Of Deviant Hearts

Of Deviant Hearts

Dear Journal,​
I feel like such a girl writing on you, but I must follow the orders of the psychiatrist. He said a journal would help me find a balance between the darkness in my heart and the light that resides within me. So, why not give it a shot? I need to put down my feelings anyway, I need to write them or else I might go even more insane. Yes, I am insane. Maybe not that crazy but I’m a bipolar whacko, so I guess there is enough crazy in me to catalog me as a freak.
I guess I should start with the basics. My name is Sam Jansen, and well, I just got out of the psych ward. I’m eighteen years old, brown hair, sparkling eyes and the looks of a zombie (though they used to say I am handsome). I used to be different, but experiences shape you. And my experiences changed me, not for the best I would add.
It all started a couple of months ago, I started feeling completely depressed. There was no way to make me smile, and I could have sworn I became paranoid. I saw enemies everywhere. So, you can guess how I was seen at school. High school is a complete pain in the butt, and people can be really cruel. They mocked me, and they made the demons worse. Yes, I call them demons, because I hear them every day.
“You’re a freak”, “We’re watching you”, “You’ll never fit in”. That was what they said, and it destroyed me. My parents started worrying about me, as if I was losing it. Truth is I was. In school, I started talking to myself and walking around like a stray dog. People stared at me, until I could not take it anymore and stopped going to school.
Depression came and I was deepened into the void. I would stay in bed all day long; I would feel like I had the weight of the world upon me. It was not easy. I shut everyone out. My mom, my dad, my “friends”. I used to think I had friends, but I didn’t in the end. They pushed me away as soon as the demons started kicking in, it was awful. I lost everything and everybody.
Then I was forced to go to the psychiatrist, who took a bunch of tests on me and well, they dictated I had Manic-Depressive Illness, also known as Affective Bipolar Disorder. Woo, I was a freak and now everybody was going to know it! They started giving me medications that made me drowsy and weak.
So lost…I felt so lost, most of the time. I didn’t see anything good in my life. The thought of killing myself was so appealing, and the voices inside my head were so persuasive in trying to make me end my life. Somehow, I didn’t do it; I had a little of hope to get better. Misplaced hope.
I don’t remember much of what happened later, but I remember being admitted into the mental asylum. Yes, it was that bad. My anxiousness and paranoia reached unparalleled levels, so they had to sedate me, they had to subdue me, and they had to isolate me.
The days of the psychiatric hospital are not something I want to remember, but I think in the end I will do forevermore. So now I’m mentally better, but I’m still the outcast at school, I’m still the crazy boy, I’m still the lost one. My friends won’t talk to me, not that I want them to.
They gave me their backs when I needed them the most, but still I hope that in the end we can hope to be friends again. And in a way, I don’t want to. My life is a human contradiction, my decisions and my thoughts fight against each other to the point of driving me mad.
Truth is, I miss them. Richie and Scarlet were my friends, and now I don’t have them anymore. If only I could have them for one more day and receive and explanation on why they left me… but at the same time, my pride won’t let me lower my head.
I’m such a mess.

Dear Journal,

I was really nervous this morning. Why? Because it was the first day of high school after my temporal leave. I’m fortunate the principal and the teachers understood the situation and helped me out to return to classes without much hassle. I used to have good grades, now I’m not so sure I can keep them up; there is a lot of work to catch up with. But you should know my grades are not what bother me.

High school is like the African fields, where the lions prey upon the gazelles. It’s survival of the fittest. Last time I checked, people looked at me with fear and pity, for I was the insane boy who talked to himself, heard unreal voices and escaped the ghosts of his heart. Then I had the mayor crisis at school! Seeing a boy screaming at the mirror of dance class is not something that gets past by easily. Especially not by the popular folk.
It’s stupid. Or am I the stupid one for believing that social ladders are stupid? I guess I must be.
Anyway, I walked in to the school, trying not to stand out or anything. They’ve been part of me always; it was not out of the ordinary. But people were startled to see me. They whispered, gazed at me as if I was some sort of dangerous animal. They even backed away when I approached them, it was horrible. I felt like a circus clown or like I carried a second head. I knew it was going to be hard, but damn…this was REALLY tough.
I was not prepared for the heartache.
Richie was there, and so was Scarlet. I passed by them in the hallways, and I can’t even begin to tell you how much it hurt seeing their gazes at me, with their eyes saying that I’m a pitiful creature. They didn’t walk to me or say anything, but their faces of surprise and pity said everything. They didn´t want to talk to me, let alone be my friends. And I missed them.

I guess I should tell you more about them.​Richie has been like my brother for most of my life. My mom’s best friend was his mother. So, we’ve known each other since the days of diapers and rattles. We talked about anything, we used to play hide and seek when we were children and tag until our little legs couldn’t carry us anymore. His secrets were my secrets, and mine were his. But then high school happened and we drifted away, and I so desperately want him back.
I sound like a pussy, but I don’t want to live alone anymore.
Now we were juniors in high school, and we’re complete strangers. He didn’t visit when I was in the hospital, he didn’t call when I got back home. I just couldn’t bear the thought of being away from him. He was my best friend and now, he’s just another kid in the block who thinks I’m the freak. I just can’t bear it; listening to his voice in class was intoxicating.
And Scarlet…she had been the third one in our little pack. We became friends when I was ten and Richie was eleven. We used to hide from others, just the three of us. Scarlet was the voice of wisdom, always telling us what was right but in the end going along with our schemes. She changed too last year, when we were sophomore. Richie and Scarlet still talk to each other and are part of the same group of friends.
Which, sadly enough, I’m not included in.
When they stared at me, it was as if time had been frozen and we were just looking at each other in a space of nothingness. I wanted them to walk with me, but we were worlds apart. After life resumed, they weren’t looking at me anymore, they were ignoring me.
While the lions preyed on me, like a gazelle.
After staring at them, I tripped.
Or was tripped?
I looked up and saw Jake, your typical bully, looking at me with a look of amusement. “Watch out, you freak!” he said, and yes…I understood then that I was labeled already as the freak and I should start looking for some friends if I wanted to survive.

Dear Journal,
Sorry I took a break, I needed to relax and breathe. I was telling you about my day.
So, the rest of the school day was pretty much as you’d expect. Insults and whispers followed me everywhere, and nobody dared to talk to me. I didn’t brother to talk to anybody either, actually. If they wanted to make fun of me, fine. Why should a freak like me have friends at all. I’m not worthy, not deserving, so I guess I should get used on being all alone.
I saw Richie and Scarlet seldom throughout the day, and it was pretty frustrating. At the cafeteria, I was sitting alone while the other kids chattered with their friends. I guess the whacko, AKA me, needed his space before he hurt anybody. I don’t know if I’m capable of hurting anybody, I’m just glad they’re not filling my hair with food like they used to do before.
After I got home, I saw the other cause of my distress. My mom, Emily.
She was a terrific woman, but terribly overprotective. And I had to pretend I was the perfect boy for her sake and my dad’s. When I arrived home, she was chatting with the other person I didn’t want to see at all, Richie’s mom, Lydia. So in the end I was just there, standing in the doorway, watching as them both stared at me.
“Hi, dear,” said my mom. “What are you doing here so early?”
“Practice got canceled,” I replied. Yes. I lied, I told her I was part of the baseball team. I wanted to make her proud, so I lied to her. I shouldn’t have, but what could I do? She deserved a better son, not the douchebag she has.
“Oh,” said my mom and stood up. “Why don’t you say hello to Lydia?”
I barely smiled at her.
Lydia stood up and stared at me for a little while. “Hi Sam, you’re mom has told me you’re back at school and part of the baseball team. You know, Richie asks about you.”
As if those words had triggered something in me, I started to tremble. I shouldn’t have, but I looked down to prevent them looking at me. “Sorry, I’ve…I’ve got homework.”
I rushed back to my room.
Needless to say, I shouldn’t have done that.
I could hear the voices inside my head pester me about Richie. Why would he ask about me? He hadn’t said anything to me in months, and now I hear his mom say he asks about me. I bet, if you were actually a living person, would understand what it felt to know that your former best friend has some concern for you. But if he had, why didn’t he talk to me?
“You’re a freak”
“You’ll never fit in, so fix your face.”
Yeah, the voices came back. It was hard at first, but my world was crashing down again. I felt the nostalgia and the pangs of pain and sorrow return to me. I started crying. And I kept crying. And I think I’m staining your pages with tears right now. Gosh, I wish I didn’t felt so torn inside, so sad and so lost. I wish I could feel love again, but I guess I can’t.
These are the problems of being a freak. You’re alone and left to be tormented by your inner demons.

Dear Journal,

Therapy is OK, but I didn’t expect to see him there.
I know, you want to know and I need to let it out, so I’ll talk. Or write. Whatever.
I went to therapy today, my psychiatrist thinks it’s a good idea if I see a counselor, so guess I’m going, My parents practically forced me to, so I guess I have to follow their commands. Anyway, I arrived to therapy and sat in the reception, waiting for the secretary to call me. It can get pretty boring as I wait, it’s my third therapy and well, it’s not so bad except for the wait to get in.
And then the doors of the reception opened, and guess who came in? Richie.
Yes, the reason for my torment was there, standing a few feet from me, and looking at me startled. Yeah, I could have sworn I was starting to hyperventilate. Yet, he smiled at me. Richie was smiling at me. After so long of not talking and being worlds away, he was actually smiling at me.
I remember our conversation neatly.
He started it. “Hi Sam.”
“Hi,” you can guess how muffled up and tangled was my voice. I was so confused. “What…what are you doing here?”
Richie looked down. “My mom wanted me to see a therapist, thought it might come in handy.”
“Why?”
“Just because. You’re not the only one with issues, Sam. You have to accept the fact that we’re all different.”
Talking about confusion and surprise there, huh?
“I thought you thought I was a freak.”
Richie made a face at that. “Of course not. It’s just…we had a rough time coming to terms on what happened to you. But I still care for you…I…we’ve known each other all our lives. We used to be so close. I was wondering if you were still up to… you know, be my friend…”
My pride then talked. I shouldn’t have let it. I stood up and looked at him with anger. What could I have done? First he ignores me and now he talks to me as if I’m his buddy. “You gave me your back when I needed you the most! How can you offer me friendship when I know I can’t trust you!”
Then, the receptionist came out and called my name.
Talk about being right in time.
I glared at him. Should I have glared at him? When I saw his eyes, they were completely, well, full of confusion and…hurt? He’s being a dumbass for months and now he wants my friendship back. I couldn’t take it and my lips started to quiver.
Without further ado, I walked into the office, hoping that for the next hour, he was gone from my life.
But I can’t take away the words he said before I went in. They sounded so sincere that they broke my already broken heart. “I miss you, bro…”
I paid no heed and minded my business.
Needless to say, the therapist session was a complete fiasco.
I guess I should end this journal entry here. It’s getting late and I’m still confused about everything that I’ve been through these days. The return to school has been tiring; pretending to be the perfect son has been exhausting, and not think about Richie or Scarlet has been a complete feat.
But in the end, I can’t help but think about everything he said. Maybe he was right and I need him and Scarlet to be my friends again. I don’t know, it’s kind of tiring to think that way. I miss them; I miss Scarlet’s hugs and Richie’s encouraging words.
But I’m alone. Well, I guess not. I still have you.

Dear Journal,

Today was not a good day.
School today was normal, I saw Richie staring at me many times, and I thought about talking to him. But that’s not the reason it was not a good day. I was bullied today, again. I was at the lockers and some dudes slapped me in a series of, well, slaps. I fought back, as self-defense, and eventually I got beat up by all of them outside school.
Everybody made fun of me, and I could not stand it. I rushed home, and I saw no trace of my former friends anymore that day. I don’t remember them being spectators of what happened, but still, what could have they done? Made fun of me as well, or would they have helped me? I don’t know, I’d like to know though.
But what happened at my house was, well, not nice.
I entered home as always with a bloody nose. And there he was. That damned boy followed me everywhere. Richie and my mom were talking. And when they saw me, they looked at me with, well, concern as for my mom. Richie? I had no idea.
“Why is he here?!” I exclaimed, forgetting my embarrassment at my poor excuse of image.
“I heard what happened in school,” said Richie, looking calmed. I guess one of us had to be. “I wanted to check on you.”
I was mad. “As if you’d care…”
“Sam, listen to him,” said my mom and I started walking back to my room, giving him the middle finger. I wanted to hit him, but not in my home in front of my mother.
“Thanks for acting like you care,” said little, wounded Sam. I was not going to stay and watch him humiliate me anymore. “You can go back to your friends, and pretend that I’m the walking freakshow.”
I couldn’t see or hear any reply from him, but I slammed the door of my room, however, my mom stepped in.
Yeah, I’m going to tell you how it went on. But I’ll tell you, it wasn’t nice.
“I called to school today. They told me you’re not in the baseball team,” said my mom with a sad look. Was she disappointed on me?
I felt a pang of pain, I’ll tell you that. I was there, bloodied after a humiliating beating, being exposed as the fraud I was. But at the same time I was relieved, to be able to let out the truth and not be condemned on putting up another façade.
She went on. “You lied to me, Sam. I thought we agreed not to do that anymore.”
I looked down, you know I did. I spoke with the tiniest voice I could muster. “Mom, I didn’t want to disappoint you… I haven’t been the same boy since the psychiatric hospital.”
My mom, she just looked at me stern. “Sam, you’ve been through so much. But you can’t push the whole world away.”
I didn’t understand what she meant. Guess what I answered? My pride and nerves were the ones to speak. “Why not? They pushed me away. In school I’m just the whacko who got out of the psych ward last month. I’m just a freak to them, to Scarlet…to Richie…”
Scarlet.
Richie.
What could I think of them? Why did I think of them all the fucking time? I’m trying to understand, but it’s terribly hard for me not to. They were my support and they betrayed me. Yes, betrayed. That’s how I felt when they gave me their backs when I was at the verge of killing myself.
“You know that’s not true,” said my mom. And then she tackled the right word. “Richie and you were best friends…”
Keyword. ‘Were’. Don’t you think?
I said it. “Keyword there, mom. Were. Sorry, but tell that guy in the living room we’re no longer pals…”
And so, she left saying nothing. I could have sworn I heard her sniff. Did I feel bad about it? Of course I did, I felt terrible.
All I could hear were the voices in my head telling me what a lousy son I am.
Whatever, I’ve got school tomorrow and to endure the pain, I have to rest. I’m leaving you for tonight, alright? You know, even though you can’t answer me, I feel fortunate that I started writing you. I wouldn’t be able to bear it anymore, to have no one but the therapist to talk to.
Bye.

The End of Of Deviant Hearts

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