressed lady.
"Stewart! STEWART!" she calls.
"Coming." I say.
I think my name used to begin with a P, or maybe an L or something. But my therapist changed it to Stewart Smith.
"Tell that fat bitch Miss Marloe I can't take her this afternoon."
"Right away. And if she asks why?"
"Because she's a horrible, ugly whore. That's why. And I've got a much more expensive client to do."
I swallowed. Sometimes she frightens me. "Right away, ma'am."
"Oh, and Stewart?" she says, just as I turn to leave the room.
"Yes?"
"You're a fag. That's all I wanted. Thanks." She curled her lip at me.
I left swiftly. She gives me tingles. Not the good kind that the dark-haired girl gives me. Bad kinds.
I rush out to the phone, and cancel the appointment with Miss Marloe. She's a bit...Loose. But she's never been openly mean to me, so I can't say much about her.
I go about my day as per usual.
I eat my salad at lunch. I'm not allowed greasy food, or junk food. My therapist says I used to eat it before. I'm not allowed to have tacos, either. Or sporks, for some reason. He says I was very dangerous with a spork. I'm also forbidden from drinks or candies flavored cherry, especially cherry soda, or cherry brainfreezys.
"That's wacky." I smirk, and whisper to myself. My therapist says to use the word 'wacky' in a sentence at least once or twice a day.
He says it's really good for me.
I don't know what to do with myself sometimes.
When I get home, it feels like there's...A part of my day missing, or something like that. It feels like I'm not supposed to be there.
My therapist says it's all in my head, that I should do things like play card games. Solitaire was a suggestion, I think. I should learn another language, since I have the time.
Solitaire.
Language.
Solitaire for my solitary life.
Why learn a language when there's no one to talk to? Sometimes my therapist makes stupid suggestions –
I gasp loudly.
I have the biggest tingle I've ever experienced.
Shakily, I shove my hand in my pocket and take out the little orange pill bottle. I shove a pill in my mouth, and take a swig from my water bottle.
It goes down sticky.
I suddenly get this notion that I shouldn't be taking these pills.
But it quickly passes, just like the tingles.
The pills take immediate effect.
I am calm again. Boy that was weird. I don't like it. At any rate, the rest of the day goes simple, and nice. As usual. Then after here, I see my therapist, then I go home.