Monday November 7, 2005
I’m never wearing that belt again. I don’t know how psychotic episodes occur, or if a sufferer can associate it so strongly with an article of clothing that the problems stop or start depending solely on whether that article of clothing is being worn, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to keep seeing and hearing weird things just because I like a belt, because all my delusions seem to focus around it.
On Saturday, I wasn’t planning on doing anything, but I woke up at about 8:30 and couldn’t go back to sleep. I laid there until 9:00 and then decided to get up. The morning was pretty standard, but at about noon, Walt called and wanted to see if I’m run out with him to pick up some things. He wanted to hit Best Buy and EB and Lowes, and he suggested maybe we could catch a movie when we were done. It sounded like a pretty good idea, so I agreed. I had been lounging around in nothing in particular, so I took a shower and got dressed. I pulled on a pair of the khakis I had bought and the other button down shirt, which had hung out it’s creases rather well the night before. I grabbed the belt of the nail where I had hung it the night before, put on my casual black leather shoes and headed out the door.
Another friend might ask me why I’d dressed up like that just to run errands, and to be honest, I had to ask myself, but Walt was one of those guys who always looked great all the time, and he would appreciate me looking better than ratty jeans and a T-shirt. Nothing really strange seemed to be happening, but I didn’t see anyone as I headed over to Walt’s place, which was just another apartment in the complex. For being just after 1:00pm, the place was pretty deserted. When I got there and Walt opened the door, my good feeling vanished. There, standing on his shoulder was a miniature Walt, but being as close as I was, it seemed like it was more like something wearing a Walt costume, not really a copy. It was whispering intently in his ear.
“C’mon, you know you want that LCD TV. If you got that, you’d be happy. You’d have an awesome TV and everything would be great. You wouldn’t want anything for a long time if you got that TV, which is why it would be okay to spend all that money on it,” it paused, as if listening to something “No, really, you can afford it. Just don’t buy so many computer games. Don’t get a new couch, you’re current one is fine…”
It kept talking, but I made a concentrated effort not to listen. I wasn’t seeing or hearing things like this, and that was that. In “A Beautiful Mind”, Russel Crowes character dealt with his Schizophrenia by figuring out what was real, and what wasn’t and ignoring the people who weren’t real. I wasn’t as smart as the guy he was playing, but I could do the same thing, and little people standing on shoulders giving what sounded like bad advice were clearly not really there, and so I would do my best to ignore them. Unfortunately, since I was pretending it wasn’t there, it never seemed to get shy like the ones I’d seen the night before and vanish, and so it stood there gabbing into Walt’s ear for the next five minutes as he got his shoes on and grabbed his cell phone and wallet and keys and we headed out to his car.
I do have a car, but it’s an old green minivan I got from my parents when my last car was totaled in an accident that was not my fault. It hadn’t been anyone’s fault legally, and so I’d gotten the settlement amount from my insurance and my parent’s had the minivan available. Well, I wasn’t picky and I took it. But I’d much rather be riding in Walt’s black 2004 Jetta.
We made it to Best Buy in short order, since it’s pretty close to his house, and Walt walked immediately to the DVD isle. I got the impression he was intentionally trying to avoid the TV’s. Then I realized that I was thinking this because of what an imaginary man on his shoulder had been saying. The man was still there, and it looked like he might have still been talking, but he was leaning really close and whispering in a really low voice. I quickly ignored him again.
Walt picked up Battlestar Galactica season one, something I had been pestering him to get since I picked it up the day it came out.
Then he turned to me and said “Let’s go look at the sweet TVs and dream.”
This was something we did fairly often when in Best Buy, so I wasn’t particularly surprised and agreed. We walked over and found the Plasma and LCD TV section. Even “on sale” the prices were still ridiculous, but Walt was spending a lot of time looking at a 42” Sony plasma.
“I could actually afford this if I squeezed a bit,” Walt commented.
“No you can’t. You have to be pulling down significantly more than we are to pay for that Jetta, and that TV at the same time.”
“Really I can. I just have to stop going out to dinner all the time and make some cheap pasta dinners for awhile. Maybe hold back on video games. Cancel my World of Warcraft subscription. That’s $180 a year right there. Skip out on some of the box sets I want. At $50 a pop, they add up fast.”
“But wouldn’t having a TV like that mean you wanted to get tons of DVD’s to watch on it? And then you’d have to get Digital Cable, or Satellite to get the HD to really feed it,” I saw that BSG Box set being put back on the shelf in a momentary fit of “fiscal responsibility” but that lasting for about a week.
“Well, that may be true I suppose. But I could do the Satellite, that should be cheaper than Digital Cable, and I’m already on DSL, so my broadband won’t be more expensive if I switch,” Walt seemed pretty convinced he was going to do this already.
“So should I take back Battlestar while you find a salesperson?” I knew he was making a bad choice, but there is a limit to what a friend can do.
“Why would you take it back?” Walt looked genuinely confused.
“You're refraining from buying Box sets to pay for this TV right?” I'd much rather he bought the box set, but if he was going to buy the TV, I was going to make sure he didn't spend more than he needed to. Then I stopped. I didn't actually know his financial situation. I was judging everything based on seeing that stupid little man on his shoulder, and unconsciously believing that anything it said was bad advice.
This really bothered me, because – well, because I always thought that crazy people must be really out of touch to believe in their delusions, and here I was unknowingly letting something that must not be real determine how I saw something. So I stopped and tried to think what I would be thinking if this was just a normal occurrence. I guessed I would think it was pretty cool and be excited. I mean, I've always wanted a TV like that, and even though I knew I couldn't afford one, I would be totally psyched to use my friend's. I was trying, but it was hard to get over my reservation.
“You know what?” I attempted to reconcile a little, “It's your money, and if you've got it to spend on a TV like this, good for you. I'm just jealous. So what can I do to help?”
“Help me pick a wall mount. Damn, I can't believe a metal bracket can cost this much,” Walt had sticker shock, and I couldn't blame him. I started to wonder if he'd considered the extra cost before he had told the salesperson he would take the TV.
“It's what keeps your $3000 Plasma Screen from falling off the wall and smashing to bits. It really kind of should be a bit expensive, but that does seem steep.
“Dude, the sales guy is going to try and push a Product Replacement Plan on me. Do I want it?” Walt had the look of a man staring at his doom.
“Depends on how much it is. I'm figuring at least 10%, which is another $300. I wouldn't pay more than that. Does your current TV have any problems?”
“No, I've had it since Sophomore year with no issues,” Walt seemed distracted.
“If you take decent care of it, then it's not too necessary. You could try negotiating the price down if he really wants to sell you a plan,” I suggested.
The whole discussion ended up being moot because the plan was $549 which was more than a sixth of the cost of the unit. They would drop the TV price $100, but that still left Walt's extra cost at more than 10%, and after making sure there was at least some waranty on it, he forcefully declined. It was disappointing that he had to arrange for delivery the next day and not just take it home. But even if they had let him, his car wouldn't have known what to do with a box that big.
We did walk out of there with Battlestar and the wall unit so we could make the apartment ready for delivery in two days. We spent a couple more hours in stores looking at things and I pointedly avoided looking at people's heads and shoulders, and ignored any voices that seemed suspect, which is why it took Walt about five minutes to get me to respond to his question about getting some dinner. He looked worried when I finally replied and asked if I was sure I was okay. I made up something about being deep in thought and changed to subject to where we should go. He suggested UNO's so we could hit the theater afterwards. I didn't have a problem with that and we headed over.

If I had thought the number of “little people” at the bar was bad, well the number at the restaurant made it seem like they were the in style pets of the year. They were all over, encouraging people to order more food and appetizers. They insisted that if they didn't they would be hungry later and eat more bad food at home. That by ordering a huge amount of food now, they wouldn't want dessert. I sat down and started looking at the menu, and I heard the same kind of voice in my ear. I turned my head and there I was, insisting that I needed to get more to eat than I really did. Walt had two people on his shoulder. This was the first time I'd seen that. One was telling him to order something large, the other was telling him that he might as well forget about money today and just get whatever he wanted to eat.
“Dinner is my treat tonight,” I didn't want him to spend more money than he had to today, and I knew we were planning on a movie later.
“Thanks,” Walt didn't argue, and I appreciated that. We'd been buying meals for each other for years and didn't even feel compelled to keep track any more.
I had to excuse myself after about ten minutes to go and hide in the bathroom for a few minutes. Another two urinal, two stall place with a divider between the urinals. But this time I spent most of my time at the sink with a little cold water and muttered commentary to myself. I was still seeing little people everywhere, and their voices were starting to just disorient and confuse me. I was starting to get twice the information all the time and was having trouble keeping up. When the man walked in behind me, I barely registered him.
“Stupid bitch. When we get home you should teach her a lesson for embarrassing you in front of everyone. She won't mouth off like that again if you teach her there are consequences” there was a pause and the room was silent until I heard the cascade of urine at the back of the urinal furthest from the sink. “Of course you love her. If you didn't love her, you wouldn't bother correcting her. You know she needs it.” the voice continued, like it was responding to something it had heard. I pointedly looked away and walked back into the restaurant proper. We finished dinner and by the time we left, I was starting to get a head ache, but we went and rewatched Serenity. Partially to support the movie, but mostly because there was nothing else we were interested in that we didn't have to wait an hour or more to see. After that, we went back to Walt's place and I helped him hang the wall bracket for his TV, and we watched SNL. At 12:30, the combination of my headache and the last couple of late nights combined to make me deeply regret being awake and I bid Walt goodnight and walked back to my place. I was so worn out that I lay on the bed for a minute before brushing my teeth and getting ready for bed. I must have fallen asleep right away.
I woke up sweating and still in my clothes, but it took me a good five minutes to remember where I was and what time it was. I spent ten minutes reliving my dream in my mind. I have had a couple of dreams that vivid before, but none seemed to be as disturbing to me. I turned on the light, pulled out a pad of paper and wrote it down so I could remember it in the morning to write in my journal. It seemed desperately important that I do so right then. It was one of those decisions that is made while you are still not quite awake.
In the dream, the first thing I remember is that I was wandering around just doing normal things. I felt a sharp pain in my chest. I think I associated it with my loneliness. With feeling rejected. I went to a doctor to be sure, but in the waiting room, and man – and what a man he was, he seemed like a male model. Perfect in form and with an ideal face, he even seemed to light up the room a little around himself.
“A doctor cannot fix your pain,” he said clearly, but I didn't feel like he was speaking English even though I understood him completely.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Your wound is not physical,” he replied. Then he waved his hand over my eyes and the scene changed. I was no longer in the doctors office I had been in. I could still see the chairs and magazines, but I had to look hard to see them, because they seemed insubstantial. I looked down at my chest, because the pain had intensified and saw a gaping hole. Crusted over with old blood, it still oozed a little new blood. I looked up at the man, but he wasn't there. Around me, there were soldiers fighting trench to trench and hand to hand. One of the men waiting in the doctors waiting room seemed to be ducking the shots and occasionally returning fire. We was wearing a helmet and flack jacket that I could see above the wall of the trench. From time to time he would yell orders, directing the other men, then men who I knew were not in the waiting room with us, from trench to trench. He would call in fire support and report when he was pinned down, and the men would respond immediately to reinforce his position. But the other members of my waiting room were simply sitting oblivious as shots flew around them. Sometimes a shot or slash of a bayonet would catch them, and I could see that part of them would stagger or call out in pain as the gash or hole would appear in their body, but part of them would sit there calmly as if nothing had happened. I found an opening and ran to where the active man was to ask him what was going on. He saw me coming and motioned for me to get down. I dove face first into the mud as a shell whistled over my head and exploded ten feet away. I felt the heat as the explosion threw hot matter over me. Then the man called my name and beckoned me into his trench. I threw myself to the floor of his trench and lay there for a minute afraid to move and catching my breath.
After a minute, or maybe a hour, I got up and crouched next to him. I noticed that he had ragged hole in his shirt, his hemet and armor seemed to have vanished, where his heart should be, but instead of a jagged hole like I had, he had fresh pink skin like a wound healing over. He also had holes and injuries in various states of healing over his whole body. But none of them was caked in old blood like mine was, or like all of my companions in the waiting room.
“I didn't expect anyone else here to be aware of what is going on,” his voice jarred me and I stared into his face trying to figure out who he was.
“What do you mean? You mean the war, how can they not see it? It's everwhere around them?”
“And yet you yourself are only just now aware,” his voice didn't sound accusing, it was just stating a fact. I looked around again an realized that this war had been going on for a very long time. The trenches were well dug, and it looked like both sides were occupying trenches that they hadn't originally owned along with ones they had dug themselves.
“But how could I not notice?”
“You didn't want to know. And the enemy has gone to great lengths to ensure that none of us know,” he spoke clearly, and though his voice was low, I had no trouble hearing him above the sounds of battle around us. “But now you have to make a choice. Do you fight, or do you hide, and pretend you cannot see the battle until it becomes true again?”
“I can't fight this! I'm not trained for war. I'd probably lead people the wrong way,” I protested. It was one thing to hide in a foxhole, but if I took the attack to the enemy, I could be badly injured or killed, or worse, I could cause others to be injured or die.
“No one said you have to lead. And training is available to those who ask for it. You can fight without it, and some people are gifted at warfare without being trained, but always remember that you are not fighting alone, and you are not fighting to survive. You are fighting to win,” he reminded me of someone when he said this, but I couldn't remember who.
“You mean those guys you are directing? They are the others you fight with?”
“They fight for him to. They can fight on my behalf, or with me. But we all fight for him.”
“Who is 'him'?”
“The one who gave me my armor,” as he spoke this I looked again and I saw he was in his helmet and body armor again, with combat boots on his feet, and riot shield on one arm and an officer's sword in the other hand. “You have known him since you were young, but you have never known the war he fights on your behalf. Now you have come of age, and you are to join the fight.” Before I could ask again who 'him' was, there was a tremendous explosion nearby and I was thrown against the ground.
When I opened my eyes, I was in my bed in my room covered in sweat. My hand flew to my chest to feel for the gaping wound, but I didn't feel it. It was some time before I was aware enough to turn on the light and write what I had dreamt down. Even as I wrote it, I had a hard time shaking the feeling that the dream had been more than just a dream. That it was somehow true. Shaking, I climbed out of bed, took off my clothes and brushed my teeth. I was awake now, and sticky from drying sweat, so I took a shower before climbing back into bed. When I did, it felt like hours passed before I fell asleep again. My mind was racing over what had happened.
When my alarm went off at 9 for church, I rolled over, turned it off and went back to sleep. My poor sleep had left me exhausted and I felt that rest was more important this morning. I slept until almost noon and when I got up, I didn't feel like doing anything, so I sat around surfing the internet and playing games until I was too hungry to ignore it any more. I made some instant rice and canned chicken and ate it silently. All day I'd been avoiding thinking about the dream, but now as I ate, I thought about it. I couldn't explain why it worried me so much. I got up from my meal, cleaned my dishes and went back to the bedroom. Lying on the floor by the bed was the clothes I had discarded last night after waking up. I tossed them into the hamper, then had to return and remove the belt from my pants. I looked at the belt, and realized it looked right in a way the people in the waiting room looked right while the chairs and tables and magazines didn't. Like it was more real, more there than the rest of the things.
When I saw that, I realized that the belt was the thing that was causing this all. Maybe it is the focal point for the delusions. Maybe I really am seeing things that have always been there, but I've been too blind to see, but if that's the case, I don't think I want to see them. I want to hide from them and live the boring normal life that I've always lived. Just then, I felt a pain in my chest, but I insisted to myself that it was merely a psychosomatic reaction. Just like when you think you might have eaten bad food and your stomach hurts.
If my heart had been shot out and I had a gaping chest wound, I would know. I walked to the trash can and dropped the belt into it. But immediately stooped to retrieve it. If it had nothing to do with the belt, if I kept seeing things without it, I might as well be able to wear it to keep my pants up.