Monday, September 05, 2011

Mind Over Mind: Letter from Deryl

Dear Mom,

I'm 18 today. Legal to vote, legal to go to war--

That is, if I weren't committed in this asylum.

I don't blame Aunt Kate and Uncle Doug. Things were so confusing for so long. There were days I could barely hang onto my own name. There were too many other thoughts, too many personalities that wanted to impress themselves on me. How do you explain that to people without sounding crazy? Who was going to believe that I was psychic?

You would have. You'd have tried to help me. Why did you have to die? You saved my life that day, but for what?

I'm sorry, Mom. That's not fair. You didn't want to die. I'm sorry.

So, anyway. Eighteen today. We had a party. It was dismal. The cake was chocolate because Aunt Kate believes that normal people love chocolate. She's pregnant again--this child will live, I know it. I told her, too, but I don't know if she believed me. Uncle Doug snuck in some liquor, which Dr. Edith promptly confiscated. Still, it was the first time in a long time he's treated me with something other than pity or concern. Guess that means a lot, considering. Oh, and Edith got me something--a new friend. Not a dog or anything, but an intern. Joshua Lawson. He's arrogant, but I don't think he's a jerk. Just very, very sure of himself. Guess I'll be taking him down a peg or two.

I'll tell him the truth about my abilities. He won't believe me, but he'll pretend to--it's part of his psychiatric technique, neuro-linguistic programming. Like I'm a computer. But who knows? Maybe it will work. Heaven knows medication and meditation have done oh-so well. If it does, I'll have to hide it, though; Malachai likes his little guinea pig under his control. Gonna be an interesting summer.

Still, I hope it works. I need to get out of here, one way or another. Even if I skip the country and live my life on a deserted island, at least it will be my life, right? Who needs people, anyway? People are just headaches and confusion.

I don't know why I'm writing this, other than I promised Edith I would. She promised she wouldn't read it, but I'm going to burn it, anyway. Let's face it--psychic powers, "take him down a peg," not to mention the stuff about Malachai. I sound crazy, violent and paranoid. Just like you'd expect a committed teen to act, right?

Anyway, I feel Joshua coming down the hall. Edith actually let him sneak out the booze. I'm not legal drinking age, anymore, but I guess if I can't go to war or vote, right? I'll toast you, Mom. I love you and I miss you. I am grateful that you gave me life. Don't worry; I'll figure out what to do with it.


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