Lost and Found

Chapter Two - A Dream Within a Dream

Millie played anxiously with her selected mourning necklace of the day, an intricate locket of dark brass and swirling, thorn-studded vines encircling the centerpiece--a lock of black hair, much like her own, a white ribbon neatly tied to keep the dry curls together. It was a gift her parents had bought off ebay and had shipped right to her as a celebration of her starting therapy. Millie had been surprised--she had no idea her parents knew what she liked and wanted. No idea they would pay so much for a gift for her, even though they struggled with money. They were trying to support her, the best they knew how. It was a start and it was...nice.

She ran her fingers over the intricate vines, the design reminding her of the poem she had written about Dylan. How would she ever be able to face him after how selfish she had been?

She stood in line at the local pharmacy, just a few blocks down from her therapist's office. There was only a pair of old ladies in front of her, both arguing with the pharmacist about some sort of heart medication.

Prazosin for nightmares. Trintellix for depression. Buspar for anxiety. Propranolol for panic attacks.

She had only been to therapy four times now, and to a psychiatrist once. Ms. Keys was nice and helpful, and Doctor Simone was short in her speaking, but insightful. She didn't realize just how many problems she really had--and shame from the words Funtime Freddy had said to her in his judgement still burned. She had denied she needed medication, deciding that she wouldn't let it "change" her, but after her doctor saw she hadn't ever visited the pharmacy for pick-up and continuously avoided questions about her experience on the medications, she had called Millie's grandfather.

He seemed dubious about medications too, but his concern for Millie overrode everything else and he implored her to at least try. She finally relented and said she'd give it a shot--after all, what did she have to lose?

She stepped up to the counter and spoke to the pharmacist, but she still felt miles away from him. She felt like she was back in Ms. Key's office, knees to her chest and eyes to the floor. Ms. Keys always started their appointments complimenting Millie's fashion and makeup, but Millie always felt like it was superficial--you know, with Ms. Key's auburn hair, pulled back with floral headbands, pearls, and modest pink lip gloss and a different turtleneck and pencil skirt each week.

But... Millie told herself she would start being more positive. Believing in people more, rather than what her head told her. She just couldn't shake the paranoia that she was right in her miserable judgements.

She grunted a quiet 'thank you' to the pharmacist after she paid with the cash her grandpa had given her, stopping by the bathroom to touch up her makeup. She touched up her pale pallor and the dripping effect of her eyeliner before heading out to meet her grandfather outside. She looked down at the bag, listing out all her prescriptions as she walked. Her chest tightened.

She was most excited for the prazosin, she had to admit. Ever since...the incident, she had recurring nightmares about Funtime Freddy, and would often wake up in the middle of the night, unable to move and swearing she heard the whispers of his giggles right under her bed. She could also swear she would hear him moving around outside, see the flash of his eyes in a dark corner, hear the clanking and groaning of old metal... That he was laughing at her and her paranoia.

It almost felt like she was waiting to die.

Grandpa forced her to tell the doctors about what happened to her and her continuous fears. Apparently it was maladaptive daydreaming and hallucinations due to stress. Some kind of nightmare that manifested from unresolved trauma.

As time went on and the animatronic bear hadn't come to kill her despite her nightmares and paranoia, she tried to believe what her care team told her. Ms. Keys was always sympathetic, but she still felt embarrassed whenever she brought up the robot. She desperately tried to convince herself it really was all just a dream, but even more desperately she wished her grandfather would get rid of the pile of junk.