3

Monthly Check-In

“I’m surprised to see you, Iris.” He glances at her carefully through those bold brown eyes, hidden behind thick tortoiseshell glasses. His clothes are dark and light brown, matching his glasses and eyes perfectly. Slacks and a button up. The loafers are questionable though.

“Needed an excuse to leave the apartment, I guess.” Iris darts her eyes at the painting to her left of the famous Multnomah Falls. Flawlessly flowing. A local painting done right; she smiles.    

“You’re lucky I had a patient cancel on me last minute.” His laptop is plugged in on his desk as he’s trying to reboot the system, fiddling with one of the buttons. He focuses back in her direction quickly though. “Iris, I must say.” He observes her all-black hoodie-sweatpants-sneakers outfit up and down professionally. “You look really really exhausted.” Her psychiatrist, Dr. Braydon, finally raises an eyebrow.

“I am. I had to come to you. I’m going crazy, what are the odds?” she laughs out loud. Iris comfortably sinks into the unique cream-colored leather chair, shivering from the freezing rain she’d just gotten out of.

She had been walking for hours in it, down the streets of downtown and Southwest Portland. Dr. Braydon’s office is located in the Northeast area. A three-hour quest on foot, versus a fifteen-minute drive. His office was close to closing when she had called him. For some reason, she felt walking versus driving, having not had any sleep in a long time, would be the safest bet. Thankfully, Eliawa did not join her on the walk.

 “Iris, what’s been going on lately? Any updates?” Dr. Braydon gives her a stern look with his deep brown eyes and naturally straight-expression face.

“Oh, you know, new kitten, picking up some hours at Starbucks, going to graduate in two weeks, still writing, still single, still friendless, you know. Boring stuff like that. How have you been though?” she exclaims in an over-the-top happy tone, resting her chin on her hand. She waits to hear her mid-thirties doctor change the subject and talk about his life instead.

“Iris,” Dr. Braydon sighs, giving her another stern look. “Come on now. You know what kind of doctor I am. Have you still been seeing your therapist? I think you should unload that update on her. I was asking about what’s been going on with your meds. How are your moods, Iris?”

She smiles at him, giving a fake obnoxious laugh. “Meh.” That’s all she can come up with to say.

She hasn’t seen her last therapist for months. The one he was referring to was too judgmental for her taste, so she had to give Mrs. Fuller the boot and ghost her right away, after a solid six months. Eliawa never bothered her during therapy ironically, but always did before or after a session…and sometimes directly in Dr. Braydon’s office.

“Why don’t you tell me what’s really going on. You look like you haven’t slept in days?” He tries to look concerned. “My goodness.”

Iris knows he swims in his own paychecks with a grin, probably thankful he’s not in his patients’ shoes. The psychiatrists and therapists from her past were never mentally ill themselves or had a personality disorder. It was always linked with either “knowing someone,” being “fascinated” by it, or having a family member “go through it.” Surprisingly, many were open with her, regarding their reasonings on choosing this complex and draining profession, when asked about it.

But not Dr. Braydon. He said it wasn’t important, which made Iris automatically not trust him. She had always felt that highly paid professionals should at least be a little compassionate and human-like. Not some robot making a bunch of money off struggling people. She went because she only had to pay a 20% co-pay from her parents’ insurance. Knowing more about Dr. Braydon’s psyche though would at least make Iris feel a little normal, even though she’s far from it.  

“It’s just finals,” she replies, after a brief pause in her thoughts. “Last few days, got about five or six hours of sleep.” The lie is smooth, but barely. The red circles underneath her eyes are obvious. Anyone on the streets would know, clear as day, that she looked like a junkie or someone who majorly lacked sleep today.

“Any suicidal thoughts or seeing things?” he asks half a second later.

That question. That same fucking question every single time. If only she could say “yes” every single time. It jabs her heart this time though. “I-I-I,” she begins, stuttering. Such an off-putting topic to jump to, right after talking about losing sleep from college. “Well, I guess there is-”

“Yes, doctor, all the time.” A voice springs up near the corner of the room, right by Dr. Braydon’s desk.

 “Holy shit,” Iris gasps and cups her mouth as the little red alien appears next to the laptop, smirking in her direction.

“Is everything alright?” Her doctor is completely oblivious, as usual.

“Go on, tell him I’m right here, right now. About ready to rip his incompetent head off. Come on, Iris, let’s get rid of this fool together.” Eliawa makes a strangling gesture in the air toward her psychiatrist.

“No!” she yells at Eliawa, eyes filled with fury.

“Iris,” Dr. Braydon starts. “Why are you not making eye contact with me? Has Abilify been rubbing off on you the wrong way? Please be honest with me.”

“Yeah, Iris, has Abilify been rubbing off on you the wrong way since ‘taking it?’” Eliawa laughs as he begins to rub Dr. Braydon’s head with his slimy hands. Eliawa is filled with unnecessary puns today, apparently.

“How am I supposed to know when it’s only been two days of taking it? You said it could take a few weeks to kick in,” Iris lies through her teeth big time. The Abilify pills were flushed down the toilet at Starbucks for the rest of eternity. She already knew upon receiving them at the pharmacy, that it would repeat the same outcome as her previously related medications.

“Iris, you are absolutely right. I apologize, I forgot you just started this batch and have been off Risperdal for a few weeks now.”

“Correct,” Iris coldly says. She remembers regularly taking Risperdal and it only made Eliawa come alive even more. In no way, shape or form did it make him, or her dreadful flashbacks disappear. Risperdal is the reason she fears Abilify, and the pills had to go for that reason.

“Please tell me if it doesn’t work after a month. It may just take a little bit of time to adjust. Everyone reacts differently to medications. You probably know that by now, Iris.” He softly looks into her eyes. Soft voice.

Slightly attracted since day one, Iris still kept this married psychiatrist around, despite him being dull. Being private about his overall psyche made her feel incompetent compared to him, but he at least portrayed examples of the kind of man she’d want to be with. Powerful, securing wealth, with a slight hint of sensitivity, probably allowing her to still be independent. Probably great at sex.

“’Kay,” she quickly replies, rattling away her stupid fantasy. She was just staring at his gold wedding band a second ago. It was more of an admiration than a crush.

“Oh Iris, you have really pissed me off now.” Eliawa suddenly transforms into an eight-foot version of himself, with larger teeth and wider beady eyes. He is snarling now with black slimy goo coming out of his mouth.

“Stop it!” she cries.

“Is there an issue?” Dr. Braydon grows concerned. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” she lies in a shivering tone.

“Well, what would you like me to ‘stop’ then? You just said ‘okay’ to my advisory?”

“Tell him to stop being such a dick of a doctor.” Eliawa begins to shake his ass in front of Dr. Braydon. He then starts bouncing around the room, up and down the walls. She ignores it. None of this is funny to her. It never would be for as long as she lived.

“Stop the meds. They’re giving me a headache,” she finally says, slapping her forehead. “I’ve felt sick from them.”

“Ritalin and Xanax? The ones you’ve been on?”

She’s silent and just looks deeply into his eyes, emotionless and still shivering from the rain.

“Or…just Abilify?” Dr. Braydon tries to study her current state of mind.

She finally gives him multiple nods, making intense eye contact again.

“I understand if you are nervous about taking it. I would highly recommend another option though, if that is the case. Abilify, or another related medication would really benefit you. After all, Iris, it is your main diagnosis of the three areas of focus.”

He couldn’t even say the disturbing words, “paranoid schizophrenia” out loud to her. He did cut to the chase though, reading her mind that that was the one she wanted to stop. How professional of him. Her doctor apparently knows her better than she assumed. Maybe he isn’t generic.

“Sure, Doc,” she smiles.

Having two kids and a beautiful wife with a killer job and education though, this man still made her feel abnormal every time, him being at no fault, whatsoever. His very little backstory is probably all she will ever know about him: The photo of his family next to his coffee pot and the diploma of proven expertise.

Maybe she is so fascinated by him because he takes the time to help patients with their problems for a living, supposedly having good intensions about it. At least the other medications worked for her…for the most part. Maybe even worked enough to live a decent and normal life. A life though, that would never lead to the “American Dream” life, like he had.

Even at twenty-two, she knows this, acknowledging still being young, attractive, and having plenty of time. Her daily observations of how people treated her, from childhood to now though, had been obvious implications that that wasn’t going to ever be possible. Family, friends, relationships, coworkers, strangers…nothing.

Perhaps she’s an alien herself, hidden in disguise as a woman. Even that would make her feel better about all of this. Before she took Abilify and Risperdal, Clozapine, Quetiapine, and Ziprasidone, became her daily doses in the spur of thirteen years. A medical experiment, she was.

Her mood shifts back to distrusting Dr. Braydon again, a.k.a, “Mr. Perfect.” Fuck this shit. No more. She glares in his direction now. Medical experiment. Medical experiment. Repeat. Repeat.  

“Hello? Iris? You’re spacing out. Are you seeing something that shouldn’t be there? It’s okay if you are. I just want to help you.” His eyes are kinder to her than when she first walked in, she can tell. “I can sense anger in your eyes.”

The meds to get rid of Eliawa never work, and that concerns her. This fresh doubt is now causing the hairs on her arms to rise, wondering if this will always be some kind of joke played on her. Why did meds like Abilify, Risperdal, and all the others work for most people, correctly diagnosed? She knows it damnwell should work for her too, after going through all those tests throughout her life. None of this makes any logical sense.

“Can you blame me? I am agitated. I want to get better, and it’s taking way too long to rectify, Josh.” She holds back the progressing grit inside her teeth.

“Dr. Braydon, Iris, please, call me Dr. Braydon,” he corrects, naturally.

Eliawa’s jaw drops. “Good God, what a joke. Medical professionals, Iris. This is why we don’t need this kind of person in our lives. You’re better off.” Eliawa shakes his head. He’s leaning against the desk now, actually behaving...but still in eight-foot-form, looking very out of place next to the tiny desk.

“Sorry, Dr. Braydon,” she says, embarrassed.

“It happens,” he says, sitting up in his chair with a wry smile. “So, Ritalin and Xanax are still working out for you, I presume?”

She gulps loudly, nodding.

“Good.” He writes something down on a piece of paper. She had sworn that he noticed her red eyes earlier, saying she looked exhausted. Many patients abuse this drug, studies have shown with Ritalin. What a joke. He doesn’t care. Never did.  

Eliawa bursts out a laugh so loud, the entire building would probably hear it if they could also see his existence. “Oh, are they ever so good, Doctor?! Iris, why don’t you tell him how you downed a bunch of speed earlier? Come on now, be fair. You were asking to bury your own grave. How about we not subtly try and kill ourselves next time? I need you to stay alive for me. It is not your time to leave the planet yet, Iris.” Eliawa begins to bat his eyes with a small smirk. His eyes become bug-eyed and cute now. He goes back to his four-foot size.

“I swear to God,” Iris snaps.

“I beg your pardon?” Dr. Braydon’s face is a little flushed now. She can tell her doctor is trying to keep it together, even though she knows he’s dealt with crazier patients. “Iris, I’m concerned.”

“Fine, you know what? I want off everything!” she barks. “Ritalin sucks and keeps me awake, Xanax makes me go crazy, and this Abilify probably won’t help me. I didn’t even take it to be honest. Nothing will work. How else am I supposed to describe it?”

Eliawa begins to make “tsk” sounds, leaning on her doctor’s shoulder heavily.

“Iris-” Dr. Braydon is interrupted immediately as she lets out a small cracking scream.

“Let’s bolt, Iris. Cause some trouble in the city.” Eliawa begins to jump on Dr. Braydon’s desk, kicking the laptop simultaneously.

“Come on, Iris,” he lightly hushes. “Inside voices. We only have a few minutes left.” He glances around. “Are you sure you’re not seeing things? At this time, I won’t prescribe you anymore of your current meds until we re-diagnose you…or we try you on smaller doses. I care about your well-being. Deal?”

“Fine,” she pouts with her arms crossed.

“Now once again, Iris,” her doctor says, remaining calm. “Are you sure you aren’t seeing things right now?”

She shuts her eyes tightly, but opens them quickly, feeling her lids stick together in crustiness. “He’s in the room, but you don’t see him, so what’s the point? I want to get better, but I also want to know why none of the meds to treat schizophrenia have been working after all these years.” She wipes a tear from her face finally. “It’s almost like I’m supposed to have him in my life or something. I can’t explain it.”

“Shhh,” he coos. “It’s alright. I’m really glad you’ve started opening up to me more, Iris. It’s really going to help manage this…condition. We are heading in the right direction. Thank you for that, that was all I needed to know.” He writes something in a notebook this time.

“Sure,” she mumbles. Iris is tempted at this point to snag his notebook and leave. This entire conversation still does not resolve the issue. She feels her fists burning up all of a sudden and another burn shoots straight through her chest. Her face flushes up too.

“My goodness, Iris, you’re burning up. Are you sick?”

She has a break down in the chair immediately after his question, hiding her face in her cupped hands, feeling tears exit, creating a puddle inside.

Eliawa suddenly honks a referee horn that appears out of thin air, causing her to gasp. She looks up from her smothered face of smashed tears to her skin. Her neck cranes toward the opened windowsill Eliawa is now balancing on.

“What?” she mumbles to herself.

“He’s being condescending, Iris. Let’s go kiddo!” Eliawa begins to make obnoxiously sexual thrusting moves towards Dr. Braydon, watching and waiting to see the initial reaction Iris would make.

How this thing is a self-proclaimed alien from outer space, who acts like a human man child daily, Iris has no idea, but she has had enough of the doctor’s visit today, regardless. Maybe the session would be better next month, but certainly not right now. Fight or flight, in this moment, she is done with the session officially. There is no point in wasting anymore time.

“Are you okay?” Dr. Braydon repeats.

“I can’t do this right now.” She gets up and leaves the room at once. “Have a good day.”

“Iris, please!” he begins to shake his head. “I wish you’d just talk to me.”

Eliawa is not with her anymore once she’s reached the parking lot. Her alien friend has succeeded this time in manipulating her out of a progressing, expensive, and important doctor session. She grits her teeth now as she walks through the rain home, which will probably take three or four hours on foot. She is almost tempted to take a $20 Uber, even if it means charging her credit card. She had to bring it out for the session today anyways, plus the credit card information is stored on the app she’s used a few times.

Needing to study for finals now is becoming crucial. Each minute wasted, is a minute taken from gaining a potential career. Taking the credit card out of her safe this morning, reminded her every time about how being poor would always suck. Credit cards, even with their “perks,” would always be a letdown and enemy for college people. Iris is without a doubt, anxious to leave the broke student life, especially having to deal with extra baggage with her mental health daily…and a fucking alien.

The year is 2014, one month before 2015 officially hits, she realizes. 2010 was only five years ago. Five years ago, was a time in which smart phones, fake political news online, and instant gratification apps galore, had only just begun. MySpace was gone around then too, but that seemed to be insignificant, compared to the worldwide changes of the words, “computer” and “phone.” Five years is not very long for technology to change that much.

Iris can’t really take much more of it, at this point. She needs to figure out a way to keep sane. Technology had already robbed so much of humanity’s sense of natural intelligence, self-respect, or respect to others, replacing it all with wasted screen time. Technology now was filled with any kind of addiction out there, always pertaining to needing or wanting something…now and only now. Give it to us now. Altered or false information on what was right or wrong on this planet.  

2014 thus far, has shown Iris just how viciously technology is progressing. It’s obvious to her now, and besides coping with her mental illnesses, she can’t stop thinking about the world changing in front of her eyes. Maybe it’s the never-ending Ritalin inside her body producing these thoughts and philosophies right now.  

Next Chapter: Daddy Issues