Dylan felt as though he were building the padded walls of his cell with every word, and sank his face into his hands with a groan. “God, I really am going crazy, aren’t I?” “It’s 2011, Dylan, not 1850. ‘Crazy’ really isn’t a word we use anymore. And since you say that you aren’t hearing voices or seeing anything that isn’t there–”
“Yet.”
“– And you are obviously aware of what is real and what is not, then a diagnosis of schizophrenia seems a bit premature. You aren’t on any drugs, are you?”
“No!”
“Then there are several possible conditions that could be responsible. Or maybe none at all. I can give you the names of a few good psychiatrists. You might need some medication, at least at first. But it’s far too early to say anything for certain yet.” “Dad always said that he suspected Mom was crazy,” Dylan muttered. “I guess I’m getting it.” “Not exactly a professional diagnosis. A lot of people say that about their exes.” “Yeah, but he never said it like he was angry at her.” Dylan thought back, remembering the few times he could get his father to speak about his missing mother. “It was very matter of fact, just something he always suspected.
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