Veritatem Videre

1515. January 20. Dear Diary:

This is my first entry. Mrs. Gottlieb, the nurse who takes care of me, said that journaling would do me good. At least until I meet my new psychiatrist, Dr. Boseman. I don't know who this person might be, but I hope it helps. Some say I'm bipolar. Others say it's just schizophrenia. I also hear people whispering behind my back that my mother was crazy and dangerous, that's why she left me. But I know that's not true. I know that my mother wouldn't have left me just like that! There must be a reason!

Oh, I remember. Mrs. Gottlieb also told me to write down my symptoms and visions. First of all, I hear things. It's like people whispering secrets, things they don't want me to hear. But sometimes these voices are shouting. They shout my name, desperately, as if asking me to save them. Some visions can only be seen. I remember, ever since I was a baby, I always saw people. They looked at me sadly. Sometimes the environment changes. By environment I mean the moldy white walls of my room. Blood runs down them and the temperature gets lower. Sometimes it becomes a swampy environment. The floor turns into green, algae-filled water and fog covers the whole room. But of course no one sees this but me, and no one believes me...

I closed the diary. I didn't know what else to write. I decided that if I see any more hallucinations, I would write them in, let the doctors laugh at me when they read them... The worst thing about my illness is that people look at me like I'm a total idiot and they don't even let me go to school with the other kids!

I looked out my window. Despite the bars, I saw some people standing in front of the house and whispering. It was a gloomy day. It was raining, and the passers-by in the thick fog looked like the shadow people in my visions who would disappear if they were noticed. At that moment I heard the clink of plates and cutlery. My grandmother must have finished the lunch.

By the time I got outside, she was sitting in her usual rocking chair, staring at the wall, knitting. Strangely, I could have sworn that I not only heard her, but also saw her in the kitchen. Since I had done the shopping, I knew what was for lunch. Vegetables and dry bread. I'm not complaining, I like vegetables. Besides, we were pretty poor, and we had to appreciate every meal, no matter what it was.

“Thank you for the lunch!” I said, but I never know if my grandparents would hear me at such times.

After I had finished my lunch, I washed the empty plate and spoon. I was listening to the water trickling, when I heard a knock on the door. I peeked out the peephole and saw a tall, pale, middle-aged man. His graying brown hair was hidden by a black hat. His beard was long, and his mustache almost covered his face. He had small, round glasses on his crooked nose and stern gray eyes. My grandparents didn’t even notice him. I don’t know who this man could be, or what he wanted. Usually people avoid our house from afar. I decided to open the door and ask why he was here. The man looked at me, his eyes narrowed. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse and deep, as if he had been out in the rain for days.

“Are you Darsha Finer?” the man asked, without greeting. He seemed to be here for something serious.

“Yes, I am. And who are you?” I asked. My voice trembled, despite my efforts to sound brave. Before the stranger could speak, he took a deep breath and stepped further into the house. He was carrying a dark brown briefcase in his left hand, which looked... bloody...

“I'm Dr. Frank Boseman. Your new psychiatrist.” Dr. Boseman looked around, then continued.

“Tell me, Darsha... Are there anyone else in the house besides you? An adult, maybe?...”

“My grandparents.” I said, pointing towards the living room. I couldn't help but ask. “Why?”

“Well, I'm here because you're having hallucinations. They're pretty bad. And I need your grandparents' permission to help you.”

"Get out of here, you monster!"

I heard a voice, a woman's voice. It sounded like my grandmother's. But the psychiatrist didn't hear it. My grandfather struggled out of his chair and walked toward Dr. Boseman with his cane.

“Sure. Come in and we'll talk.” He said it, in his quiet and calm voice. But I could still feel the tension on his face. He must have heard the voice too.

I went into my room. I felt like I had no business being there. All I could think about was that voice. Was it really my grandmother's voice? Or was she just playing with my imagination?

The rain still hadn't stopped. Dr. Boseman had been here for at least an hour. At that moment, he entered my room. His voice was stern, professional.

“Darsha, we discussed everything with your grandparents, I'm taking you for a checkup next week. Don't forget to write everything in your diary!” He said, then picked up his bag and stepped out into the pouring rain and onto a horse-drawn carriage pulled by two black horses. It was strange, as if the horses had flames where their eyes were...

Come to think of it, I hadn't even written everything in my diary yet! I sat down at my desk and started writing.

I didn't even introduce myself. I'm Darsha Finer. I'm 12 years old. I live with my grandparents in a tiny, poor village. My mother, Alice Hoffnung, abandoned me after I was born. I am being raised by my grandparents, Diana Hoffnung and Peter Hoffnung. I didn't know my father, nor did I know his parents. My grandmother told me that when my mother found out she was pregnant, my father's parents were very angry with her and forbade her to tell anyone.

I have had visions since I was very young. So far, not even a psychiatrist has been able to help me. Some said it was incurable, others would only help me for money. But we are poor and don't have enough money for expensive treatments...