Warning: mental health issues, intrusive thoughts, suicide thoughts, self-harm. Be careful!

***

"Why did you try to kill yourself that night?"

Bastian looked at him for several seconds. Not angry or shocked or anything, he just stared at him. He expected to receive no answer at all and that Bastian was going to just walk away, and never speaking to him again. Instead, he stood there in the doorway, signatures and phone numbers written behind him on the half open door.

“A few things happened... and I didn't deal with that very well. I couldn't ask for help. In fact ... I think I pushed many people away. But then I was left alone to deal with... too much."

"And what-"

"Good night, Asa," he interrupted him politely and without looking back, he walked toward the bathroom exit. He heard the door being opened and then closing, the steps more and more distant.

"Good night, Bastian," he whispered, aware that he had already left the pub.

He sat on the toilet seat for a few minutes, thinking about how much he wanted to smoke and staring at the floor, as if he could read the answers to the thousand questions that haunted him on the wet tiles.

"I'm afraid I'll try again soon," he whispered, to himself.

***

Dr. Juls Laurent's office was warm and comforting, with several pieces of art hanging on the walls. Some were recognizable, others anonymous and crude, perhaps painted by other patients of him. Revie would have liked to paint something for Mr. Laurent, but was terrified that he would not like it. Receiving disapproval from his own therapist would have destroyed him.

"Do you feel like explaining why today is a four?" asked Juls after a couple of minutes of silence, while Revie was busy staring at the plant leaves on one of the shelves.

"Will you increase my medication dose?”, the guy asked, changing the subject, as the question never reached his ears.

The man looked up from the agenda on which he was taking notes.

"If the psychiatrist and I decide it is necessary, we will consider that. Otherwise, no," he replied, in a calm but serious voice.

"I don't want a higher dose," he said, almost in a begging voice.

"I will address this request and I assure you that we will not increase your medication unless it is strictly necessary. Now, I would like you to answer my question without any fear. You know you can be honest here."

The last time I was completely honest, I spent a month in psychiatric hospital.

"It's not – it's not going very well. The thoughts and the voices and... the self-harm thing. I'm not getting worse. But I don't see such an improvement."

"Have you been hurting yourself lately?", the therapist asked as he took notes.

"Yes. A few days ago, and two days ago again and yesterday. I didn’t cut myself in three weeks and then… it happened again." He giggled, but quickly stopped, for fear of sounding inappropriate.

"I think three weeks is a pretty good achievement for you, Asa. You haven't lasted more than a week for a few months. Remember?" He offered him a small smile of comfort.

"Yes, I remember, but... I could have resister more," he replied, avoiding his gaze.

"Relapses can happen." He only says this to be kind, but he thinks you are a disappointment. "Do you want to tell me what happened a few days ago?"

"I..." A sudden flash appeared violently in his mind: an image of himself naked, performing oral sex on a man. He shook his head in response. "I need a moment."

Mr. Laurent nodded, without insisting. "Sure."

"I met a man," he continued. "We had sex. And when I got home, the thoughts immediately started again, even though I had sex with that man to stop the thoughts. And then I heard Ruth's voice calling me. But she wasn't there."

"I'm sorry, that must have been very discomforting. It seems that your mother's voice is becoming a recurring hallucination again."

"Yeah. I hear her voice on the phone, in the house, when I walk down the street." Another flash, a violent, blood-filled image, suddenly shook him, and without controlling himself, he punched his own forehead. The violent sound of impact filled the room.

"Asa..."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he whispered. "Please don't send me out, it went off. I'm sorry."

Juls paused, inhaling.

"I'm not sending you out, but I would like you to inform me when you are having intrusive thoughts. And you also know, I prefer if you don’t hit yourself during the sessions."

"I am having intrusive thoughts," he admitted, nodding. "I won't hit myself again."

"I noticed you were having thoughts. You've violently shaken your head three times already since you came in, I was waiting for you to tell me willingly." Revie apologized in a low voice.

"You rated today as a, uhm, four out of ten, because of that? Are you having a lot of thoughts today?"

"Yeah. Thoughts. Very heavy ones," he replied.

"Have you also been hallucinating?"

"Not today. Not even yesterday. Two days ago was the last time."

"Do you want to tell me what kind of hallucination it was?"

"My image in the mirror was ... distorted," he explained, nervously. "It was like it was staring at me, even though I tried to look away, but my reflection didn't match what I was doing. And I kept hearing footsteps around the house, but ... there was no one except for me. And I heard voices at one point. Outside my front door. They were asking me to open it, but I opened it a few times and there was no one. I checked that the door was locked at least a dozen times before I went to sleep, after I stopped hearing."

When he finished, he realized he was shaking. He felt on the verge of tears.

"It seems you’re going through a very heavy time, Asa. I am pretty worried. Why don't you want us to increase your medication if you feel so bad?"

He smiled, as if the answer was obvious. "They make me feel confused and sleepy, for several hours. I feel like I'm... not fully present, sometimes. Like blurred."

"Do you remember what it was like, the last time you tried to stop taking them?"

"I tried to kill myself."

Juls nodded, and lowered his gaze for a few seconds to jot down a few words.

"I will take notes of the side effects you mentioned and we will consider trying other medications. It is not always predictable how our bodies and minds react to anti-psychotic meds. Do you understand that?"

"May I know what you are writing?" asked Revie, still trembling.

The therapist stopped his pen, suddenly. "Is there a reason you're asking?"

"Thoughts... make me think there is something very bad written there," he replied, truthfully.

"I won't show you my notes, Asa. I just take notes on our sessions, and you know it. I take notes of what you say to me. I have many patients and a limited memory. Notes help me remember useful details."

"I really need to read what you wrote there," he insisted.

"I will not give more power to your thoughts. Because the more you follow them, the more they will keep showing up, more and more convinced and insisting. You want me to give you reassurance about thoughts that are without any logic. I will not give you any; I have explained to you on several occasions the reason."

Revie closed his eyes, nodding. Clenching his hands tightly, he blocked himself from throwing another punch on his head.

He is hiding something from you. He hates you. You're the worst patient that could ever happen to him.

"Would you like to talk about something? Maybe your mother? Maybe the fact you keep meeting strangers to have sex?"

He can't wait for you to kill yourself and succeed. You should hang yourself when you go back home. Or kill yourself in the bathroom in this place. That way Juls will know it was his fault.

"I'll give you a few minutes if you need them," he then added, placing his pen on the desk and leaning his back against the chair.

Revie did not wait long before he began speaking again.

"I think I like a guy," he murmured.