becauselisteningtoLydiamakesmedostrangethings
don’t you say that I’ve gone crazy
(because I haven’t gone crazy yet)
I’ve just lost my mind
(but I still got you)
“Symptom severity is six. Global assessment of functioning is moderate to high. Sixty-five, I’d say, on a scale of one hundred. Your daughter is able to care for herself and for that you are very fortunate. Ultimately, it can be narrowed down to more or less a case of severe psychosis where contact with reality has been lost. Not entirely, of course, but enough to be considered problematic, pathological even. She is reciting memories she could not possibly have experienced, is convinced of the existence of another world reigned by chaotic symbols of folklore and fairytale, and frequently uses names that have not been matched with any one of her listed family members and close friends. She also claims she has special insight of a supernatural kind, and all these match perfectly with typical delusions of grandiosity only that hers are less...grandiose. Nevertheless, you must understand, they are highly atypical.”
“I’ve heard of the stories, the fairytales,” says the mother, “but my daughter has never mentioned having any powers or the like. Surely, there must be an explanation for this. Stress. It accumulates. You must know-”
“She firmly maintains the belief that she can enter the dreams of a friend. She refers to him repeatedly. Rather, nearly everything comes down to this particular character who seems to remain a constant theme throughout. Unfortunately, from the list of friends and acquaintances we’ve compiled, there seems to be no one with those characteristics or that name. This person she considers close to her, someone she has known a long time, so perhaps the problem is much more deeply seated than we have anticipated. Perhaps it started far back in her early teens and went unnoticed until it developed in severity to the point where it was uncontainable. So we have no choice but to either assume it is a symbolic codename for something else, someone else, or arrive at the reasonable conclusion that she’s...inventing things,” he chooses the word carefully. “Some children have a phase where they create an imaginary companion to deal with loneliness or other traumas of childhood and that is perfectly normative. However, at her age and intellectual ability, such fabrications are considered grave in terms of prognosis.”
“Please. There is no fabrication. My daughter would not lie about anyone she knows.”
“Well then maybe this person does exist, perhaps under a different name to the rest of the world,” and the psychiatrist rubs at his chin before looking up at the woman across him. “She keeps coming back to the same character. The entire time she sarcastically referred to him as the King, but once, just once, a name slipped out and I don’t think she realized that I caught it. King Tyde, she’d mumbled, almost mockingly it seemed. What do you make of that?”
At the man’s words, the woman lets out a hefty sigh, part relief and part dejection.
I can’t believe this.
Meeting inquiring bespectacled eyes, she shakes her head, very slowly. “She’s not making him up.” And then, “Excuse me. I need to make a call.”