Subcategorizing Insane

Stakeh

April 3/93. I didn't sleep much last night. Maybe it was the way the lights cast a glare over the room because I just couldn't turn them off and my sheets need to be washed because they smell funny… And my room is a mess. I don't like my room much. It's really full and there's not much space and it's hard to get to the window to open it because there's this bar by it that keeps it open, I don't like the bar. It gets in the way and sometimes doesn't hold the window open.

April 5/93. A man complained about the fact that I again didn't have my paperwork with me. I can't do paperwork like he expects me to, because I'm so sick of the way he acts and I know what he's really thinking in that black-matted head of his. I'm not going to be used again like that girl and he knows it but he doesn't get it I'm NOT NOT NOT NOT going to no not because he's just brainwashing us and I can get out of it he just doesn't know yet. Not.

April 6/93. Tearing pages is so much more fun than filling them up with stupid wor—

April 7/93. I think they know, they know and it's not good. 'Cause this woman interrupted me at work today and told me that I wasn't thinking normal and… And then guess what? My neighbor next door gave us a plant. It's so strange I know IT'S not normal because it's so bright and it doesn't fit here I want to get rid of it, but it's really pretty I love it and I want to keep it!

April 9/93. An entry a night is tiresome. So is that cat that keeps mewling and crying and I really want it to SHUT UP just SHUT UP SHUT UP so I can maybe sleep without a bother but no it just keeps going… And my headache is so bad I don't know what I should do what if… Not. He doesn't know yet. Not.

Gaara read over the entries with wide eyes. "My…my mother wrote these?"

A nod from across the table. "Five days before she was admitted."

"Ad…admitted…for what?" he questioned uneasily, insides twisting painfully.

"Mrs. Sabaku was diagnosed at the age of thirty-six with undifferentiated schizophrenia(1)." A cold silence filtered around them, all eyes centered on a redhead who looked like he was about to be sick.

"W…what's that? I mean…schizophrenia…not that, but what's…undifferentiated?"

"A pattern of symptoms in which there is a rapidly changing mixture of all or most of the primary indicators of schizophrenia." At Gaara's perplexed expression, the doctor elaborated. "A show of many emotions such as confusion, inner turmoil, delusions of reference, excitement, dreamlike autism, depression, and fear."

Gaara gripped the edge of the table until his knuckles were stained white. "But what…what could have caused it?"

"It could have been triggered if any major changes were occurring at the time. Usually we find patients such as this who are already in the process of breaking down and becoming schizophrenic."

"So it couldn't have been avoided…then…?" he whispered shakily.

"Unfortunately, the chance of that was horribly low at the time."

They keep saying, 'at the time', 'at the time'. What about before that, huh?

Gaara stood up fast. "I need some air." And time to think.

He leant back into the brick wall, staring out over the manicured lawn and straight through a wire fence at several persons in bleach white, talking mutely.

"…that was thirteen years ago and…"

"Kankuro," Gaara cut in. "I was five, you were seven, and Temari was eight. What you're trying to say is that it wasn't our fault, or even mine."

"Y-yeah, I was trying to say that."

Mint eyes closed tiredly. "Should I go see her? I mean up until now I thought she was dead, not locked behind the walls of a mental institution."

"I know we should have told you, but—"

"It's okay. I don't really care anymore," he snapped at the brunette. "Should I go see her?"

Kankuro bit his tongue, and then answered, "If it makes you feel better," quietly to avoid another cold interruption from his brother.

Gaara nodded curtly. "Alright." He turned and entered through the automatic glass sliding door, a cold chill creeping up his spine when the blunt smell of plastic and medicine hit his nose.

The smell of…insecurity. That was it.

A woman met him by the entrance to a long hallway, just behind the receptionist's desk. "Where is she?"

"Outside with some of the other patients. Come this way."

He was led outside again, though this time, when he turned he met the eyes of his brother, now on the other side of the wire fence, with the bleach-white insanity. It bled through into his vision, and made him blink quickly to try and erase the sight.

After a few more moments, Gaara stopped behind the woman, staring over her broad shoulder at a picnic table.

There was someone sitting there, with choppy blonde hair covering the bare shoulders of her white, no-sleeved dress. White, the color of nothing. The color of insecurity…the color of confusion.

He held his breath, having lost the will to speak. It was like the nothingness had sucked all coherent thoughts from his mind. Gaara was barely aware of the doctor in front of him calling out a name, and the woman turning to look in their direction.

When her eyes landed on him, Gaara felt the most mind-blowing blow strike his stomach and he almost doubled over in pain. Her eyes were void of anything at all; filled with the nothing that etched every inch of everything beyond the wire fence.

Anything, everything, and nothing at all completely compacted into two blue eyes.

"Who's this, Mariya?" a light voice asked, different from the one a five-year-old Gaara remembered.

"A visitor."

"Oooo."

"Come and see," Mariya, the doctor, politely instructed. His mother rose as though weighing nothing (anythingandeverything) at all, and tiptoed over, as though walking upon eggshells-already-smashed.

Not like she knew that. She was a madwoman, after all.

"Aw, he's pretty."

Gaara would have reacted if he had anything (everythingandnothing) to react to. Was this the, quote unquote, "dreamlike autism" the doctor had mentioned? Or was that really just talking to oneself? He didn't know anymore.

Mariya gently nudged Gaara. He sent a fiery look to her, then bravely faced his mother. "Hello."

She didn't even blink when a rush of heavy wind swept over the lawn in her direction, into her blue eyes. It was like the nerves had died. "Hi!"

When Gaara realized that his tongue had dried of words and he couldn't even speak, he remembered what the male doctor earlier had told him.

("if you pay her no attention at all, know that though she may not show it, her mind is racing. faster than a normal mind can race. and at any half-second that politeness can turn into anger and rage or fear. she is not as dangerous as, say, a diagnosed catatonic schizophrenic(2) may be, but she still is capable of a variety of things.")

Gaara's fingers curled into fists. "How…how are you today—"

And before another word left his parched throat, "Maaariya, I don' like this'un. He be Asian, I can read it on his face. It on his face, a'iight. Maybes he be spyin' from thems Japs, or thems Chinese peoples 'cause theys all watchin' us…theys all watchin'…watchin'…watchin'…" (3)

Mariya, calm and collected, turned to face the new arrival: a black-haired, middle-aged looking man with several scarred features on his face. "How do you know?"

"'Cause he be lookin' like 'em… his face looks like 'em," the man responded. He stood relatively short, dressed in the same stain-white as Gaara's mother. "His skin be whitish…yellowish… Asian-lookin'. And he gots those eyes. Not naturals. He's a'glarin' at everythings and all… I ain't comfortably 'round it. Nots a'all."

Mariya nodded along with the garbled speech, looking clearly interested and intrigued. "That's a good inspection, Manuel. Maybe you should tell Mr. Carvin? Perhaps we should report this now. The sooner the better, yes? Before the Asian can report to the others, yes?"

"Yes…yes…yes! YES! Now. Rights now. Rights…nows…" And Mariya took a soft hold of the man's arm, leading him through a different door, back inside.

Gaara just knew where they were going, and it made that sick feeling come flooding back to him. So strongly this time, he twisted a hand in the loose folds of his shirt, nails raking through the cloth and onto the skin of his stomach.

Most likely, Mariya was leading Manuel back to his psychotherapist, feeding him lies along the way.

Lead the enemy on with lies, with fake-alliance, after all.

She was a madwoman, after all.

End CH. 1 - Madwoman

This was odd…and short. I got the idea from my Abnormal Psychology (year three in college ha ha) and...well, instant inspiration.

For the writer's block that nabs everyone once in a while. This'll be a short few chapters. Six at the most. Most likely nothing close to that.

1 – Differentiated Schizophrenia is seen usually as an early sign of schizophrenia, before the victim breaks down completely. Mainly the mix and confusion of several different emotions.

2 – Catatonic Schizophrenia is dangerous due to the aggressive nature one with this may show, from extreme withdrawal to extreme excitement. Usually only one and not both together.

3 – My little Manuel dude has Paranoid Schizophrenia. Normally one diagnosed with this shows signs of a messed-up identity, thinking they are someone else of a much higher importance to the point of open activity as this person. Overall, extremely paranoid.

Schizo-phre-nia:

1: a psychotic disorder characterized by loss of contact with the environment, by noticeable deterioration in the level of functioning in everyday life, and by disintegration of personality expressed as disorder of feeling, thought (as in hallucinations and delusions), and conduct -- called also dementia praecox
2: contradictory or antagonistic qualities or attitudes both parties... have exhibited schizophrenia over the desired outcome -- Elizabeth Drew