AN: Hey guys! So, this is chapter three! I'm excited for what's going on in this one! And this I am edited version from when it was originally published. I edited it because of all of the dreadfully inaccurate portrayals of mental illness, so now that I'm more informed, it should be a bit more understandable.

     Anyway, if you guys even read these notes, the picture up above is mine. I just wrote these down for the picture and story, so yeah. Although I'm sure none of you can read my miserable handwriting. 😂

   Anyway, I hardly know any medical stuff, so sorry if this is horrible. I'm trying at least! New OC in this. Karmen Hoff. Enjoy! (There is actually another OC but his name is never mentioned)

TRIGGER WARNING!!

Doctor's POV

I stepped out of room 164, allowing the nurse to perform a check up on the new patient, Nico Di Angelo, I believe the name was. When he was brought into the hospital, he had lost a lot of blood, and flat lined three times. I was about ready to give up, when his heart started beating when again.

I walked behind the front desk, coming up behind Karmen, the secretary.

"Hello Karmen." I say, startling her out of the patient report she was typing.

"Oh!" She turns around, and draws in a quick breath, then releases the said breath when she notices it's me.

"Doctor Yew! I didn't notice you there!" (AN: Michael Yew!!)

"Sorry Karmen." I say apologetically.

"It's alright Michael, just try not to sneak up on me like that again."

Karmen Hoff was an older woman, maybe around the age of 60, brown hair with streaks of gray, but tired and caring eyes. Karmen was like a mother to everyone at Mount Sinai hospital.

"Karmen, the patient in room 164, do we have a larger background on him?" I ask curiously.

"Let me check." Karmen turned back to the computer screen, got out of her report, and searched the room I had asked about.

"Is Nico Di Angelo the name?" Karmen asked me.

"Yes."

She clicked on the mouse a couple times. After a minute of waiting, she told me her results.

"Sorry Doctor Yew, but there isn't anymore on him. The patient hasn't been here before." Karmen looked at me with twinkling eyes. "Why did you want to know more anyway? Is it for your brother?"

"My brother is on home hospice still and is inches away from being sent to a psych ward, and just because he's gay doesn't mean that he likes every guy he sees." I said, almost defensively.

"I was just joking, Michael. No need to get your panties all up in a knit." Karmen laughed. "Anyway, why are you so curious about him?"

"Well, the patient was acting weirdly." I explained. "He kept talking to the air next to him, like someone was there. He kept mentioning the name, 'Bianca'. I'm worried he might've hit his head on something, or have some undiagnosed mental illness, so after a Shakylla's done giving her check up I'm going to see if he can remember anything that could've caused something like this."

"Oh Michael, your so good with your patients and job! I'm so proud of you!" Karmen reached out to pinch my cheek, and I, reluctantly, obliged. She may be old, be she sure is strong!

"Alright, well, best you go off to other patients." Karmen said to me, smiling.

"Right, thanks Karmen." I smile and leave. Karmen always kept me from getting distracted. In some cases, she's been a life saver! It made me sad to think that she has just been diagnosed with cancer.

*Time lapse*

"Doctor Yew!" I heard Shakylla call for me.

"Yes Shakylla?" She huffed at walked briskly over to me.

"That was the longest check up I have ever had perform!" She says exasperated.

"Why?" I ask, confused.

"Because that boy is so stubborn! He wasn't letting me do the job because he didn't want to be touched! It was so annoying! Then he finally let me finish my work, but it was so frustrating how he wasn't listening!"

"Patience Shakylla!" I scold. "Thank you for putting up with it. You can move on to your next patient now."

"Okay." Shakylla grumbled as she walked off to another room. Now it was my turn. I took at deep breath, then walked up to door number 164.

Nico's POV

After that pesky nurse left, I sat in my room alone, noticing the casts on my arms for the first time. Probably for my cuts.

I suddenly felt a strong urge sweep through my body. An urge to cut. I looked around the room, my eyes desperately searching for a sharp object.

"What are you doing?" I hear Bianca ask, next to me. I quickly turn my head. I'd forgotten she was there for a moment.

"I-I, uh," I stuttered as I tried to come up with an excuse.

"Don't lie to me Nico." She scolded me.

I lied anyway. "I was thirsty and looking for water."

Bianca raised her left eyebrow. Thankfully, before she could question me further, the door opened and in stepped the doctor, with a grin plastered on his face.

"Hello!" Says the doctor, cheerfully. "I'm the doctor from earlier, Doctor Yew."

"Can we get this over with?" I snap, sick of being in this hospital.

"Yes, of course." Doctor Yew cleared his throat, and sat down on a swivel chair under a nearby desk. Taking out a pen and clipboard, he asked me various questions.

"Do you recall the incidents that got you here? Anything that might be an explanation for the wounds on your arms?"

"Yes."

"Would you mind telling me?"

"Yes, I would mind."

The doctor glanced up at me, irritation flickering across his face.

"Alright, well, you don't have to tell me the whole story." He says. "Just what explains the injuries on your arms, and if you maybe hit your head on something."

I'm thinking of how to word my next answer, as he adds something to his previous sentence.

"Remember, you can tell me anything. I'm your doctor." I sigh, and answer his question.

"I made them." I look at my lap as he continues with his questions. "And I don't remember hitting my head on anything."

"What did you make them with? Was it sterile?"

"A razor, and yes, it was sterile."

"Do you have a history of depression?"

"I've never been diagnosed with it."

"Do you have feeling of worthlessness or self hate?"

I laugh coldly. "Yeah."

I didn't tell him how often or how severe.

"What about emptiness or overwhelming sadness?"

     "Yeah."

      "Okay. Have you had a sudden decrease in appetite? Or gain?"

      "I've never really been hungry. For years. And I don't like eating around people."

     "Why is that?"

     "I don't know. I just feel ashamed."

     "Do you have times where you intake an excessive amount of food?"

     "Occasionally, yes."

     "Do you ever purge yourself afterwards, or something similar to that?"

     ".... why does that matter if I do?" I asked, getting defensive.

     "I'm just trying to gather information on what led you to make an attempt on your life."

"Sure." I reply snidely. "Like you really care about me."

"I do." He insisted. "Now, answer the question."

     "Yeah, I do. I make myself throw up after." I crossed my arms and looked away from him.

    "Alright. On with the next question."

     I roll my eyes. "Have you experienced a loss of interest in daily activities you once enjoyed?"

"My daily activities are listening to teachers drone on about school all day long and then going home to listen to music. I've only experienced a 'loss of interest' with the former, though."

The doctor sighed. "What about irritability? Would you say you are more prone to things such as that?"

"Well, I've been irritated with every single person at this place, so why not?"

"What about a lack of personal hygiene?"

"I brush my teeth, I shower. I'm fine."

"But how often do you do these things?"

"I don't know. I brush my teeth maybe once a day and shower once every week." I shrug my shoulders.

"Mhmm." Doctor Yew hummed. "And have you ever self-harmed before this suicide attempt?"

"Yes."

"How often?"

"I don't know. Maybe every few days?"

"Alright. Have you had suicidal thoughts before this?"

I laugh bitterly. "Yeah."

"How often? And were they more existential or immediate?"

"A few times a day, and mostly existential rather than immediate, but trust me. Immediate thoughts are common too."

        "Okay. Well, why don't we talk about Bianca?"

       The question shocked me. "What do you mean?" I ask in a strained voice.

      "The name you keep on mentioning." The doctor replied patiently.

      "It's nothing." I snapped, watching as flashbacks from the day she was killed flashed through my eyes. I felt a silent tear slide down my cheek.

The doctor grabbed a tissue from a nearby box and handed it to me. I stared at it for a moment before tearing it in half and tossing it to the side.

"I don't need your pity, or your help." I snarled.

     He looked at me with consternation. "Okay."

      Looking back down at his clipboard he asked, "Are you hearing voices?"

     "Well, I just heard yours, so..." I said sarcastically.

     "Are you hearing voices that no one else can hear?" He rephrased.

     "I don't know. I mean, you can't seem to see or hear my sister who is standing right next to me, so maybe?"

     "Do you have a drug or alcohol addiction?"

     "No."

     "Okay... and do you have violent urges? Sensitivity to sunlight?"

"Doesn't everyone?"

"I'll take that as a yes."

I rolled my eyes again as Dr. Yew scribbled notes down on his clipboard.

"You've seemed very agitated." He said, looking back up at me. "Is there something bothering you."

"When isn't there?"

"Do you have a, one would say, limited range of emotions?"

"I'm sure some could- would- say that."

"Extreme nightmares that occur almost nightly?"

"Yeah."

"Difficulty concentrating?"

"Sorry, what was that?" I asked with feigned confusion. "I got distracted."

"Yes or no, Mr. Di Angelo?"

"Yeah."

"Are you often suspicious of the motives of others, even if you've never seen them before?"

"Yes."

"What about withdrawal from friends or family."

"That happened many years ago." I said darkly, staring at the ground.

     "How long have you been seeing things?"

     I narrow my eyes, feeling even more defensive. "Well, they've been a lot more frequent since my failed attempt," I said bitterly. "But even before that there would be sometimes shadows of people I thought were long gone."

"Alright. Thank you for your time, Mr. Di Angelo-"

"It's not like I wanted to be here."

"-it is well appreciated. I am going to give this paper to a clinical psychologist and then they will come in to speak with you, alright?"

I scoffed. "Whatever."

*Time lapse to an hour and a half later*

     I had been talking with Bianca, when the psychologist walked into the room. He was an old, balding man, maybe around the age of sixty, with white hair and a tweed jacket. His brown formal pants looked new. He smelled of mothballs.

     He pushed his wire rimmed glasses up on his nose, then sat down on the swivel chair the doctor had earlier.

     "Mr... Di Angelo," He began. "I have the answers to the questions the doctor asked you before. Is this how you truly feel?"

      I had no idea where he was going with this. "Uh, yeah."

     The psychologist hummed in response, looking over the paper he was holding.

     "So you feel sad, and worthless? Guilty about your sisters death-" I flinched when he mentioned Bianca's death, and Bianca did to.

     "- and you seem to self harm and exhibit suicidality. As well as having frequent nightmares and flashbacks on the event that lead to the death of a loved sister. Correct?"

     "Yes." I say, looking down at my feet.

     "You don't eat much, and feel the need to starve yourself?"

     I sigh. "Not really. I just don't like eating around people- or eating at all. I just feel ashamed when I do.

     "Doctor Yew tells me you keep talking to someone named, 'Bianca'. Who are they, and are they here?"

     I look up to him, not liking the way he said Bianca's name, as if it were just another word.

      "Bianca is my sister and if you can't see her then obviously your the blind one." I said to him coldly.

     The psychologist looked me, curiosity evident in his eyes.

      "Can you speak to her?"

      "Yes."

      "Does she understand you?"

      "Yes."

      "And you can understand her?"

      "Can you understand me?" I ask him, to make my point.

     "Interesting...." The psychologist mumbled to himself. He jots down a couple notes. "How long have you been able to see her, after her death?"
    
     "I'm not sure if it was her, but I've had times where I see flashes out of the corner of my eyes."

     I never talked to anyone about it, because I didn't think it was anything, but now I might as well ask.

     "Bianca?" I turned and looked at her, and she does the same.

     "Yes, baby brother?"

      "Was it you, all those times I thought I saw something? Something that when looked at, disappeared?"

     She bit her lip, then answered.
"Yes, all though I was only partly there. Never completely."

     I nod and turn to the psychologist who, again, looked very curious. I didn't care what he thought though.

     "A little while after her death is when I began to see her again. Although I didn't know it was her until recently."

     The psychologist smiled and said, "That's all I need to know. Thank you for your time." Then he left.

     I looked at Bianca and said, "I missed you Bia."

"I missed you too. At least we can talk now!"

     I tried for a smile, but it turned out more as a smirk. Bianca was always so positive.

     "Yeah I guess so." A wave of sudden sleepiness hit me at that very moment. "Except not right now. I'm tired." As I lay down I heard Bianca laugh. I missed her laugh. 

"Good night, fratellino." She whispered.

     "Good night Bia..." And I fell asleep.

*Time lapse to a couple hours later (sorry for all the time skips)*

     I woke up a couple hours later to see the nurse, Shakylla, (what a weird name) shaking me awake. The doctor was also there with the psychologist from earlier.

     "Mr. Di Angelo," The psychologist said. "I have come to the conclusion you suffer from several mental illnesses."

     Uh oh, I think to myself. This can't be good.

     "The first is PTSD. Post traumatic stress disorder. This was caused from you losing your sister in front of you.

     "Next you have Major Depressive Disorder. You have thoughts and have attempted suicide. You feel worthless and guilty about yourself and your sisters death. You are often tired and fatigued, which also leads into part of your Bulimia. You have Bulimia Nervosa in very severe stages. You often refuse to eat because of feelings of guilt and shame. This is especially difficult around people, and you often binge eat when you do, them purge yourself after.

     "Finally, we have Schizophrenia. You believe you are seeing dead people. People that aren't there." I was getting more mad each time he spoke.

      "We are sending you to a Mental Institution that may help with your recovery. We have medications for you to take and-"

      "You're what?!" I shout, shocked. They wanted to send me to a Mental Institution! They thought I was crazy! "I don't need to go to some mental hospital! I'm perfectly fine! You just diagnosed me wrong!"

      "I never diagnose people wrong." Says the psychologist with an aura of superiority. I hated this guy.
     
     "Now," He continued. "You will leave as soon as possible. And don't try to convince your doctors and nurses otherwise. I have given them a strict order and that is what they must follow. We don't want you hurting yourself again."

      I grit my teeth, and before I can respond, they leave the room.

      "Great Bia, just great!" I curl my fingers around the sheets in anger.

"Calm down Nico. This could be good!"

      I look at her incredulously.
      "I'm going to a freaking mental hospital! For crazy people!" I shout at her. "And you think this is good for me?!"

"Well, it's a chance to meet new people."

      "I don't want to meet new people!"

      She sighs next to me. "Fine then Nico, but I think this could be good. You'll see, il mio piccolo soldato."

      I scoff. "Yeah, right." I had nothing to look forward to, except for maybe not seeing my dad. I looked over at Bianca, wondering if she knew how bad our father had gotten.

     What I saw shocked me. On Bianca's chest, right where her heart was, there was a hole. A hole where she had been shot. The, hole where she had been shot. I turned back around, and lay my head down on the pillow. I knew I was going to have a nightmare.

     When I had fallen asleep earlier, the nightmare hadn't been that bad, but I knew this one would be different. This one would be bad. I had remembered that event when I had looked at my sister just then, and now I was going to a place for crazy people with not one, but four, acclaimed mental disorders.

     I had been diagnosed as a crazy person. Someone insane. Someone who would probably be locked up in a straight jacket, and only allowed out of the room to go to the bathroom. Maybe not even that. I was freaking out. Hopefully they would realize I'm not crazy. Just sad.

AN: Hey guys! Long chapter right?! I'll put the word count down at the bottom. So, how've you been? So, I was wondering if you guys would like to know a little bit about me! I'm not giving away a name or location. Only that I live in America. But most other questions should be okay! Comment on some questions you want me to answer, and in my AN in the next chapter, I'll answer!

     Anyway, thank you guys for reading! And again, sorry if I made any errors. I don't know a whole lot about medical stuff, so I tried, but it's probably all wrong. 😬 Sorry! Anyway, thanks so much for reading, it's been fun writing so far! All these chapters are pretty long. Sorry if they're a little too long, but hey, it's better than them being super short, right? ....Maybe....? Anyway! Thanks again, have a fabulous week, and I would love constructive criticism! Just no hateful comments please! Until next time! 😉

Word count: 3,000 words.