Mind Split or Reality? [RRFB]

"Eloise, how are you feeling, dear?" granny asked.

"I-I'm fine, granny. Where's everyone?" I asked, waking up in a hospital emergency room and seeing that granny was the only one with me.

"They're with your grandfather at room 308; his hypertension is acting up and he collapsed, but he's fine now," granny responded. "Here, I brought you some pudding, I made it for you," she said as she handed me the box of pudding she had made with a sweet smile on her face.

"Thank you very much, granny," I said as I ate the delicious pudding and took another nap because my head was boggling.

"What a great fantasy... Are you enjoying it? Creating unreal scenarios in your head because all of the people you love left you... You are unloved... You are sad and alone..."

"Argh! Stop it! You're not real! Get out of my head, get out!" I groaned in my sleep.

"Ms. Clarke? Ms. Clarke!" told the attending nurse.

"Stop! They're real!" I yelled.

I ran as fast as I could to the room where my grandmother said everyone was. When I opened the door, however, there was no one in the room. I looked around, even in the bathroom, but no one was there.

"Where are they? My granny said they were here. Mom? Granny? Gramps? Come on guys! It's not funny."

"Stop it. You've been doing it every year since that day. You didn't mean it. It was an accident. Forgive yourself, Eloise," my dad said after chasing me. He encased me in his arms.

"What do you mean, dad? They're here, and Granny even made me a box of pudding. They're really good..." I sobbed.

"I'm sorry I don't have time for you; it's my fault you feel that way."

"Dad, I'm confused; what do you mean? Stop pranking me."

"Do you remember what happened? You've been suffering from schizophrenia since you and your grandfather were in an accident; you drove the car while your grandfather was in the passenger seat, you lost your car break, and crashed in an abandoned house. Before he died, he gave you this music box as a symbol of your grandparents' love," Dad explained. "It's not your fault, nor is your mother's death; none of it is your fault; it was destined to happen."

"No... No. This can't be happening. The pudding. My mom, granny, gramps... Nurse Albert, he called me..." I wailed like a newborn child as my father held me like he used to hold me when I was a child.

Eight years later, My health improved greatly. I do what my psychiatrist tells me to do. I went through therapies and took the prescribed medications. I also ate healthily and avoided stressful situations.

I've returned to New York, not to do the things I've done a dozen times before, but to see my dad. I'm grateful to have the best support system imaginable.

I went to the cab lane after grabbing my luggage from the conveyor belt.

"Excuse me, Miss. You've got the wrong luggage," said a familiar voice from somewhere I can't recall.

When I turned to face him, I witnessed a handsome man in a doctor's coat. I was taken aback. My mouth didn't say anything. I just noticed his name embroidered on his coat, Dr. Albert N. Parker, M. D., Ph. D.

Heyow!

This is the second and final installment of the open-ended story I wrote yesterday. I was browsing Facebook on my phone when I came across an old colleague who had previously suffered from Schizophrenia. She inspired me to continue Eloise's story so that others could understand how difficult life can be for people like them.

Some people in the same situation are stereotyped and labeled as crazy, mad and insane, but this is not something that can be laughed at. It's a condition that requires a lot of patients, attention, love, and support.

I wish that everyone could be more aware of such important things like mental health, and we should be kind to everyone, because we are all fighting a silent battle that we don't talk about.