The Craziness In My Mind
August 29, 2007
It turns out the doctors were very serious about having me come in for regular visits to check on my progress. I feel like a lab rat when they talk about “my progress,” but nevertheless I know I have to go. I shudder to think what they would do if I missed one of these visits. I’m not really willing to risk it, but it is tempting to just not go.
Since my physical recovery is going well, it’s really little more than a routine physical plus a few extra tests and brain scans. Then I get shuffled to a different wing of the hospital to see Dr. Ramos, who is chiefly concerned with things more difficult to quantify and mark off on charts – all the stuff contained within my mind, but not on any level that can be seen on a brain scan.
Like most doctors offices, even though they know full well to expect me, they still leave me waiting for quite some time before my appointment. It gives me time to think, which I’ll admit, is a dangerous pursuit for me. Especially lately.
I’ve had this strange notion for the past few days – or, I suppose, since I woke up from the coma – that I’m two different people. Both of them me, in most every single way. But their lives, my lives, diverge after my wedding. In one version of events, Taylor and I drifted apart, finally coming back together on the night of the accident. I remember this perfectly well, and this is the version I’m most ready to accept as true. In the other version, huge chunks of time are missing and everything is all hazy and confusing. All I have is the vague sense that Taylor shouldn’t be here and Kate should no longer be my wife. It seems like this other version of me is going through a similar, but somehow very different, chain of events.
I don’t know what to make of it. It all seems to stem from what I’ve thought were coma dreams. I tried to discuss those dreams with Dr. Ramos before, but didn’t even have the words to describe everything in my mind. I’m still not entirely sure that I have the words. It’s all just a fleeting feeling or a passing picture in my mind that’s gone before I can quite latch onto it.
Just thinking about it all makes me feel so insane that I have no idea what I can rightfully tell Dr. Ramos without getting myself locked up. Unfortunately, I don’t have much more time to consider it. The secretary calls my name and I’m shuffled back into his office with no plan for how to survive the encounter.
“Zachary,” he says as I enter, as though he’s surprised to see me. “How are we feeling today?”
I take a seat, buying myself time before answering, “Okay, I suppose. Everything has been a little overwhelming, you know, just trying to get settled back in at home.”
“That’s to be expected, of course. No major snags, though?”
“No, everyone has been really understanding,” I say. It’s a little bit of a lie, but at least everyone other than Taylor has been okay. They might be walking on eggshells a bit, but I can tolerate that. “We’re still pushing to get our next album out soon and go on tour, though.”
Dr. Ramos makes a few notes on his chart, then looks back up at me with interest. “How do you feel about that? Do you feel ready for it? Physically, I don’t suppose your other doctors see any reason to advise against it, but I have to make a mental recommendation as well.”
“Right, of course,” I reply. “We’re planning a pretty stress free tour, as much as a tour can be. No one wants to push me too hard, but the other doctors are positive about me being able to handle the tour that we have planned. If I can’t, I think – hope – the fans will understand. Mentally… I think getting back to my music will be the last step in feeling like myself again.”
A complete and utter lie, and I really don’t care. Even I’m not dumb enough to tell this shrink that I’m in love with my brother. I can only imagine the hours he’ll want to spend studying my mind if he finds out it’s that twisted. On the other hand, he may want nothing to do with me at all after that revelation; he’ll just send me away and lock me up with the really crazy people. The worst part is that I don’t think that being in love with Taylor is the craziest thing about me right now.
I realize I’ve gone very quiet and Dr. Ramos is just staring at me, waiting for me to continue. But I don’t have any more words for him. I’ve told him everything I want to tell him. I just want this stupid meeting to be over and never to come back here again. No one can fix what’s going in my mind, and I don’t want them to.
“Zachary? Is there something you’re not telling me?”
I blink a few times and try to push my anger down. “No… I was just thinking about the tour…”
“Are you worried about it?” He just has to keep pushing, doesn’t he?
“No. It’s fine.”
He scribbles a few notes on his clipboard, and I’d really like to grab it and break it in half. “I see. I sense some other issue is bugging you, though. Would you like to share?”
“No. I would not.”
“Then I’m afraid we’re not going to get anywhere. And you should keep in mind, I can make recommendations to the rest of your doctors based on how things go in our appointments. That’s not a threat, just a fact. It’s in your best interest to be candid with me.”
I sigh. I’m still angry with him, but he’s right. I don’t want to tell him everything – can’t tell him everything – but I have to at least pretend to open up. I bite my lip and try to figure out the best way to broach the subject without actually letting him in on all the craziness floating around my mind. “It’s just… I can’t shake the feeling I got from those dreams, if that’s what they were, that I had while I was in the coma. Something feels off, like something about my memory is wrong or something.”
“I see. Do you remember the dreams? It could help to talk about them.”
No, I really don’t think it could. “Not exactly. It’s all just out of my grasp. It’s just a feeling I have, nothing concrete. The dreams were like… an alternate reality. Like I made a few different choices and my life played out differently. But it was so close to reality, and it felt real.”
“I see. It sounds like your mind was trying to put itself back together, then. Your memory was repairing itself, and it played out like a dream. That’s just a theory, of course, and I can’t really back it up with any science. It’s amazing what our minds can do that science still can’t understand.”
“That makes sense, though,” I reply. It’s almost exactly my own theory on the matter, but I still don’t buy it. All of that felt too real, not like a dream at all. My mind wasn’t fractured and in need of repair, my reality was. “So how do I get all of that to go away so that I can get back to my regular life?”
“I think it will only go away with time,” he replies. “And talking about it, of course. But you just need to get back into a routine and get as readjusted to your normal life as you can. Convince yourself that the world you’re living in now is the real world.”
I can’t imagine that’s going to be easy, and I have no desire at all to devote even another minute to talking about it, with him or with anyone else. I have no clue how to fight him on this, though. “I suppose. I’m just impatient. I want to feel like me right now.”
“Patience is something you’ll have to work on, then,” he says. “We’ll talk more about that next time, shall we? We’ll figure out how to stay calm and accept that time can only pass so quickly.”
I have to really fight the urge to laugh at that. He has no clue how quickly time can and has passed for me. It seems to me, at least to some version of me, that time can do whatever it damn well pleases. Either way, I suppose I’m along for the ride – completely at the universe’s mercy. And I hate it. I hate not having control over… well, anything at all in my life, it seems.
“Does that mean we’re done for the day?” I ask, trying not to sound too hopeful.
“I suppose we are. I think you’re making progress, but we still need to work on some of your coping skills, especially before we turn you loose on the world and let you go out on tour. But I think you’ll be alright,” he says with a smile.
I’m glad he believes it, because I don’t. But it means I’ve faked it well enough. I guess I’m good at being more than one person at the same time. To Dr. Ramos, I’m calm and collected, while on the inside, I’m falling apart more than ever before. I’m just glad he couldn’t see that, even though it does feel a bit wrong to hide my breakdown from him. It’s for the best, though. I’m sure it is.
I leave the appointment feeling confident that if I can keep up this awful act, I won’t have very many more of these appointments. It’s a good feeling, despite that nagging voice telling me that I’ve managed to cheat my way through life again. I just want to be my own person. That’s all. As much as I hate to say it, I think that may mean taking a few days away from everyone. As I begin the drive home, I pull my cell phone from my pocket and dial Ike’s number.
He answers after several rings, just when I’m beginning to fear the call will go to voicemail. “Hello? Aren’t you supposed to be at the head doctor?”
“Finished up early,” I reply. “Are you at the studio?”
“Sure am. What’s up?”
“Well… I was calling to ask you a pretty big favor.” This all seems familiar to me, as though I’ve asked lots of favors of him lately, though I can’t recall any. It’s that odd sense of deja vu all over again.
“Okay, well, spit it out.”
“The thing is… I was hoping you could handle things at the studio without me for a few days. I just need to rest up a bit and get my mind in the right place.”
“Doctor’s orders?”
“Not exactly,” I reply. “Sort of a suggestion, and I’m running with it. I just need to be alone for a while… just a few days, I promise.”
“Is this because of your fight with Taylor?” Damn him for being so observant.
“It’s not not because of my fight with Tay…” I say.
Isaac is silent at first, then he finally sighs. “Okay, fine. Just a few days, and then I expect to see your ass behind the drums again, because I’m not letting this fight delay the album any longer.”
It’s harsh, but not unfair. “Okay. I promise. Just a few days.”
If it was entirely up to me, it would be a lot longer than a few days, but I’ll take whatever Ike will give me. I hang up the phone and drive the last few miles back to my house, the one refuge I have left. I sit in the driveway for a long time, just enjoying being alone. Somehow, it does feel nice. I hope that for the next few days, I can turn my brain off just like this, and not worry about all the strange thoughts and memories floating around it, making me doubt my sanity more than ever before.