The Tale of a Schizophrenic

"The Tale of a Schizophrenic" is a short story which describes Charcoal 's childhood, his difficulty of dealing with his mental illness and his fight with his inner demon as he returns to his past to find one of the biggest coverups of his lifetime. Please note this is loosely based off of real events.

having, relating to, or characteristic of schizophrenia. ''
''I'll never forget that day. I had heard a loud noise, like something had fallen over. I never expected it to be him. I had finished a drawing of us, using my mother's favourite crayons. My mother had died fairly recently and my father hadn't quite recovered from the shock and loss. I was young, I imagined she wasn't completely gone, I believed that the "God" had taken her someplace safe. I didn't believe it, I didn't want to believe it. I ran down the stairs to show him my picture, but instead, I found my father's body, his cold corpse on the floor next to the fireplace. It felt like a dream, a nightmare. The whole room was spinning and my head was dizzy. As I felt myself lose my balance and just before I blacked out, I looked down and saw my paws seemingly covered in red. That was all I remembered. I had fainted from the sheer terror and shock of what I had witnessed.''

''I woke up in a hospital bed, I was unaware why I was there. I would've never imagined what the people treating me told me next. My father had overdosed on sertraline, as far as they knew. I was so young, so innocent, I didn't know what any of their words meant. All I knew was that my father was gone. Forever.''

''That moment changed my life. For the worst.''

''I became, so scared. I was afraid. Afraid of dying. The thought itself made me throw up with fear. They are dead.''

''Was I going to end up like them? Where were they? Were they somewhere else? Were they erased from existence?''

''"What is death?" I thought. "It is whatever you want it to be," said a voice. In all honesty, to this day I still do not have a clue where this voice came from, but from that day I always took it's advice. I wanted death to simply be part of our journey in life. When we die, we are simply taken to the next chapter. I had convinced myself, so I took it off my mind. To me, everything was ok. They were in a better place. Out of sight, out of mind, out of mind out of sight...''

However, I'' realised as I progressed throughout the stages of grief, I would hear a person's voice, but I just couldn't see them at all. Were they invisible? I could hear them so clearly too... It didn't make sense. They would give me all kinds of advice, one specific line they told me was that; "I shouldn't bother anyone with my troubles and keep myself to myself. The release of such abnormal thoughts in sound will harm another's mental health." So, out of fear, I did.''

''When me and my brother were taken to that ominous building of other family-less children, it was a scary place. The other children were hotheaded and threatening towards us, they wanted to hurt us because they were seemingly fed up of new kids taking up resources, but I assumed it was an empty threat to make themselves seem tougher around their "comrades," but they quickly proved me wrong. Me and Fusain got caught up in a lot of petty fist fights and we were constantly blamed and treated as outcasts. Fusain attempted to run away many times, but he was always dragged back and given a stern telling off that never fazed him. It was a never-ending cycle going nowhere. We had become "high-maintenance" thanks to Fusain's escapes and my temptation-induced shoplifting that "someone" had encouraged me to do. We were taken to a social club that other "difficult" kids were engaging in, as the carers of our home thought our behaviour traits were caused by lack of socialising and lack of any relationships whatsoever. Husain stubbornly wouldn't give it a chance at all, but I went ahead. I was desperate for friendship. Ever since my parents died, I hadn't had a single relationship with anyone besides my brother, who is one of the most stuck-up and stubborn person I know, and isn't the best person to get along with at all times.''

''I sat down and watched the others talk, then I heard it, "Why would you even think about talking to them?" I froze up. He always knew what to say to scare me. I must've looked pathetic and insane as I spoke back, from the other's point of view- to myself. "I want to talk to them, I would like to have a friend to talk to." To my expectation, yet surprisingly sudden, the voice replied: "Aren't I your friend? All they'll do is mock you, they won't ever treat you like one of them. You always find a way to creep the others out, why risk your silent reputation? Mess it up and you'll never be free, nor forget." My breathing got incredibly heavy, I felt my lungs breathe themselves in until they ceased to exist. My brief feeling of confidence dissipated and changed into a strong stab of worry and anxiety. I was panicking in the corner of a busy room, I made my condition worse just thinking about that. I cried and clawed at my head for the voice to go away, for the feelings to go away. Then, I felt a light tap on my elbow and I got a fright as I stared at the shocked figure who gazed at me with worry and concern.''