Michael's Journey

Michael’s journey began with a normal visit into the inner city of Philadelphia. The visits to his psychiatrist’s office were scheduled according to his doctors’ evaluation. Michael opened the door where she greeted him calmly.

“Thank you for coming in today, Michael. Are you still seeing her?” She asked me while clicking her red pen ready. My regular appointed psychiatrist always clicks it two times, then once more when I start talking. I’ve taken notice of her quirks ever since our third session. This was the tenth. I sat here, trying to adjust myself to an uncomfortable couch, wondering what she thinks. Ms. Rebecca Vann, with pen and board in hand—her aggressively professional demeanor didn’t deter me. The pen clicks three times. She must be ready to hear my insanity for today.

She adjusts in her seat, looks calmly to me, her hair pinned up with her glasses set upon her navy blue blouse. Ms. Vann begins to ask me the question for the tenth time, “This is a safe place Michael. What did you see?”

”I saw her again by the SEPTA railway. I think it was the 16th Street station. The scarlet-haired woman in armor. This time, she was fighting another monster. The monster had to be eight feet tall. Its pale skin had black stones sticking out of its body. It was so real. Everyone just walked around it, perfectly missing each blow. No one got hurt. Both of them were fighting for their lives. I finally got a look at her, too. At least from the side a little.”

“What did the mystery woman look like? This is the first time since our first session you could describe her facial features.”

“She looked drained. Exhausted from the battle, I guess. She had bags under her eyes, a petite nose, and light brown eyes. This shade of light brown I never knew existed. She was bleeding from her cupid bow lips. They looked cracked, as if she was dehydrated. I think her eyebrows were thin. She was moving so fast.”

“Interesting. We finally have a face to the name. Rosa, correct? Please continue.”

“Yea, that is the name. I couldn’t tell what happened next. It just disappeared. That’s when a lady asked if I was okay. I was shaking uncontrollably. It was another breakdown. I was scared.”

“Why is that? Did you fear the monster? Or did you fear the outcome of this battle?

“I was scared for her. It was like seeing someone I know fight for their life. I wanted to know she was alright. I needed to know what happened. I’m starting to feel guilty about it all. Rosa was about to die.”

“Michael, you’re starting to tear up. Let’s stop right here. Have a tissue.”

Ms. Vann clicks her pen again and hands the tissue to me. I hadn’t realized a tear had escaped me. None of this made sense to me. Ever since my first breakdown at the news building, I randomly tear up without noticing it. Ever since then, I kept seeing Rosa; the woman with the scarlet hair. At least, that’s what I called her since the third session. That’s when I told Ms. Vann of the time I saw her at the bar I frequently visit; cloaked and drenched, etching the name "Rosa" with her knife to a wooded table.

“You seem restless, yourself. Have you been taking your medication? We made a promise to always take them.” Ms. Vann looked to me. I couldn’t look her in the eye. I flushed them all away after my first night of them. I couldn’t dream. I couldn’t feel. I was numb to everything. I agreed to get help. I did not agree to be medicated. She clicks her pen three times again. Ms. Vann got close, with her hand onto mine.

“It’s time you saw these episodes for what they are, Michael; delusions. There is no Rosa, just your guilt from the abortion. It was either your wife or the child. It was a difficult choice to make. That guilt, regret, and anxiety has manifested itself into these delusionary epics of a woman who you described. Her description matches the facial features of the combination of your wife and yourself.

“How can you say that?”

“It’s time to confront this, because your wife called me. She saw you drop all your pills into the toilet from the mirror. She is worried.”

Caught in my shame, I start to shake again. Another one of my episodes is about to start; the first time it’s happened here. Just like that, she was in the room with us. She stood behind Ms. Vann, angered, with a fresh cut below her eye. Just above the cheek. Her armor tattered. The once long scarlet hair now shortened to shoulder length. Enraged, her eyes never left mine; the eyes screaming out for blood. “Rebecca, she’s in the room,” I stuttered, crawling up into a ball on the couch, fearing for my life.

“Michael, she isn’t real. You can do this. It's okay.”

“No, its not. She’s right behind you. She wants to kill me.”

“I’ll join you on the couch right now. I’ll look with you. You know what I’ll see? Nothing, because this is all in your mind.”

As Ms. Vann stands to approach me, Rosa places her hand onto my shoulder and firmly speaks for the first time, “Move or die. Your choice,” Ms. Vann is paralyzed. She turns to see what I have been seeing this whole time. Ms. Vann faints back onto her seat, with a look of dread still lingering.

“What do you want with me?” I cowardly stutter, wanting nothing more than to keep my wife from becoming a widower. She approaches me, slightly limping while blood drips from her side. Rosa, the delusion no more, faces me with those light brown eyes.

“I’ve come here because you have something I don’t. A soul.”

To be continued……….