The office walls were creamy white, with impressionist pictures littered on every other wall. The furniture was big and clunky, but cushioned and nicely upholstered.
Mike and Scott were the only people in the room. They sat on the wing-backed loveseat, close together, each reading their own magazine. Scott smiled at something and put the magazine down. Mike didn’t notice, intent as he was, reading.
A door opened somewhere. A well-dressed businesswoman came out of an office and went right to the desk. In low tones, a new appointment was made, and she left without looking up at them.
“Mr. LeBonte?”
Mike looked up and saw an older man, white hair with glasses, with very slight oriental features, smiling at him. He got up, turned, glanced at Scott. Scott only nodded and made a “shoo” motion.
“Hi, I’m Dr. Ruskin.”
“Hi,” Mike said. “Just me, right?”
“If that’s all right with you.”
Scott nodded at Mike’s second glance, and then Mike smiled and said, “Okay.”
They went to an office, again, well-designed in the same cream color with more impressionist paintings, in addition to comfortable red leather chairs. “Take a seat.”
Mike took the right handed chair next to the window and the doctor picked up a file, bringing it to the left-side chair. “Lynn has sent me her last few therapy notes, and you’ve already gone through the evaluation.”
“Yes.” Mike remembered the day long test for all sorts of mental hoops that he had to jump through. Questions and answers (“I feel sad or blue every day, every week, every month, every year – circle one), thinking up words on the fly (name all the words you can think of starting with the letter “S”, answering trivia questions (who wrote “Through the Looking Glass”), true and false tests (“No one knows my secret abilities” – True), repeating sentences or phrases back, answering questions on verbal and visual stories. It was a long, tiring day.
“Lynn decided it would be better for me to give you the results, because, between the two of us, we’ve come up with a plan if you’re willing to hear it.”
“Of course.”
“Good.” He closed the file. “The results show clearly that you have bipolar. It’s also pretty clear from your reporting that it’s more Borderline Personality Disorder than pure bipolar, because you’ve stated your mood swings are fast, severe, and usually triggered by an emotional reaction to something or someone. You’ve also stated that you often lose yourself among others.”
Mike nodded. He’d never admitted that to anyone, but when he was with Scott-Emerald, he was one man. When he was with Scott-Ruby, he was another. When he was with Kael, he felt, he was closest to himself because Kael accepted him for what he was. Or what he thought he was. He wasn’t clear about it himself.
“Now, there’s also a great amount of depression in here.”
“Depression? I’m not depressed.”
“You’re in the 75th percentile,” he said, opening the folder. “Though your IQ is very high, in the 130 range. You’re probably compensating, and the BPD is making you seem to others that you’re not depressed.”
“I don’t think I’m depressed,” Mike murmured.
The doctor smiled. “I can see that you have BPD very severely. A simple suggestion of depression is making you second guess yourself.” He paused. “You’re also schizophrenic, but—“
“Wait. I don’t hallucinate.”
“But it’s not – Oh, you’re thinking schizophrenics see things and hear voices? You did answer yes to that.”
“But I do.”
“You don’t consider them hallucinations?”
“I’m a mage. They’re spirits.”
The doctor paused. “Listen to a definition of schizophrenia. ‘Disturbed or unusual thinking, loss of interest in life, and strong or inappropriate emotions.’”
Mike rubbed the back of his head uncomfortably. “Well, put that way…” He looked up. “Well, we know what the problem is; what do we do about it?”
“Here’s the plan I’ve come up with. I want to prescribe to you two medications.”
“I’m a lightweight when it comes to medications, doc.”
“Don’t worry, we’re going to start very low. Risperdal is good for bipolar and the schizophrenia, as it treats the manic episodes – the times when you get irritable.”
“Wait. I like being manic.”
“Yes, but what happens after you’re manic?” He made his hand flat, and then swung it back and forth like a pendulum. “It’s like this. You’re high, you’re great, you’re doing great things and then what happens?”
“I crash,” Mike said quietly, as the hand came down, and then swung back up again. “I get wrapped up in books, or irritated with people or…yeah. Yeah, I see.”
“We’ll treat both sides,” said the doctor. “We’re also going to give you Abilify, that will treat the depression, and also some of your mood swings.”
“Okay,” Mike said. “That’s it?”
“Oh, no,” he said with a smile. “I’m sending you to a specialist therapist who specializes in DBT – Dialectical Behavioral Therapy.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s a special kind of therapy where you have to challenge your thoughts and emotions in order to control them. I would especially like to see you in group therapy.”
Mike again rubbed the back of his neck. “This is a lot to do.”
“Do you want to get better?”
Mike glanced at the door, thinking about Scott beyond it. It wasn’t just for him. It was for himself. He was sick and tired of trying to figure out who he was – of alienating people, or doing whatever dance he needed to do to get others to like him. He was tired of playing others’ games – or thinking that he was playing others’ games. He wanted to be himself, and confident in himself.
“Yeah. Yeah, I want to get better.”
“There will be a lot of work on your part, Michael. The first and important things will be to take the medications. Will you do that?”
“I’ll do it. But will it take away what I can do?”
“If anything, it might take away the extreme emotions you feel.” He picked up a prescription pad and flipped to a clean page, and wrote out three prescriptions. “The first two are the medications. The third is the referral to DBT. I want you to call him and make an appointment with him as soon as possible. You can even have Deb do it for you outside if you like.”
Mike took the small pieces of paper. “What about Lynn?”
“You can still see her for your normal therapy. We three will work together as a team to help you.”
Mike shuffled the papers in his fingers. “I need to talk to Scott. My boyfriend, is that okay?”
“Is that who’s out there with you right now?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you think he’d want to talk to me?”
“I don’t know, I can ask.” He pulled out his phone and texted him. “I don’t like giving up the manic part.”
“Nobody does,” said Ruskin. “Everyone loves the high.”
The phone went off. “He said yes.”
“Go ahead and get him.”
Mike ducked out of the office and Scott came in. The doctor shook his hand and gave him a brief overview, explaining the medications, the DBT and the reasons for it all. Scott merely nodded. “It won’t do anything against his magic, will it?”
“Personally, I don’t know how magic works,” Ruskin admitted. “You have to decide for yourself which is more important – the magic or the person. Maybe if the person is more stable, the magic would be as well. Again, I’m not sure.”
“Getting you better is more important than whether the magic works,” Scott said to Mike quietly. Mike took Scott’s hand and squeezed it. The problem was, he believed that with all of his heart right now, but when Scott would leave, would he still believe it?
Words: 1309
Inspiration: Personal