Brain on Fire: My Month of Madness

though he wasn’t moving his lips.

You’re a slut. I think Stephen should know.

My whole body shook with anger, and I leaned threateningly toward the driver’s seat. “What did you say?”

“Nothing,” Allen said, sounding both surprised and exhausted.

That was the last straw. Swiftly, I unbuckled my seat beat, yanked open the car door, and prepared to jump out of the car headfirst. Stephen grabbed the back of my shirt in mid-leap, saving me from launching myself out of the vehicle. Allen slammed on the brakes.

“Susannah, what the hell are you doing?” my mom screamed.

“Susannah,” Stephen said in a level tone, a timbre I had never before heard from him. “That is not okay.”

Obedient again, I closed the door and crossed my arms. But hearing the click of the child’s lock sent me into panic mode again. I flung myself against the locked door and screamed, “Let me out! Let me out!” over and over, until I was too exhausted to yell anymore, then rested my head against Stephen’s shoulder and momentarily nodded off.

When I opened my eyes again, we had exited the Holland Tunnel and were entering Chinatown, with its sidewalk fish, swarms of tourists, and fake designer bag salesmen. The whole sordid scene disgusted me.

“I want coffee. Get me coffee. Now. I’m hungry. Feed me,” I demanded, insufferably.

“Can’t you wait until we get uptown?” my mom asked.

“No. Now.” It suddenly seemed like the most important thing in the world.

Allen took a sharp turn, almost hitting a parked car, and took West Broadway to the Square Diner, one of the last authentic train car diners in New York City. Allen couldn’t figure out how to unlock the child’s lock, so I climbed over Stephen to get out of his door, hoping to disappear before any of them could catch up. Stephen suspected as much and followed me. Since I couldn’t get away, I sauntered into the diner in search of coffee and an egg sandwich. It was Sunday morning, so the line to eat was long, but I wouldn’t wait. I barbarously nudged an elderly lady out of my way and, spotting an open booth, sat down. I shouted obnoxiously to no one in particular, “I want coffee!”

Stephen took the seat opposite mine. “We can’t stay. Can’t you just get it to go?”

Ignoring him, I snapped my fingers, and the waitress arrived. “A coffee and egg sandwich.”

“To go,” Stephen added. He was mortified, rightly, by my behavior. I could be willful, but he had never seen me be rude.

Luckily the man behind the counter, who had been listening in on the exchange, called out, “I’ve got it.” He turned his back to us and cooked the eggs. A minute later, he delivered a steaming cup of coffee and a cheese- covered egg sandwich in a brown paper bag. I swaggered out of the diner. The paper coffee cup was so hot that it burned my skin, but I didn’t care. I made things happen. I was powerful. When I snapped my fingers, people jumped. If I couldn’t understand what was making me feel this way, at least I could control the people around me. I threw the egg sandwich, uneaten, on the car floor.

“I thought you were hungry,” Stephen said.

“I’m not anymore.”

Mom and Allen exchanged glances in the front seat.

The traffic was light heading uptown, so we got to Dr. Bailey’s quickly. When I walked into the office, something felt different about the place, odd, alien. I felt like Gonzo walking into the casino after he had dropped mescaline in Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. Nothing was as it seemed, and everything dripped with apocalyptic meaning. The other waiting patients were caricatures, subhuman; the glass window that separated the receptionist from us seemed utterly barbaric; the Miro was smiling down at me again with that twisted, unnatural grin. We waited. It could have been minutes or several hours, I have no idea. Time didn’t exist here. Eventually a middle-aged female technician called me into an examination room, wheeling in a cart behind her. She dug out a box full of electrodes and pasted all twenty-one of them, one by one, onto my scalp; first rubbing the dry skin, and then fixing them to my head with some kind of glue. She turned off the lights.

“Relax,” she said. “And keep your eyes closed until I tell you to open them. Breathe deeply in and out. One complete breath for every two seconds.”

She counted for me, one, two, exhale; one, two, exhale; one, two, exhale. And then faster, one, exhale; one, exhale; one, exhale. It went on forever. My face flushed, and I started to get dizzy and lightheaded. I heard her fiddling around with something across the room so I opened my eyes enough to see her handling a small flashlight.

“Open your eyes and look directly into the light,” she said. It pulsated like a strobe, but with no apparent rhythm to its pattern. When she turned on the light to remove the electrodes, she began to speak to me.

“So are you a student?”

“No.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m a reporter. I write for a newspaper.”

“Stressful, huh?”

“Sure, I guess.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” she said, gathering the electrodes back into the box. “I’ve seen this dozens of times, mostly with bankers and Wall Street guys who come in here all stressed out. There’s nothing wrong with them; it’s all in their heads.” It’s all in my head. When she closed the door behind her, I smiled. That smile turned into a laugh, a belly laugh dripping with bitterness and resentment. It all made sense. This was all a ruse, set up to punish me for my bad behavior and tell me that I’m suddenly cured. Why would they try to trick me? Why would they arrange something this elaborate? She wasn’t a nurse. She was a hired actor.

My mother was the only person left in the waiting room; Allen had left to get the car, and Stephen, overwhelmed by my harrowing behavior on the ride in, had called his mom for consolation and advice. I gave my mom a wide, toothy smile.

“What’s so funny?”

“Oh! You thought I wouldn’t figure it out. Where’s the mastermind?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You and Allen set this all up. You hired that woman. You hired everyone here. You told her what to say. You wanted to punish me. Well, it didn’t work. I’m too smart for your tricks.”

My mom’s mouth fell open in horror, but my paranoia read it as nothing more than mock-surprise.

CHAPTER 13 BUDDHA

The whole time I’d been in Summit, I had been begging to return to my Manhattan apartment. I felt constantly under surveillance by my family. So on Sunday, the day after my EEG, my mom, exhausted by the week of sleepless nights and constant monitoring, agreed, against her better judgment, to let me revisit my apartment under one condition: I spend the night at my father’s house. Though my behavior was worsening day by day, it was still difficult for her to reconcile the old image that she had of her daughter as trustworthy, hard working, and independent with the new, unpredictable, and dangerous one.

I quickly consented to spend the night with my father—I would have said anything to get back to my own studio. I felt calmer as soon as we arrived in Hell’s Kitchen, being so close to freedom again. As soon as we saw my father and Giselle waiting outside on the front stoop of my building, I bounded out of the car. My mom and Allen didn’t follow, but they did wait until the three of us were safely inside before driving away.

I was delighted to be back in my safe haven. Here was my cat, Dusty, a blue-haired stray who’d been tended by my friend Zach during my weeklong absence. I was even glad to see the unwashed clothes and black plastic bags filled with books and debris and the garbage overflowing with stale food. Home sweet home.

“What’s that smell?” my father asked. I hadn’t cleaned my apartment since the last time he came, and it had