“Like I want to cut this bastard out of my chest.”
“Why? You know logically, that makes no sense. Your heart has nothing to do with what’s going on.”
“Then what is?” The music continues to get faster and faster, as does his heart.
“I think you use music to protect yourself,” she says softly. “To not let anyone in. I think you’re scared of connecting with another human being in fear of rejection. You’ve also been different your whole life, and that’s not a bad thing. It’s extraordinary. But I think you should have been diagnosed with your condition a long time ago. And my colleagues, who have read over your file, agree.”
“Excuse me?” I slowly open my eyes, taking her in. “What condition?”
“I think you’re suffering from a form of schizophrenia and this is all in your head. I’ve read you
