All in my Mind

XV.

I'm not an idiot. I have a sort of baseline self awareness for what's happening even if it's more distorted than your normal. I know the workings of my own brain.

I was doing better than average.

"I think this is the best bloodwork I've ever gotten out of you," the doctor observed. He was referring to the labs he took the day before. Apparently I'm glowing with progress.

"I could mess them up if you'd like," I offered just to be a little combative. Consistency is key. "Someone offered me meth yesterday. Meth would throw off the levels."

He ignored me and kept his eyes on the paper. I could see his pupils darting across the lines of my metabolic success. Not starving yourself had its perks health wise. I was lying about the meth anyways. I had heard a rumor that there was a meth deal in the game room, but I don't go there and I also wasn't invited. I'm not even totally positive it was a real interaction.

"I think a few more weeks on the cast," the doctor was saying, without looking up from the paper. I thought that was rude. He could atleast look at me while delivering shitty news like that. "That fracture still needs to solidify."

"I'm going to rip it off like a lunatic," I replied icily.

Still, he ignored me.

I was sitting in the little exam room in medical center. It was just the regular check in. For once, he'd not bothered to ask me about the pills. It was apparently common knowledge that I was taking them still. For now, anyways. Everyone was very proud.

He finally looked up from his packet of papers, like he could feel my gaze.

"I'm going to feel like a broken record when I say this Alexander—"

"Alex," I corrected him immediately.

"Alex," he agreed. Then he continued on undeterred. "But as I've consulted with you team lately, we've determined that it would be incredibly beneficial if we all encouraged you to participate more in the community. There are support groups and classes and all kinds of things you could be doing to better use your time here."

See, this is what bothers me. A few weeks ago, they were literally giving me daily fluids for nutrition and begging me not to kill myself. The second I give them an inch, they demand a mile. I hadn't tried to off myself in weeks. Why wasn't that enough? Why the moving goal posts?

"No," I said. I didn't mean to sound as bored as I did, but I wasn't correcting it either.

He eyeballed me for a moment in a really quiet and thoughtful way. It was honestly a quieter assessment from him than I was used to.

"It would be good for you to consider," he said eventually, in a way that made me think he was conceding a little bit.

"I've considered it," I promised. I raised my eyebrows so he could infer what outcome my brain had truly settled on after those considerations.

His lips were in a thin line as I hopped off the table. The impact of my bare feet hitting the ground wasn't as comfortable as I'd hoped, but I willed myself not to flinch and went straight to the door without being dismissed.

"You're being an asshole."

That one actually made me pause in the doorway. I felt pathetic for doing it, but I literally couldn't stop myself. I glanced back at the doctor. His eyes were angled down at his papers again, like he found them more important than my actual presence.

"Danke, dass du an mich gedacht hast," I said in an intentionally harsh tone, knowing full well he wouldn't be able to understand me. I was actually impressed with myself. I didn't think I could accurately pronounce something that long.