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Chapter 39- Myra | Mile High Club

Chapter 39: Mile High Club

There is no curable treatment for ADHD.

As she signed on the dotted line that confirmed her prescription and and therapy during the trip, this was the sole thought that slithered through her mind. Sure, there is medication, training, psychotherapy and treatments that reduce the symptoms and the ameliorate the function of the brain. But, there is no curable treatment for ADHD.

It's a neuro-chemical imbalance, that is why it cannot be helped. Doctors use their brains to fight diseases and disorders, but when it's the brain itself that's the cause of the problem - you're stuck in a catch 22.

Myra used to always think neuroscientists, psychologists, therapists and any mental health facilitator were pretty invigorating people. Essentially, the brain is studying itself. But now, no matter how much she knew the drill of her disorder, she couldn't get herself to find them all that interesting anymore. There one job was to stop whatever fucking parasite was her brain, right?

Some days were better than others. She looked through the contract and saw that all her 'symptoms' were listed, following her medication and stimulant usage to increase the amount of dopamine and norepinephrine in her useless organ.

- Decreased Appetite

- Personality Changes

- Trouble focusing and staying attentive

- Anxiety

- Irritability

The list seemed to want to dictate how she should be as a person. She handed the clipboard back to the lady and as the professor thanked her and started heading to the next lucky child. She could feel eyes burning into her back. She looked over her shoulder and saw that Clifton was looking straight at where her hand had been on the paper.

Most people begin behaving differently whenever they find out about her, so she stopped purposefully mentioning it in conversation so that they are aware. Myra brought both her hands to her face and rubbed her eyes with the base of her palms. She looked up and saw that the seatbelt sign was off and unbuckled her belt. She got out of her aisle seat and walked back, past Clifton and his confused eyes and headed straight for the bathroom.

She opened the small door and clicked it locked once she was inside. Looking at the mirror placed above the sink, she saw her reflection. She never liked what she saw. No matter how much makeup she used to cover the perpetual lines of sadness that creased her flesh. No matter how fake a smile she plastered when she was with her friends. Not even if she turned off all the lights in the room and all that stared back was darkness. Because that was the truth.

She didn't struggle as much as they think she does. In fact, most days Myra is as wild is can be, taking each risk life puts out in front of her. She finds herself the most free when she is doing something that makes her heart beat a little faster and the sweat on her forehead build up in anticipation.

As if on cue, a knock came from the door. Loud enough for Myra to recognize the urgency and unlock it without thinking twice. Before she knew what was happening, Blaize stepped in with a toiletry bag in her hand and she crammed herself in the small space. Turning around she locked the door behind her.

Myra frowned in confusion, "Blaize, what are you-"

"My brother made me come on this trip." Blaize said to no one in particular. She then looked at Myra so deeply in the eyes, she was taken aback with the intensity. Blaize swallowed, "All my life, I have been told what to do and how to do it. I know that I'm fucked up. And I'm -"