By Reese Scott

Brad never wanted to be a lawyer, a police office or a fireman. He remembers the first time a man came up to him and asked, “So young man do you know what you want to be when you’re older?”

“Me?”

“What would you like to do when you’re older?”

“Do?”

“Yes.”

“Be happy.”

Brad had never been able to forget what he said. It all sounded simple. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe if he had said something else things would have turned different.Brad finished high school, finished college and began working in architecture. He wasn’t aware that doing something you enjoy for work is not normal. When Brad would go to bed he was already looking forward to waking up. It was a feeling that would turn out to be impossible to forget.

Brad spent a lot of time alone when he was thirteen. He didn’t know his personality was formed then.It would only take 12 years for that personality to be taken away.Brad was strong willed. He had to be. Nothing came easily for him. Eventually Brad moved to Chicago. He liked it there. He had a really nice group of friends. His career was moving better than he imagined. He would have to search to find something that was wrong.

At some point when Brad was in his twenties he started to wake up in the morning with a fever. Except there was no fever. It just felt like a fever. He would suddenly feel scared, nervous and at a total loss as to why he was feeling like this. During this period Brad was having similar dreams. They all took place in an apartment that looked like his. With someone sleeping next to him that he didn’t know. At first he thought it was the landlord checking in to see how he had been taking care of his apartment. But Brad finally figured out who it really was.

It was just a face. A face that looked scared to be alive. The face reminded him of someone but he didn’t know who.Brad knew this wasn’t real. But it was real enough that it was impossible not to believe.Brad was not technically smart. At the same time he was quite bright. Which only caused confusion. The one thing he had going for him he would never stop when he wanted to accomplish something.

As this continued he talked to friends.

Their questions were surprising.

1. Have you been sleeping?

2. Are you on drugs?

3. Are you taking any new drugs?

4. Are you exercising?

5. Have you tried yoga?

 After a month of hearing these answers Brad began to stop going out. Brad didn’t know that he didn’t matter. Nobody noticed he wasn’t around. Nobody called to see if he was all right.At this point Brad saw a therapist. He never believed in them. He thought they were all scams. But he had no choice. Things were growing. And he no longer had any control over his thoughts and his feelings.At night lying in bed the face would be there. It looked more damaged then before. Like it had been drowned. But it just stared at him. The eyes. They reminded him of someone. But then the face disappeared without saying goodbye.

A few weeks later Brad woke up feeling even more different. He no longer wanted to get up.

In the shower the water hurt his skin. He felt trapped. His clothes felt heavier. He felt more tired. He didn’t notice the things around him. He stopped saying ‘hello’ when he walked by people on the street. He no longer noticed girls out walking.One afternoon he ran into an old girlfriend Lily. Brad knew this was lucky since Lily seemed like she would understand such a thing.

They sat down at a table away from anyone.

Lily looked at his hands.

“Let me see them.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Because is a good enough reason.”

Lily stopped looking at his hands and was now looking directly at him.

“Lily I feel like I’ve been stolen”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t know what it looks like when you’ve been stolen. But something has changed.”

“Everything changes.”

“No. Something is changing in me. But I’m not the one doing it.”

Lily looked at him. He never saw her again after that.

When Brad returned to his apartment. It looked filthy. Ugly. He cleaned it. But there was nothing to clean. This didn’t mean a great deal to Brad. What mattered was what was happening inside him. He suddenly realized that free time was not what it was supposed to be. Instead it made him feel like red ants were living inside him.To kill time he painted something even though he didn’t know how to paint.There was some humor in this. Since his apartment was being painted. Except not by him. He noticed that each time a wall was being painted it would look finished. But the next day it looked like someone had chewed the paint away until it looked like it hadn’t been painted.

Brad was now late for work. Slept long hours. No longer went out on the weekends. He felt different. He didn’t know the words so he tried to make a painting. In the painting there was a small stick figure in the center. And all around it were small stick figures falling out of the sky until at the bottom of the painting there was nothing but stick figure heads, arms, legs, all separated.

Soon Brad was waking up in a euphoric mood. His apartment was filled with colors, love and the ability to do anything. Then he would get in the shower. He would suddenly start crying. Then watch as the colors changed into black and white.Then one morning shaving he looked at the mirror. He saw himself shaving. Except it wasn’t him. It looked like him, moved liked him, shaved like him. But it wasn’t him. But in the back of his mind he knew who it was. Brad had never really felt true fear before. Now he did. And he did not like it. The days were no longer days. A day was now a week, a month, and a year. Brad no longer needed a watch. He always knew what time it was.

Brad would now wake up early every morning no matter what time he went to bed. And the earlier he would wake the worse things would be. Brad would write down all the things he needed to do. But he would do none of it. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to. It was because he felt like he wasn’t able to. None of this made sense. He had accomplished things in his life he was not supposed to.But now just going out to get something to eat was impossible. Going out to rent a movie was impossible. He felt like doing the simplest thing took muscles he didn’t have.

What Brad was most scared of now was not the face but himself. Brad wasn’t aware of what depression meant. To him he had always looked upon that as a choice. For Brad everything was a choice. You either fight for what you want, talk about what you want or just quit.

The next morning he woke up staring at his face. He wasn’t ready to look at it. He closed his eyes and didn’t open them. He hid in bed and prayed that he would sleep.Each day that went by he felt more and more like the paint on the wall. Watching it chip away in slow motion. He felt like he was the paint and he was the one being chipped away.One day Brad forced himself to go out. He walked to the store to buy some cigarettes. When he walked down the street it felt like no one had ever seen him before.He phoned up old girlfriends and they thought they were crank calls. Finally it became quite clear to Brad. He was either having a nervous breakdown, a brain tumor, or possibly some rare disease.

He went to his General Practionar.

“You’re in great health,” she said.

It was the first time he had hoped to hear the opposite.

He went to a psychiatrist. Who wanted to put him on medications.Brad wouldn’t do that. He felt and always had felt that you choose how you feel. So instead of taking pills Brad started to learn how to box. It was the middle of winter. To get the gym he would have to take the train and a bus. It would take him more than an hour. But he would have done it if it would taken five hours to get there.Brad had learned a necessary survival skill. To kill time. Something he had never thought about before. Now that he was. He realized how one couldn’t do this on purpose. Brad realized it was not much different than falling in love and watching the person leaving. You could search for why’s but the closer you look the less you be able to see.

Soon Brad no longer showered. No longer went outside. And now slept in his clothes because there was no reason to take them off.

Brad could feel it growing. Soon Brad felt like there was a balloon growing inside him that felt like it was going to explode.The only way Brad could deflate it was by cutting himself. He had never thought of this before. He began taking razors and slicing his chest till blood ran down. Other times he would put lit cigarettes out on his arms and chest. These were the only things that made him feel like he had accomplished something.Finally Brad had no choice but to see a psychiatrist. But it didn’t help. They had tried every medication possible. They tried cocktail after cocktail until the psychiatrist became frustrated and told him he should see someone else.

Brad walked out of the office. It was 1:55 in the afternoon. He began to cry in the elevator. Not because of the doctor. But because there were ten hours left to fill up and he knew the balloon would start growing.

THE END