Smog : a state of mind ; accepting the gifted


      ‘I dream of witches and goblins, she is my master and I her slave’, nobody believed me when I said that .They simply called me ‘retarded’. I live in my little room with my friends, who nobody can really see, that’s what makes them so special for me, knowing they are all for myself! There is a human who calls himself the ‘doctor’; he says I am suffering from “Schizophrenia”, a state when an individual tends to live in his or her own world. I know it is all a sham. Doctors don’t heal they take lives and charge us money for it. I resented my stay at the hospital; they would give me so many pills and never properly look after me at all. Sick people! Lunatics! I consider myself to be the only sane human amongst everyone in the world! Oh me and my friend of course. She is special to me. She has always been there when my father would beat me with a leather hunter saying, “You better be dead than be my son, retarded imbecile”. Mother could do nothing but watch, then console me and put me to bed. A lot of screaming was heard almost every night, my drunken father would sometimes beat mother too. I loathed him dearly. I wished the witch once to give me a potion to kill my father but she would say,” There does not exist a potion for the dull hearted like your father, the grim reaper will take his life, not me”. My friend thinks of the witch as an evil friend in my life. She wants me to stay away from her, but I just cannot seem to, she was there for me during my childhood. According to normal humans, my friends live in the spirit world. Liars! If you cannot see them don’t judge them. Although I do have a friend who most people can see, I meet him every other to get my daily dose of “psychedelics”. Good man that guy, once he even gave me stuff for me! I prefer to go to him rather than my witch; she never really has given me a potion. Ever.

This one day they took me back to the hospital after I spoke of seeing carcasses in my bedroom, I know the witch was up to something, and she put the blame on me. I was starting to believe my friend here, but I wondered why she looked after me so much. She was young, younger than I am, beautiful brunette hair always tied in a plait or some rare occasions she had them open, striking blue eyes and cold touch. She brought me peace. I think I was in love with her but I never really could tell her. And never intend to either. I think she feels the same for me too, I may be delusional but I think she does love me too. BUT! I would lose her as a friend then. I don’t want that. “AYE YOU LITTLE SOD! Move it will you, get out of my house right now before I throw your carcass into my fireplace!” his screams never went unnoticed in my street. As the goblins, I mean the nurses were taking me into the van, I saw my mother weeping by the window. Instead of trying to resist them I felt ashamed at myself. My mother was being ill treated because of me, because of my words and my visions. Why would they not understand that I do not live in a world of fantasy but of reality? Maybe I am just gifted more than the rest. Mother called me her “special one”. I was given the special cell in the hospital. Solitary confinement. She was there with me so I was at peace. The doctors were baffled that I did not fight back, slam myself against the walls or the door or scream for help, I hated the fact that they were interested in my talks with her.

“I don’t like what they’ve done to you”

“Neither do I, I can’t seem to my feel my body at all”

“Please tell them to let you go, you aren’t insane! For god’s sake tell them!”

“I can’t, I can’t do it, my mother is sad because of me, and maybe if I stay quiet for the rest of my life maybe she might just be happy”

“What about me? You won’t speak to me?”

“I love you”

“I … have always loved you”


She came closer and ran her fingers down my cheeks, trying to wipe my tears away. Her cold fingers always gave me so much peace. Somebody interrupted at that moment. I was taken to another room, “who do you talk to son?”, “nobody that concerns you”. He had the same hunter that my father had. 1 hour later, “now can I know who you speak to?”, “no”. This time I was electrocuted. It was her, the witch. I tried to scream and shout called my mother for help although I know she was miles away. With each shock, she seemed too drift away. “I will always love you, Connor”. She was gone by my last breath. “I will love you too Snow”.

We always look down on the disabled rather than acknowledging them. There are people way worse than you can imagine, sane and insane. Rather than trying to act forcibly with them, love and care is what they deserve. Be it mental disabilities or physical. In my little story up there, I am not trying to bring to light the image of inexperienced doctors or brutal parents, which do exist in some parts of the society. Only tried to bring you a story from the patient’s point of view of things and maybe how we could try to understand them a little bit more.


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