“Fine”

I’m not crazy. Not crazy. Not crazy. Not crazy. I repeat that to myself at least ten more times, until I am convinced. I’m not crazy. Now the trouble is convincing everyone else.

“Lilly. Are you ready to go, honey?” Mom tiptoes into my room, adopting the same air she’s been using whenever she encounters me. It’s like I’m so fragile, made of glass, and one misstep will make me shatter into a million pieces.

“Mom. I don’t need to go see stupid therapist Dr. Allard, I’m fine. Fine, fine, fine!” I glare at her. “Go ask Milton! He’ll tell you. I’m fine.”

“Who’s Milton?” Mom asks, concern etched in her features.

“My best friend, oh my GOD, Mom!” Mom looks like she’s been slapped in the face. “Stop pretending he DOESN’T EXIST.” Mom looks at me patronizingly.

“Oh honey, I thought you had finished pretending about Milton,” she says in her condescending I-am-an-adult-and-you-are-clearly-insane voice.

Something inside me snaps, and the voices start up again.

...She used to care about you…

...your own mother doesn’t believe you…

...what’s the point in trying?...

...you’ll never make it…

...it’s your fault it happened…

...now look what you’ve done...

...you’re worthless

worthless

worthless.

My stomach clenches.

“Stop it! Go away.” I slap my head. “Get out, get out, get OUT!” Mom stares at me.

“Sweetheart?” Mom says questioningly.

“SHUT UP!” I roar, and the voices shift.

...she can’t even help you…

...why are you letting her treat you like this…

...stupid

stupid

stupid

“Lilly, darling. What’s wrong?”

“YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND AND YOU NEVER WILL! GET OUT!” I don’t know if I’m talking to Mom or the voices in my head. I don’t even know if Mom is talking. Maybe it’s just the echo in my brain that I can’t erase. Taken aback, Mom stumbles backwards, but doesn’t leave. I crawl into a corner, rocking back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Don’t think. Don’t think. Don’t think. I repeat. Mom cautiously takes a step toward me.

“GET AWAY, DON’T TOUCH ME!” She leaps back.

“Honey, let me help,” Mom pleads, tentatively inching forward.

“I. SAID. NO! YOU CAN’T FUCKING BRING HIM BACK! YOU CAN’T FUCKING HELP ME! IF YOU THINK YOU CAN THAN YOU’RE THE CRAZY ONE!” Mom flinches, and finally nods. Tears glisten in her eyes.

“Lilly, you need help. And I can’t force you. But unless you make this choice, things aren’t going to get any better,” Mom whispers, backing out of the room. Once she leaves, I start pacing. To the shelf and back. To the shelf and back. Mindless repetition to help me think. Or not think. I have to think about not thinking because thinking is too much right now. The voices. The voices will come back. As soon as the thought occurs to me, they fill my head.

...you’re responsible…

...the whole world blames you…

...Milton blames you...

...it’s your fault…

My fault.

My fault.

My fault.

The words echo in my head.

“GET OUT!” I unleash a bloodcurdling scream and hurl myself at the wall, crashing headlong into it and crumpling to the floor.

“Lilly!” Mom is upstairs in a flash, but the world goes black before I can process anything.

When my eyes blink open again, a concerned Mom and Dr. Allard hover over me, creepily staring to see when I open my eyes. So naturally, the first words out of my mouth are, “Why are you watching me?”

“We needed to make sure you were okay,” Dr. Allard explains. “When you came in contact with the wall, a slight contusion occurred on your forehead which might have led to worse complications. Additionally, with your current precarious state, it was important that you have an appointment regardless.” Her tendency to sound like she swallowed a textbook hasn’t changed in the slightest.

“My current ‘precarious state’? What do you mean? I’m NOT crazy,” I say hotly.

No one believes me. No one believes me. They think I’m CRAZY. How absurd. Absurd.

“We aren’t saying that,” Dr. Allard says, sharing a glance with my mother.

“What do you mean, you aren’t saying that? Of course you are! You think that I don’t realize it? You think I’m going insane. But maybe you’re all the ones who are really crazy. Maybe you need mental hospitals. You need to be locked up.” I stand up on my bed, backing into the wall, panting hard.

“Lilly, just calm down. We can help you,” Dr. Allard soothes.

“NO! YOU CAN’T FUCKING HELP ME! JUST ASK MILTON! HE KNOWS!” Mom stares at me, as if I’ve completely transformed. I’m no longer her daughter, I’m just some patient she has to treat.

...she thinks you’re crazy…

...maybe you are crazy…

...maybe you’re going crazy and you don’t even know it…

...maybe this is how you’re going to die.

“Nononononononono. Nonononononono.” I curl up in the bed. Mom stares at me, her face turning an ugly shade of red.

“Why don’t you get it, Lilly? What could you possibly not understand? MILTON. IS. DEAD. Why can’t you just move on and face the facts? Then we can get on with treatment and I’ll get my DAUGTHER back!” Mom’s words feel like a slap in the face. As soon as they leave her mouth, she seems to realize what she’s said. She covers her mouth, tears spilling down her face. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” she whispers. Dr. Allard guides her out of the room.

“I need to speak with Lilly. You might not be the best equipped to be here right now,” Dr. Allard says soothingly, pushing Mom gently out the door. When she returns, she perches on the edge of my bed.

“I’m going to ask you a couple questions.” I nod, breathing heavily. “Can you tell me your name?” I roll my eyes.

“Lilly.”

“Age?”

“Fifteen.”

“School?”

“Is this really necessary?” Dr. Allard sighs.

“Fine, Lilly. What are your friend’s names?” She asks.

“Milton,” I respond dubiously. “What is the point of this?”

“You are deluding yourself, Lilly. I’m trying to break this to you as gently as possible, but Milton passed away. You know that he overdosed, correct?”

“No, he didn’t. HE DIDN’T. You’re just lying because that’s the cruel persosn that you are. If you actually CARED, you’d tell me the truth. Milton will be here any minute, then he can show you.”

“Lilly. You have to admit the truth. I can’t help you unless you do.”

But then I have to admit that it’s my fault.

I have to admit that I didn’t stop him.

That I when he fucking stumbled up to me, the drugs were already in his system.

That I didn’t help my friend when he needed me most.

I turned him away

he stood on the doorstep alone.

Then I have to tell her that I found his body

Hours later

Crumpled on our doormat.

Then I have to say that when I checked my phone

Milton left me a final message.

I know that I’ve been acting shitty these past months. But I’m sorry, Lilly. Please, I need you. I-I don’t know what to do. It’s too much. Everything is too much.

His voice cracked when he said please.

Milton never begs.

He’s too proud.

But he did

His final moments,

He begged me to help him.

Yet my final words were

“Get out of my sight.”

I can’t tell her that.

It’s easier to pretend he’s still alive.

To pretend that I’m not going crazy.

To pretend that I’m normal.

Just like everybody else.

“Lilly? Can you tell me what’s going on?” Dr. Allard shakes me out of my memories. Her gentleness suddenly reminds me of Milton. I burst into tears.

“I killed him. It’s m-my fault!” I sob. She manages to get the story out of me, gently coaxing me to tell her. Then she announces that she needs to talk to Mom.

“I have several ideas for diagnosis,” Dr. Allard says to Mom. She rattles off several disorders to complicated to pronounce. My stomach churns.

...they still think you’re crazy…

...she doesn’t want to help you…

...why would she help you…

...you’re just another failed experiment…

...she was never going to fix you…

...you’re too broken…

I’m not crazy. But the words have less conviction. I can’t be crazy. But somehow I wonder if I am. No. I’m fine. Not crazy. Not crazy. Dr. Allard, Mom, they don’t know what they’re talking about.

I try to denounce my insanity.

But with every repetition,

The word ‘fine’

loses potency.

My stomach churns

As I try to tell myself that I’m fine.

Something deep inside me stirs.

What if I’m never ‘fine’ again?