Medication:

Chapter One: World of White

I've been living in this apartment for six years. I never painted it. My therapist says color might spark what he calls "emotions" in me. He says I used to experience "emotions" all the time, and sometimes I would let them out violently. He said I didn't "like" people who were mean to me, or treated me poorly.

But who could?

No one likes to be treated poorly, or unreasonably.

...I...I feel a tingle in my diaphragm. My therapist says when that happens; I must immediately take this pill. It's white, with a pink dot in the center. It's got numbers on it, too. He says when I feel a tingle, I have to take it. So I do.

Immediately.

He stressed that word. Quickly, before the tingle develops. Sometimes I think of not taking it to see what the tingle does, but I know that if I did, my therapist would be sorely disappointed. I think it's bad for me.

But I think I'd enjoy the rest of the tingle. But I must do what makes my therapist happy.

And sometimes what makes him happy is not always what makes me happy. And if I make him unhappy, or disappointed, he injects me with something. I don't know what he calls it, but he says it makes me a better person.

I have to see him four times a week, and he's always on call if I ever have "emotions".

Every morning, these men in white uniforms come. They're really great guys. Terribly muscular, in comparison to my small, thin frame. One's named Fred and the other's named Mack. They're nice. They come and take me to my job every morning.

I can't remember much from when I was "emotional". But I do seem to remember myself having darker hair. I have blonde hair now. Blindingly blonde. I like it like that. And even though there's nothing wrong with my vision, my therapist says to have different color eyes from when I was emotional is good, too. So every morning, I wake up exactly at 7:00. I brush my teeth, comb my hair forward, and put these blue-colored contacts in. Then I 'Veet' my face. I don't shave, because I'm not allowed to have a razor. So I used this women's razor less shave stuff. Then I get dressed. Only pastels and tints, I'm not allowed to have shaded clothes.

I like the look. They keep giving me these shakes, so that I gain weight...But for some reason, my body refuses to retain any weight. Doctors tell me it's because of my metabolism. But I think I remember someone telling me I'd look revolting as an obese person...My therapist says its all in my head, though. These memories I have.

Every other day, I scrub my apartment clean. I live in a nice apartment building in the city now. For six years. Instead of with the other patients in the institute.

I cook my own food. Usually pre-made dinners. Again, I'm not allowed to have many sharp things. I just got the privilege of using pens and pencils a couple years ago. Forks, too.

Also, though I never say anything to anyone about this, I keep it my secret, I remember a woman. I'm supposed to tell my therapist whatever I remember about before. But I keep this woman a secret. I think she's special to me. Really special. Short, dark hair, really thin. Green eyes. Normally when I think of her, I get a tingle and I have to take a pill. But I just took a pill a few moments ago, so I think that's canceling out the tingle.

It makes me happy to know that I'm improving vastly.

I'm not allowed to have a TV. Only a radio. And I'm not allowed to listen to music. Just news. My radio is gray.

But other than the dark haired girl...My life is just fine.

I'm good.