A few notes on this one: I've been recently posting as Chaim on the
Healing Waters Higher Ground RPG, and been gaining valuable insight into Chaim's Character. The second 'half' of this chapter, and much of later chapters have been taken almost word-for-word from posts I've made with others. I asked their permission, and so I would like to credit SunBlayz, Mick and Flanigan Madden (their handels) for helping me with this story. Thanks, guys :)
Chapter Six: Borderline
Borderline Personality Disorder: An instability of self-image, relationships and moods. A marked and persistent identity disturbance is almost invariably present, and often manifested by uncertainty about goals, values and sexual orientation, resulting in chronic emptiness and boredom. Patients moods often fluctuate from intense anxiety and fear of abandonment (real or imagined), to explosive inappropriate anger, and are impulsive in self-damaging activities such as substance abuse, promiscuity and suicidal gestures.
“I don’t hallucinate.”
The next morning was Chaim’s first time in group. Dr. Burke had declared him fit to join his class, provided he remain on his Methadone therapy and under constant supervision. Everyone was still thinking about the movie the other night and Chaim, having caught the real point of the showing right off, seemed to think it his mission to point out all the ways he was different from the portrayal of his disorder on screen.
“It’s not true; I don’t ‘see things’.” Peter sighed for the tenth time that morning.
“Nobody is saying you do, Chaim,” he explained calmly.
“I did swallow a bottle of aspirin once, though,” he offered proudly.
“Why?” Kat asked.
“I wanted to see what would happen.” A shocked silence followed in which Chaim looked around at everyone, wondering why they all looked so stunned.
“What did you think would happen?” Peter asked after a moment. He was frowning, and Chaim mimicked him with one of his own.
“I don’t know,” he said, “that’s why I did it.”
“You didn’t know that a bottle of aspirin could kill you?” Juliette asked, although it sounded somewhat like an accusation. Chaim shrugged dismissively, turning away.
“Come on guys,” Peter encouraged, “doesn’t anyone have any thoughts on the movie?”
“Angelina Jolie is hot,” Scott stated smugly. Beside him, Ezra voiced his agreement with enthusiasm, high-fiveing him.
“Anything constructive?” Peter amended, rolling his eyes at them.
“We’re not as crazy as they are,” Auggie offered. There were a few nods of agreement.
“What does ‘crazy’ mean, Auggie?” Sophie asked. “How can you judge who is crazy?” Auggie shrugged and looked at the others for help.
“Was Suzanna crazy?” Peter asked the room. Sophie was surprised at the question and looked around to see if the kids would answer it.
“No,” said Juliette. She looked around at everyone else to see if they would challenge her. Chaim looked over at her, but his expression was hard to read.
“She was having hallucinations,” Shelby argued, “of course she was crazy!”
“They weren’t hallucinations,” Juliette defended, “she was remembering. They were all experiences that made her the way she was.”
“Crazy,” Shelby stated. Juliette rolled her eyes. “Did anyone else notice that they were allowed to smoke?”
“And have coffee,” Daisy added.
“Yeah, but they were also shoving pills at all of them,” Ezra pointed out. “None of us are on meds.”
“I am,” Chaim volunteered. Everyone looked at him.
“You are?” Ezra asked. Chaim nodded. “Cool.”
“I thought Suzanna was just confused,” said Kat. “Everyone around her was telling her what to do or what to be, but she didn’t know what she wanted.” Many of the others voiced their agreement. Anything Kat had to say was always insightful and well thought out. She was the oldest of their group, and in a way, they all looked up to her. Even Chaim, it seemed.
“Yeah,” he said without meaning too. He saw them looking at him and averted his eyes, embarrassed.
“You identify with that?” Peter asked gently. He knew this probably wasn’t the time or place for this discussion, that it would be better to have with him alone, but it was right there. Chaim glared at him at first, but then something in him changed. His eyes softened slightly and he nodded.
“Yeah,” he said, frustration and hurt plain in his voice. “Like when that guy was bragging to her about his scholarship and she didn’t have any plans after High School…” he paused, very clearly trying to explain himself better and having a difficult time of it. “It’s like…like if you aren’t smart…If you…” he sighed, shaking his head.
“It’s okay,” Sophie said after a minute, “take your time.” He looked up at her and then back down at his lap.
“If you don’t know what you want to do, then you’re nothing,” he finished. Peter sighed and sat forward a little in his chair.
“You are something, someone,” he said. He knew it was very common for these kids to feel lost and inferior, and that was why most of them were here, to change that false perception. Chaim grimaced and shook his head.
“Everyone else in my class already knows what they want to do with their lives...” he laughed humorlessly. “Even my parents keep telling me that at my age they already knew what they were going to do.”
“I don’t know one adult who knew at sixteen what they would do for the rest of their lives,” Peter told him. “Most people change careers several times before they find something they truly love. Do you think Sophie or I thought at sixteen we’d be here?”
“And everybody is good at something,” Sophie added, “sometimes people are just too humble to see it.” Chaim laughed cynically.
“Everybody in my family is either a Rabbi, a Doctor or a Lawyer,” he said, as if that was proof that he was the odd one.
“That’s pretty boring,” Juliette commented, “everyone being the same thing.”
“Not in my family,” Chaim responded with a sigh, “it just makes you normal.”
“Normal sucks,” she complained. Everyone in the room agreed.
“Maybe you’re just…different,” Kat suggested. “If I’ve learned anything from Peter and Sophie it’s to never let anyone tell you what to do with your life, to have the courage to do your own thing.”
“I did my own thing,” Chaim said quietly, “that’s why I’m here.”
Chaim was crying again.
That afternoon, he had found himself sitting alone under a tree outside, thinking. He hated thinking - it led to guilt and it’s arsenal of other unpleasant emotions. Drugs usually turned off those thoughts, and that was why he had liked them so much.
Even though he was being treated for the withdrawal, he was still shaky and mildly sick, so he had avoided doing anything even remotely upsetting, like talking to people. It had taken almost the whole morning just to escape Peter and his relentless ‘do-you-want-to-talk-about-it’ inquisition which had, in turn, led to his current situation. Sitting under a tree, crying alone.
It never even occurred to him that being alone could actually be worse than talking.
“Hey man, you okay?” The voice startled him, and his head shot up from its comfortable resting place nestled in his arms crossed over his drawn up knees. He squinted up at the other guy standing over him, at once relieved that it was only a student, but annoyed at being bothered at all. He seemed a bit older than he was, dark hair and green eyes, but he didn’t recognize him, so he wasn’t another Cliffhanger.
"No," he mumbled, but hadn't intended to. He didn't know this guy, why should he talk to him? He watched the guy sit on the grass across from him and looked away with a sigh. Great, now there was no avoiding a conversation. He thought for a minute that the universe must be laughing at him.
“What’s up?” Chaim looked up at the other boy, trying to decide whether to trust him or not.
"I'm sick," he said carefully. The last thing he needed was for him to run for a Counselor.
“That I can see, my friend,” Mike said, looking somewhat concerned. “Want me to get a Counselor or do you think you’ll be ok?” Chaim found himself wondering how long this guy’s been here to actually care about other students, and if he’d end up like that someday. He decided he really didn’t care and frowned at him.
"I'm not your friend - I don't even know you." His defenses were still fully intact, but for some reason he found he didn't want the boy to leave. Maybe he just didn't want him telling everyone he was sick. "No," he said quickly, "I don't need to see anyone...I'll be fine soon." They were silent for a moment or two, and Chaim thought that Mike would leave, but then the other boy let out a curious sort of laugh, extending a hand to him.
“Oh, by the saints of Ireland, where are my manners? I’m Mike,” he said. Chaim couldn't help but grin.
"Chaim," he said, introducing himself. "I, uh...I just got here,” there was a note of bitterness in his voice as he said it. "You're Irish?" he asked, hoping it would distract the other guy from calling a Counselor.
“Born and bred,” he said proudly, “If I got any more Irish, my blood would be green and I’d look like the hulk,” he joked, but when Chaim didn’t laugh the boy’s smile faded.
Not far away, a girl was watching them talk. Chaim had noticed her approach a few minutes ago, looking lost, but hadn’t really paid attention to her. Now she was a bit closer, looking increasingly anxious and worried about something. He caught her eyes with his briefly as Mike continued to explain Irish culture to him, and his eyes were suddenly drawn to the bandage on one of her wrists. She quickly covered it up with the sleeve of her sweater, but he’d seen it, and understood. He caught her eyes, hoping she’d get the message that he knew, but wasn’t sure she’d talk with Mike there.
"I'm Jewish," he said vacantly, vainly attempting to sound like he was interested in their conversation so Mike wouldn’t notice the girl behind him. "As far back as anyone can remember the guys in my family were all Rabbis or something, and..." no, he'd said too much already. He shook his head and shrugged.
Noticing that he no longer had Chaim’s attention, Mike looked over his shoulder and saw the girl also. She shuffled her feet nervously at the attention, but approached cautiously. Chaim suddenly realized that she was very pretty. He watched without speaking as Mike stood and introduced himself to her, feeling an odd satisfaction when she didn’t take the hand he’d offered her.
"I'm Sam, but everyone calls me Saydie, so don't call me Sam," she shifted from foot to foot nervously staring at Mick’s hand. "I’m looking for this guy to give him back his sweater because I don't want it anymore, but I don't see him here." She looked anxiously around herself, biting hard on her lip.
Chaim had to force his eyes away from her wrist, since he was obviously making her uncomfortable. He started scraping his thumbnail in the palm of hand, a bad habit but he couldn't help it - he was nervous.
“Who are you looking for?” Mike asked, “if you want I can help you find him.” Chaim was immediately jealous, wishing that he knew the school better so he could make the same offer.
"I don't know where he is," she said anxiously, pulling the sweater down more since it was keeping her wrist hidden. "I should just go find him... over there,” she said, looking towards the cabins. “Maybe he’ll be there."
Saydie looked at Chaim, her eyes lingering on his for a moment. He was different, and she felt somehow connected to him. She tried to tell him something with her eyes but wasn't sure he got it. "I need to go,” she said, backing away, “I should go." She rushed off towards the dorms, leaving two very confused boys behind. Mike laughed slightly and turned back to Chaim, sitting back down.
“A lot of nuts in this place,” he said. Chaim nodded, but he was still watching Saydie. When she disappeared from view, he turned to look at the other guy.
“So why are you here?” he asked him. Mike laughed, but Chaim could tell that it wasn’t something he found at all funny.
“Well, for one thing my parents don’t like my choice of religion,” he told him. “I’m Wiccan. There’s also...a few other things I..... don’t wanna get into right now.” Chaim frowned.
"Wiccan?" he asked, "like, a Witch? I thought that was only those Goth girls I used to see when I would go to score a hit." He had grown up in a very Jewish neighborhood and was only really exposed to other beliefs when he started using. Mike laughed at him.
“You’d be surprised just how many male Wiccans there are out there, but yes, some people call us witches.” He shrugged. “I ain’t one though. I just practice ritual and pray like you do with your faith. We just pray to different deities.” Chaim sighed, suddenly sad again.
"I don't pray," he said, "at least...I haven't in a long time." He looked down at his palm for a minute which he was still busy scraping with his thumb. He’d found it was a safer way to get pain than using something…sharper. "It's hard to pray when you're sad, you know? It's even harder when...when you want to die." He looked up at Mick again and forced a smile. "You want to die because no one even cares that you're alive, but if that's true, then why pray when even G-d doesn't care?"
“A lot of people lose their faith,” Mike said with a sigh. “They think that if they didn’t believe in a G-d, or in my case a god or goddess, it would be that much easier to just give up.
“Part of our teachings that the goddess and god help us learn through our experiences. With every pain and hardship we overcome we learn something new about ourselves, our life, or even the world around us. Even if I don’t know if my prayers will be heard I still pray, believing that they are heard, and if there’s no answer then it’s not the right time for them to be answered. It’s about trust.”
"I wish I could believe like that," Chaim said glumly. He didn't want to admit it, even to himself, but he was jealous of the other boy's beliefs. He just...didn't have it in him to believe that strongly. His religion was something he was born with, as a part of him as an arm or a leg. On impulse, he pulled a small book out of his pocket, opening it and flipping idly through it. It was a book of selected Psalms Eli-Sheva had given him while he was sick. She’d told him that if the pain became unbearable that he should read them. The entire book was written in Hebrew, but he could read it as easy as English, having been taught it since before he could walk. Mike noticed and scooted over close enough to see the writing.
“Wow, you can read that? What is it?”
"It's Hebrew,” he said idly. “All our prayers and stuff are in this. It…looks more confusing than it is,” he finished with a small smile. He began flipping through it, then snapped it shut and went to slip it back in his pocket.
“May I take a look?” Mike asked before the book disappeared. Chaim sighed in frustration, but couldn’t find a good excuse to refuse.
"Sure, go ahead," he said. "There's nothing to see, really, unless you read Hebrew."
“I’ve heard of it Hebrew before, but I’ve never seen it.” The boy studied the script for a few minutes before commenting. “I’ve always been interested in different scripts myself - this kind of reminds me of some of the magical writing languages I’ve read up on. I even use some of them.”
"Magical?" he asked curiously. "I don't know…some people say there's more to the language than the words themselves, but I don't know if I'd say it’s magical. What other languages do you mean?"
“Angelic, Dragon, Runic,” Mike explained, looking up just long enough to talk. “Different ones have different uses, though it’s usually to help empower a spell. Myself, I prefer Runic and sometimes use it in my personal journal entries so no one can read them. The Hebrew language reminds me of them because of the script.” Chaim was amazed at Mike’s enthusiasm. He’d never been this excited over Hebrew, even when he was ‘normal’.
"If you're in to it so much, why are your parents so anal about it?" he asked without thinking. Mike’s face suddenly became hard as stone, and he didn’t look up from the book as he answered.
“Strict Catholics,” was all he said. Chaim nodded with understanding.
"Yeah," he said, "my family is very Orthodox too. Learning that their son was on drugs and trying to kill himself didn't go over too well, nor...other things." That got Mick’s attention.
“Like what?” he asked. Suddenly feeling exposed and on the spot, Chaim looked away, extremely nervous. He'd never told anyone about it really.
"Well," he tried not to sound scared and failed miserably. "I, uh, I got caught once," he told him. "With someone. My mum walked in on me.” Mick shook his head.
“I just don’t get why anyone would waste there money on drugs…” Mike began but Chaim smiled, even more embarrassed.
"That's...not what I meant. I mean I got caught, with someone." He held the other boy's eyes, hoping he'd get the message without him having to draw him a map. Mick laughed at him.
“Ah, you got caught with your pants down with a girl so to speak?” Chaim bit his lip before answering.
"You're assuming it was a girl," he replied carefully. He started shaking with nerves, for some reason afraid this guy would think he was a freak or something and tell the whole school. The truth was, he'd been with both girls and guys, and he liked both. He'd never told anyone though, not until he'd gotten caught, anyway.
“That’s cool,” he said, as if Chaim had just told him he was in his second period Math class. He blinked at him. ‘That’s it?’ “I’m slightly Bi curious myself, but before you ask ain’t interested,” he said with a chuckle. Chaim couldn’t help but laugh too, more from relief than amusement.
"Don't worry, man," he said, "I'm not gonna hit on you." He thought about it for a minute. "The thing is though, I'm not gay - I like both." He smiled, but it betrayed his hurt and anger. He let his head fall back onto the tree trunk. It hurt, but if felt good. "My dad exploded when she found out,” he said. This time Mike really laughed.
“How you think my mom reacted when she found a load of pagan books hidden underneath my mattress?”
"I can imagine," Chaim sympathized. They had more in common than he thought, and he suddenly found that he trusted this guy. "What did you do? Run away?" He'd done it a few times, living with his 'friends' on the streets, no one there to tell you what to do or, more importantly, what not to do. Mike’s eyes suddenly took on a haunted look, and he knew that this other guy understood all too well.
“Yeah...” he said quietly, “something like that.”