HOME | DD

Description
"Senbei, would you wake up your brother?" Mr. Umami requested of his eldest. "If he sleeps any later, he won't be able to go to bed tonight."

"Yes, sir." Senbei gave his girlfriend a quick peck on the cheek before leaving to carry out the deed.

"Mr. Umami--" Karin started.

"When I hear 'Mr. Umami', I turn around and expect to see one of my students. You may address me as Yosenabe, Yosen or Dad."

"Okay, um... Yosen?" While she had been living with the family for a few months now, it still felt too soon to be using such a familiar term as "Dad."

"Yes?"

"I'm a little concerned about Genmai," Karin admitted. "I'm not claiming to be an expert, but I took a class once on psychology and I've noticed some things and... I think he might have post-traumatic stress disorder."

"What exactly have you noticed?" While his tone was level and calm, she could see the heavy concern in the man's eyes.

Elsewhere in the house, Senbei came to his little brother's door and gave it a good, firm knock. "Gen! Dad said it's time to get up!" He was greeted with silence, which was odd. Normally a knock on the door did the trick. He must be exhausted, Senbei thought, somewhat astounded. Regardless, he needed to awakened. Senbei opened the door and found his little brother lying on the bed. With the last light of day casting its hazy glow in the room, Senbei could see that Genmai had his eyes wide open-- he was obviously awake. If this was his way of ignoring Senbei, it was a very lame attempt. Why are you breathing like you just ran a mile? In the silence, Genmai's shallow breathing was clear to anyone listening.

"Gen." Senbei tried again. Silence. "Genmai!" Silence. Senbei didn't know if his brother owned any earplugs, but it would explain things. With an exasperated sigh, Senbei switched on the light. Still no response; not even a jolt of surprise. As a last resort, he entered the bedroom and reached out to shake Genmai.

At the very last second, Genmai lurched up and yelled out, "I'M STILL ALIVE!" to Senbei before scrambling away from the boy and falling off the other side of his bed.

"Genmai!" Senbei snapped. "What the hell is your problem? It's just me!"

Genmai sat up on the floor and reached for his glasses on the nightstand, slipped them on, then took a moment before recognizing his brother. "Oh!...Sorry," he apologized sheepishly.

"What the hell was that?"

"Yuzu's crying," Genmai pointed out as the infant's cries pierced through the house. He stood up to go and comfort his nephew in the other room, but Senbei grabbed him by the ear.

"Karin will get him," Senbei stated. "You aren't going anywhere until you tell me what just happened."

***

"PTSD?" Senbei repeated. The family was gathered in the living room, the focus being Genmai, who was curled up in a ball in shame. "I thought only soldiers get that."

"If you've experienced some traumatizing event in your life, then you are susceptible to developing it," Mr. Umami explained. "It is not reserved only to those on battlefields and it's the most logical explanation in regards to Genmai's postdormital sleep paralysis." He was quite irate and frightened by this latest development-- you could hear it in his tone that he was trying to stay calm.

"Sleep paralysis?"

"It's when you're awake mentally, but you can't move your body, talk or even react to your surroundings." Karin described. "People often have trouble breathing or suffer from unnerving hallucinations or both. I hear the lucky ones are the ones that can open their eyes."

"I wouldn't call it 'lucky'," Genmai muttered.

"So that's why your breathing was so labored...Wait; what did you see that horrified you out so much?" Senbei inquired, trying to get a firmer grasp on the phenomena.

"I... I was having trouble breathing and I couldn't move my body or anything, so I was freaking out, thinking that I died, or was dying. Then you had to be an ass and turn on my light, so I REALLY thought I was dying, and then I just saw some figure reaching out for me and... I just panicked! I didn't know what to think," Genmai expanded on his latest terror indignantly.

"How long has this been going on?" Mr. Umami finally acknowledged Genmai's existence and began the interrogation.

"Since my motorcycle accident," Genmai confessed solemnly, focusing on his feet.

"How often has this occurred?"

"Um...it usually happens when I have my motorcycle nightmare. It's when I--"

"Karin told me about this re-occurring nightmare." You could tell he was wounded hearing about the nightmare from someone else rather than from his son.

"Okay. Well, it usually happens after that nightmare, though it's happened a few times when I have normal sleep. I don't know HOW MANY times it's happened, but I've written about it in my journal when it does happen." Mr. Umami raised his sons to write in journals every night before going to bed; the rule was nullified when they hit high school, but Genmai still liked to write in them when something significant happened. It was almost therapeutic, having somewhere to put your thoughts when you can't share them with anyone else. "I could count how many entries I have and tell you later."

"And when were you planning on telling me about this?"

"Um...never?" Genmai remarked sarcastically. "I didn't think it was anything to report. Sometimes it's for a few minutes, sometimes it's for a few seconds-- I just thought I was waking up in a weird mood or I was still dreaming or something. It's not actually detrimental to my health, right?"

"Physical health, no, but it reflects a lack of mental health. Constant thoughts of death?-- do you think I want to turn on the news channel one day and find out my youngest son went into a psychotic rage and committed some heinous crime?!"

"Is your opinion of me really so abysmal?"

That brought the father and son to a stalemate. Mr. Umami was so befuddled, he could only manage a series of strangled sounds. Genmai was annoyingly good at that-- he could change a tide or topic with one statement, especially when he didn't want to discuss something. The son smirked, knowing he won the battle. With a sigh, the father concluded that he would make an appointment for Genmai to see a head doctor, to see if it really was PTSD and if there was anything that needed to be done. While the family meeting was officially disbanded, Genmai made sure to shoot Karin a few nasty glares every now and then over the following days. Though he never told her that his ugly thoughts were to be kept between them, he thought it was pretty obvious considering the solemnity of their heart-to-heart chat. A part of him wanted to spill the secrets she shared with him, but he knew that two wrongs didn't make a right. Plus, she meant well-- that's what made it especially irritating.

***

"Hello, my name is Dr. Weir-- not 'Weird', Weir," the psychologist introduced himself to Genmai, shaking the boy's hand. He could probably be someone's grandfather; he had that salt-and-pepper look in his hair that stuck out in odd ways-- it kind of made Genmai think of Einstein. He was about what you would expect of a psychologist-- unobtrusive appearance, calm, steady voice but with an air of intelligence, like he knew something and wasn't going to tell you.

"Genmai Umami-- not 'Umiami', Umami," Genmai introduced himself in a similar manner.

"Well, Mr. Umami, would you like to come with me?" Mr. Weir offered, amused by the humor. Genmai followed the man down a carpeted hallway, past other offices that seemed unoccupied-- maybe the doors were just that thick, or maybe Genmai was the only head case of the day. Either way, it sent a tingle of anxiety down his spine, or maybe it was the air conditioning. "Now, do you know why you are here?"

Do you have to say it like a traffic cop? "I'm here to see if I have post-traumatic stress disorder."

"There's nothing to be ashamed of, I assure you. We can't always help it when bad things happen, nor can we always help how it affects us afterwards. But that is part of the reason why we are here, yes. We are here to see if you have post-traumatic stress disorder, or more commonly known as PTSD, and if you do, figure out how to help you the best we can so that you can have a fulfilling life."

"Yes, sir." Genmai saved the sarcasm for later-- the guy was trying to help him after all, and he hasn't even known the guy for five minutes.

"Now, we will be conducting an assessment," Dr. Weir explained as they finally entered an office. It had a nice homey feel to it, which calmed Genmai's nerves somewhat. For some reason, he had imagined white walls that were cushioned-- wait! that's for patients that went psycho. Either way, it was a comforting room to be in.The general color scheme was bright but not in-your-face-bright-and-happy kind of bright. "Would you like to fill out the form yourself or would you rather I read the questions to you?"

That was probably a part of procedure; surely the man would assume that Genmai could read. However, given the options, Genmai gave in to a stupid whim that crossed his mind. "I'd like you to read it to me." In all honesty, filling out a form with the doctor watching him would just make the whole appointment (more) awkward than it already was.

"Okay," Mr. Weir didn't seem surprised by the choice; maybe he was just really good at hiding what he thought. "Well, make yourself comfortable then," he gestured towards the aquamarine chaise lounge chair before settling into a nearby armchair.

"Can I take off my shoes? I promise my feet don't stink."

"Sure. I trust you."

The preliminary questions were enlightening for Genmai; there are so many ways one could develop PTSD. Sexual abuse, domestic violence, separation, kidnapping-- it seemed almost endless. You didn't always have to be a victim either-- you could have witnessed it or just heard about it. He qualified as a victim of "Physical Abuse", having sustained serious injuries from the weapons being used (with his motorcycle accident), "Community Violence"-- those racist neighbors they left behind in the city-- "Serious Accident", having fallen off a motor vehicle and been hospitalized, "School Violence"-- once again, the racist assholes they left behind in the city-- and "Bereavement", having learned of how his mother was murdered. However, when "Impaired Caregiver" came up, Genmai paused.

"How much of this are you going to tell my dad?" he inquired, dubious.

"What you choose to share with me will be kept confidential unless I deem it necessary that it should be shared, keeping your best interests in high regard. You are still a minor after all." Dr. Weir explained.

"Well...I feel like my dad has been a bit off since my mother was murdered."

"Has your father been neglecting or mistreating you in any way?" Dr. Weir asked, his pen returning to the top of the paper, where "Neglect/Maltreatment" was.

"No! He takes good care of me still, but...I feel like he worries about me too much. It can be depressing-- I feel like he's expecting me to drop dead any minute. He's been real overprotective of me. I mean, I guess it's to be expected. He was there at the place and time when my mother was murdered."

"So would you say that your father suffers from a mental health problem?"

"If that's what it says on the paper."

"Okay," Dr. Weir made a little mark on the paper. "Now, out of all these traumas, which would you say is affecting you the most at this current time?"

"My motorcycle accident."

"Mm-hm. And could you give me a brief description off this accident?"

"Well, I was being chased by some guys at my school who wanted to run me out since I'm a Kuchisake. As I was riding, I fell off my bike, then they all beat the crap out of me and I got knocked out. I woke up in the hospital a few days later. Sorry-- that's not really one trauma; that's two."

"They are very closely related to one another, happening in the same instance after all." The doctor made a few notes on the form. "Well, now comes the fun part; I will ask you if you have had any of these symptoms in the past month. That would mean since this date," he pointed to a large calendar behind him. That obviously had to be a part of procedure-- of course a sixteen year old could tell how long a month was.

The second part of the assessment was slowly proving to be a jarring experience. There were simple symptoms that Genmai would readily admit to, like nightmares and flashbacks, but there were others that he didn't realize he was suffering through until it was laid out in words. At times, he wondered if the deeper, darker recesses of his mind were etched out in black and white for the man to see-- for the world to see. A fantastical scenario, of course, but it seemed more and more likely as he went through the questions with the doctor.

"Do you find yourself avoiding anyone or anything that reminds you of the traumatic event?"

"Yes." Genmai only rode his motorcycle on one day since the accident; Mizuame's birthday.

"Do you have physical or emotional reactions to things that remind you of the traumatic event?"

"Yes." Riding around on Mizuame's birthday was harder than pulling teeth. Gripping the handles, feeling the rush of air as he sped through-- he had to keep telling himself that he wasn't being chased and that they would make it to the fair all in one piece. He was incredibly sweaty when he reached the fair and took off his helmet, though Mizuame probably didn't think much of it. His socks were really stinky from sweat too when he took them off that night upon coming home-- like he had been walking through dumpsters barefoot all day.

"Do you have a lack of interest or motivation regarding employment, recreation, former hobbies, sex, exercise?"

"Still a virgin, still a spaz."

"Do you feel that relationships that were once close and even intimate are now strained, cold, distant or require too much energy to maintain?"

"...yeah." It sounded horrible, but even though they all live together, Genmai hasn't really felt close to his brother or father. It was why he turned to Karin after all.

"Do you feel an emotional numbness, like you can't get happy or sad? It often referred to as 'feeling dead inside'."

"...yeah." It was certainly more prevalent when he was all bandaged up and pumped full of painkillers, but he still had his moments, and it was typically when his father or brother were concerned.

"Do you feel a sort of hypervigilance, like you need to always be on the lookout for possible dangers? This could also include emotional hypervigilance."

"YES." Just this past hour or so, walking through the streets of town, coming into the building-- Hell! meeting Dr. Weir even-- was enough to fray Genmai's nerves. He felt like he needed to keep an eye out for some sort of weapon (either physical or verbal) that someone might use against him. His father had to keep telling him not to glare at random strangers, even though he wasn't aware that he was doing such a thing.

"Have you abused any substances to un-numb yourself-- make yourself feel something, basically, whether it be good or bad-- like drugs, alcohol, food..."

"Um..." Genmai recalled the time when he got Karin to cook her special pork and rice dish. "This one time, I was scared I wouldn't be able to eat this one food again, so the next chance I got, I ate a bunch in one sitting. Does that count?"

"I'll say 'no' to that. So, do you find that you have trouble remembering key features of the traumatic event?"

"I don't think so. I mean, I don't know how I fell off my bike, but I think that was just because I wasn't paying attention."

"Do you question or feel like abandoning faith? Like God has betrayed or abandoned you? Do you ever get angry at God?"

"Not really..." Genmai believed in God, but he wasn't one to blame his troubles on Him.

"Do you have a fear of becoming violent?"

"My dad does. I don't, personally."

"Do you have homicidal thoughts?"

"That's racist," Genmai remarked.

"I'm just reading what is on the paper," Dr. Weir displayed the question for him to see.

"Nope. I've played around with the ideas, but I never think to follow through with them. I mean, if I'm going to go to prison, it may as well be for something good."

"Would you expand on that? What sort of thoughts have you played around with?"

"I've thought about killing the guy who killed my mother, but then what would that solve? I'd just be no better than him."

"Okay." Dr. Weir seemed a little relieved. Spending so much time with him, Genmai could almost pinpoint the slightest fluctuations in the man's calm, steady voice. "Do you often feel sad or depressed?"

"In what context?"

"Perhaps you feel disinterested in life?"

"Nope. I want to live it as much as I can with no regrets."

"Then perhaps you feel worthless or guilty?"

"...yeah." The whole family meeting where it was discovered that he had sleep paralysis made him feel downright sinful, especially considering the way his father looked at him.

"Do you feel ashamed or embarrassed over what happened?"

"...yeah." Though Mr. Umami assured his son that he didn't think twice about the move to the country and did it to protect him, Genmai still felt guilty, like he himself had just uprooted his whole family's lives. Moving from the city to the country was like moving from the Sahara desert to the North Pole-- it had to be. Genmai was grateful that his father was willing to go through such lengths, but surely, deep down, the man must have some sort of resentment at having to make such a drastic change.

"Are you sensing that your future has shrunk? Like, you don't expect to have a career, get married, have children or have a normal life span?"

What a horrible thing to think of! Yet, in the halls and classrooms, Genmai overhears all kinds of dreams and aspirations from his peers, all encouraged by their teachers, yet every time he thought of his future, he just imagined himself lying dead somewhere-- usually the side of the road. The thought of getting married seemed nearly impossible, and having children seemed out of the question entirely. When Genmai looked at his nephew, Yuzu, he thought that the baby was a fearless act of courage achieved by Karin and Senbei. How they could find it in themselves to bring this new, vulnerable life into the world was absolutely beyond Genmai's comprehension. Didn't they think about what might happen if one of them died? If both of them died? If-- God forbid-- Yuzu died? NOPE. Marriage and family was a castle in the sky for Genmai. A career was a little less difficult to think about; he figured he would just get some little-guy job, like a store clerk, and support himself until he died.

"...yeah."

"Okay. We're almost done. I would now like you to tell me if any of the reactions-- the thoughts or feelings that we identified-- appear to cause you significant distress or functional impairment."

"Woo-hoo," Genmai cheered sarcastically. It was painfully obvious that he was a head case; now they just needed to see if he was a danger to society, like what his dad said he'd wind up being.

"Do these reactions make it harder for you to get along with other people at home?"

"Not really." Granted, his relationship with his father and brother felt strained, but they still got along.

"Does it get you in trouble at home?"

"I always cause trouble. I never do anything right." Dr. Weir didn't seem amused by the (half) joke.

"Does it cause some other problem at home?"

"Um...sleep paralysis. Does that count as a problem?"

"It is to be noted. Does it make it harder for you to do well in school? The reactions, not the sleep paralysis."

"Not really. I get good grades and I have friends."

"Does it cause other problems at school?"

"I picked a fight with a former coach once because he was being a racist asshole."

"Okay. Does the reactions make it harder for you to get along with friends or make new ones?"

"Um...I can be on edge at first, but then once I get to know people, I'll relax. And I'm actually happy when I make a new friend."

"Okay. Does your reactions make it harder for you to do important things that other kids your age are doing?"

"I have trouble thinking about my future and I freak out when I get on a motorcycle, but other than that, no."

"Okay; last two questions. Have you had any changes in appetite?"

"Only when my dad tries to cook. The guy cannot boil water to save his life."

"Well, that can certainly turn a stomach. And have you noticed any change in sleep patterns?"

"Other than my sleep paralysis, no. I get my eight hours a night, though sometimes I'll take naps. I have a baby nephew at home, so sometimes he'll wake me up in the middle of the night when he cries. He's been kind of under the weather since the weather has gotten chilly."

"And you are done," Dr. Weir declared brightly. "Thank you for responding so openly. It makes both our jobs easier. Now, lets go and meet your father out in the waiting room."

Upon returning to the waiting room, Dr. Weir gave a brief rundown of what had gone on in his office-- Mr. Umami was aghast when he found that his son had the assessment read to him. "You know how to read!" the man remarked his son.

"I do," Genmai nodded. "I just chose not to."

"Please forgive my son," Mr. Umami bowed his head in shame at the doctor.

"No, it's perfectly fine, Mr. Umami. In fact, I feel that I was able to get a better grasp on his mental state through the verbal communication. He's a very open boy. Most clients I get around his age deny having a problem and try to fight themselves and convince me that they of sound mind. I usually have to fight them to get genuine answers. Now, would you like to join me in my office while I review your son's responses?"

"Do I have to attend?" Genmai asked.

"No. This will just be between me and your father."

"In that case; Dad, can I get something from the vending machine down the hall?"

With a sigh, Mr. Umami handed his son a few dollar bills before disappearing down the hall, back to Dr. Weir's office.

***

"So what were the results?" Sashimi asked.

"I had PTSD, but it didn't inhibit my functioning in society." Genmai replied. "Dr. Weir just suggested that we be more open to conversation about not-awesome things. I mean, we never really talked about my mother's death or my accident as a family. He also got my dad to go into therapy. Over time, I was able to get over my fear of the motorcycle and my sleep paralysis went away by the time I graduated high school."

"This I don't understand," Mizuame interjected. "If you were so afraid of being on a motorcycle, why were you so angry when your father took away your key? Wouldn't you be relieved?"

"That's like asking a woman why she wants a pearl necklace if she's not going to wear it everyday," Genmai remarked. "When you are a teenage boy with ANY set of wheels, you keep it! It's the coolest thing you can own-- a status symbol, if you will."

"Makes perfect sense," Mizuame nodded sarcastically, reminded once again of the kind of man she married.
---

I had a lot of fun looking up PTSD questions and facts about sleep paralysis
Probably a little too much fun

Anyways, these are my sources:
www.nimh.nih.gov/health/topics…
ptsdusa.org/what-is-ptsd/get-h…
www.nctsn.org/nctsn_assets/pdf…

Genmai definitely has his dark side, but he is strong enough to work through it in the end.
Also, this is the kind of art work you get from me when I'm going on one hour of sleep

Description
"Senbei, would you wake up your brother?" Mr. Umami requested of his eldest. "If he sleeps any later, he won't be able to go to bed tonight."

"Yes, sir." Senbei gave his girlfriend a quick peck on the cheek before leaving to carry out the deed.

"Mr. Umami--" Karin started.

"When I hear 'Mr. Umami', I turn around and expect to see one of my students. You may address me as Yosenabe, Yosen or Dad."

"Okay, um... Yosen?" While she had been living with the family for a few months now, it still felt too soon to be using such a familiar term as "Dad."

"Yes?"

"I'm a little concerned about Genmai," Karin admitted. "I'm not claiming to be an expert, but I took a class once on psychology and I've noticed some things and... I think he might have post-traumatic stress disorder."

"What exactly have you noticed?" While his tone was level and calm, she could see the heavy concern in the man's eyes.

Elsewhere in the house, Senbei came to his little brother's door and gave it a good, firm knock. "Gen! Dad said it's time to get up!" He was greeted with silence, which was odd. Normally a knock on the door did the trick. He must be exhausted, Senbei thought, somewhat astounded. Regardless, he needed to awakened. Senbei opened the door and found his little brother lying on the bed. With the last light of day casting its hazy glow in the room, Senbei could see that Genmai had his eyes wide open-- he was obviously awake. If this was his way of ignoring Senbei, it was a very lame attempt. Why are you breathing like you just ran a mile? In the silence, Genmai's shallow breathing was clear to anyone listening.

"Gen." Senbei tried again. Silence. "Genmai!" Silence. Senbei didn't know if his brother owned any earplugs, but it would explain things. With an exasperated sigh, Senbei switched on the light. Still no response; not even a jolt of surprise. As a last resort, he entered the bedroom and reached out to shake Genmai.

At the very last second, Genmai lurched up and yelled out, "I'M STILL ALIVE!" to Senbei before scrambling away from the boy and falling off the other side of his bed.

"Genmai!" Senbei snapped. "What the hell is your problem? It's just me!"

Genmai sat up on the floor and reached for his glasses on the nightstand, slipped them on, then took a moment before recognizing his brother. "Oh!...Sorry," he apologized sheepishly.

"What the hell was that?"

"Yuzu's crying," Genmai pointed out as the infant's cries pierced through the house. He stood up to go and comfort his nephew in the other room, but Senbei grabbed him by the ear.

"Karin will get him," Senbei stated. "You aren't going anywhere until you tell me what just happened."

***

"PTSD?" Senbei repeated. The family was gathered in the living room, the focus being Genmai, who was curled up in a ball in shame. "I thought only soldiers get that."

"If you've experienced some traumatizing event in your life, then you are susceptible to developing it," Mr. Umami explained. "It is not reserved only to those on battlefields and it's the most logical explanation in regards to Genmai's postdormital sleep paralysis." He was quite irate and frightened by this latest development-- you could hear it in his tone that he was trying to stay calm.

"Sleep paralysis?"

"It's when you're awake mentally, but you can't move your body, talk or even react to your surroundings." Karin described. "People often have trouble breathing or suffer from unnerving hallucinations or both. I hear the lucky ones are the ones that can open their eyes."

"I wouldn't call it 'lucky'," Genmai muttered.

"So that's why your breathing was so labored...Wait; what did you see that horrified you out so much?" Senbei inquired, trying to get a firmer grasp on the phenomena.

"I... I was having trouble breathing and I couldn't move my body or anything, so I was freaking out, thinking that I died, or was dying. Then you had to be an ass and turn on my light, so I REALLY thought I was dying, and then I just saw some figure reaching out for me and... I just panicked! I didn't know what to think," Genmai expanded on his latest terror indignantly.

"How long has this been going on?" Mr. Umami finally acknowledged Genmai's existence and began the interrogation.

"Since my motorcycle accident," Genmai confessed solemnly, focusing on his feet.

"How often has this occurred?"

"Um...it usually happens when I have my motorcycle nightmare. It's when I--"

"Karin told me about this re-occurring nightmare." You could tell he was wounded hearing about the nightmare from someone else rather than from his son.

"Okay. Well, it usually happens after that nightmare, though it's happened a few times when I have normal sleep. I don't know HOW MANY times it's happened, but I've written about it in my journal when it does happen." Mr. Umami raised his sons to write in journals every night before going to bed; the rule was nullified when they hit high school, but Genmai still liked to write in them when something significant happened. It was almost therapeutic, having somewhere to put your thoughts when you can't share them with anyone else. "I could count how many entries I have and tell you later."

"And when were you planning on telling me about this?"

"Um...never?" Genmai remarked sarcastically. "I didn't think it was anything to report. Sometimes it's for a few minutes, sometimes it's for a few seconds-- I just thought I was waking up in a weird mood or I was still dreaming or something. It's not actually detrimental to my health, right?"

"Physical health, no, but it reflects a lack of mental health. Constant thoughts of death?-- do you think I want to turn on the news channel one day and find out my youngest son went into a psychotic rage and committed some heinous crime?!"

"Is your opinion of me really so abysmal?"

That brought the father and son to a stalemate. Mr. Umami was so befuddled, he could only manage a series of strangled sounds. Genmai was annoyingly good at that-- he could change a tide or topic with one statement, especially when he didn't want to discuss something. The son smirked, knowing he won the battle. With a sigh, the father concluded that he would make an appointment for Genmai to see a head doctor, to see if it really was PTSD and if there was anything that needed to be done. While the family meeting was officially disbanded, Genmai made sure to shoot Karin a few nasty glares every now and then over the following days. Though he never told her that his ugly thoughts were to be kept between them, he thought it was pretty obvious considering the solemnity of their heart-to-heart chat. A part of him wanted to spill the secrets she shared with him, but he knew that two wrongs didn't make a right. Plus, she meant well-- that's what made it especially irritating.

***

"Hello, my name is Dr. Weir-- not 'Weird', Weir," the psychologist introduced himself to Genmai, shaking the boy's hand. He could probably be someone's grandfather; he had that salt-and-pepper look in his hair that stuck out in odd ways-- it kind of made Genmai think of Einstein. He was about what you would expect of a psychologist-- unobtrusive appearance, calm, steady voice but with an air of intelligence, like he knew something and wasn't going to tell you.

"Genmai Umami-- not 'Umiami', Umami," Genmai introduced himself in a similar manner.

"Well, Mr. Umami, would you like to come with me?" Mr. Weir offered, amused by the humor. Genmai followed the man down a carpeted hallway, past other offices that seemed unoccupied-- maybe the doors were just that thick, or maybe Genmai was the only head case of the day. Either way, it sent a tingle of anxiety down his spine, or maybe it was the air conditioning. "Now, do you know why you are here?"

Do you have to say it like a traffic cop? "I'm here to see if I have post-traumatic stress disorder."

"There's nothing to be ashamed of, I assure you. We can't always help it when bad things happen, nor can we always help how it affects us afterwards. But that is part of the reason why we are here, yes. We are here to see if you have post-traumatic stress disorder, or more commonly known as PTSD, and if you do, figure out how to help you the best we can so that you can have a fulfilling life."

"Yes, sir." Genmai saved the sarcasm for later-- the guy was trying to help him after all, and he hasn't even known the guy for five minutes.

"Now, we will be conducting an assessment," Dr. Weir explained as they finally entered an office. It had a nice homey feel to it, which calmed Genmai's nerves somewhat. For some reason, he had imagined white walls that were cushioned-- wait! that's for patients that went psycho. Either way, it was a comforting room to be in.The general color scheme was bright but not in-your-face-bright-and-happy kind of bright. "Would you like to fill out the form yourself or would you rather I read the questions to you?"

That was probably a part of procedure; surely the man would assume that Genmai could read. However, given the options, Genmai gave in to a stupid whim that crossed his mind. "I'd like you to read it to me." In all honesty, filling out a form with the doctor watching him would just make the whole appointment (more) awkward than it already was.

"Okay," Mr. Weir didn't seem surprised by the choice; maybe he was just really good at hiding what he thought. "Well, make yourself comfortable then," he gestured towards the aquamarine chaise lounge chair before settling into a nearby armchair.

"Can I take off my shoes? I promise my feet don't stink."

"Sure. I trust you."

The preliminary questions were enlightening for Genmai; there are so many ways one could develop PTSD. Sexual abuse, domestic violence, separation, kidnapping-- it seemed almost endless. You didn't always have to be a victim either-- you could have witnessed it or just heard about it. He qualified as a victim of "Physical Abuse", having sustained serious injuries from the weapons being used (with his motorcycle accident), "Community Violence"-- those racist neighbors they left behind in the city-- "Serious Accident", having fallen off a motor vehicle and been hospitalized, "School Violence"-- once again, the racist assholes they left behind in the city-- and "Bereavement", having learned of how his mother was murdered. However, when "Impaired Caregiver" came up, Genmai paused.

"How much of this are you going to tell my dad?" he inquired, dubious.

"What you choose to share with me will be kept confidential unless I deem it necessary that it should be shared, keeping your best interests in high regard. You are still a minor after all." Dr. Weir explained.

"Well...I feel like my dad has been a bit off since my mother was murdered."

"Has your father been neglecting or mistreating you in any way?" Dr. Weir asked, his pen returning to the top of the paper, where "Neglect/Maltreatment" was.

"No! He takes good care of me still, but...I feel like he worries about me too much. It can be depressing-- I feel like he's expecting me to drop dead any minute. He's been real overprotective of me. I mean, I guess it's to be expected. He was there at the place and time when my mother was murdered."

"So would you say that your father suffers from a mental health problem?"

"If that's what it says on the paper."

"Okay," Dr. Weir made a little mark on the paper. "Now, out of all these traumas, which would you say is affecting you the most at this current time?"

"My motorcycle accident."

"Mm-hm. And could you give me a brief description off this accident?"

"Well, I was being chased by some guys at my school who wanted to run me out since I'm a Kuchisake. As I was riding, I fell off my bike, then they all beat the crap out of me and I got knocked out. I woke up in the hospital a few days later. Sorry-- that's not really one trauma; that's two."

"They are very closely related to one another, happening in the same instance after all." The doctor made a few notes on the form. "Well, now comes the fun part; I will ask you if you have had any of these symptoms in the past month. That would mean since this date," he pointed to a large calendar behind him. That obviously had to be a part of procedure-- of course a sixteen year old could tell how long a month was.

The second part of the assessment was slowly proving to be a jarring experience. There were simple symptoms that Genmai would readily admit to, like nightmares and flashbacks, but there were others that he didn't realize he was suffering through until it was laid out in words. At times, he wondered if the deeper, darker recesses of his mind were etched out in black and white for the man to see-- for the world to see. A fantastical scenario, of course, but it seemed more and more likely as he went through the questions with the doctor.

"Do you find yourself avoiding anyone or anything that reminds you of the traumatic event?"

"Yes." Genmai only rode his motorcycle on one day since the accident; Mizuame's birthday.

"Do you have physical or emotional reactions to things that remind you of the traumatic event?"

"Yes." Riding around on Mizuame's birthday was harder than pulling teeth. Gripping the handles, feeling the rush of air as he sped through-- he had to keep telling himself that he wasn't being chased and that they would make it to the fair all in one piece. He was incredibly sweaty when he reached the fair and took off his helmet, though Mizuame probably didn't think much of it. His socks were really stinky from sweat too when he took them off that night upon coming home-- like he had been walking through dumpsters barefoot all day.

"Do you have a lack of interest or motivation regarding employment, recreation, former hobbies, sex, exercise?"

"Still a virgin, still a spaz."

"Do you feel that relationships that were once close and even intimate are now strained, cold, distant or require too much energy to maintain?"

"...yeah." It sounded horrible, but even though they all live together, Genmai hasn't really felt close to his brother or father. It was why he turned to Karin after all.

"Do you feel an emotional numbness, like you can't get happy or sad? It often referred to as 'feeling dead inside'."

"...yeah." It was certainly more prevalent when he was all bandaged up and pumped full of painkillers, but he still had his moments, and it was typically when his father or brother were concerned.

"Do you feel a sort of hypervigilance, like you need to always be on the lookout for possible dangers? This could also include emotional hypervigilance."

"YES." Just this past hour or so, walking through the streets of town, coming into the building-- Hell! meeting Dr. Weir even-- was enough to fray Genmai's nerves. He felt like he needed to keep an eye out for some sort of weapon (either physical or verbal) that someone might use against him. His father had to keep telling him not to glare at random strangers, even though he wasn't aware that he was doing such a thing.

"Have you abused any substances to un-numb yourself-- make yourself feel something, basically, whether it be good or bad-- like drugs, alcohol, food..."

"Um..." Genmai recalled the time when he got Karin to cook her special pork and rice dish. "This one time, I was scared I wouldn't be able to eat this one food again, so the next chance I got, I ate a bunch in one sitting. Does that count?"

"I'll say 'no' to that. So, do you find that you have trouble remembering key features of the traumatic event?"

"I don't think so. I mean, I don't know how I fell off my bike, but I think that was just because I wasn't paying attention."

"Do you question or feel like abandoning faith? Like God has betrayed or abandoned you? Do you ever get angry at God?"

"Not really..." Genmai believed in God, but he wasn't one to blame his troubles on Him.

"Do you have a fear of becoming violent?"

"My dad does. I don't, personally."

"Do you have homicidal thoughts?"

"That's racist," Genmai remarked.

"I'm just reading what is on the paper," Dr. Weir displayed the question for him to see.

"Nope. I've played around with the ideas, but I never think to follow through with them. I mean, if I'm going to go to prison, it may as well be for something good."

"Would you expand on that? What sort of thoughts have you played around with?"

"I've thought about killing the guy who killed my mother, but then what would that solve? I'd just be no better than him."

"Okay." Dr. Weir seemed a little relieved. Spending so much time with him, Genmai could almost pinpoint the slightest fluctuations in the man's calm, steady voice. "Do you often feel sad or depressed?"

"In what context?"

"Perhaps you feel disinterested in life?"

"Nope. I want to live it as much as I can with no regrets."

"Then perhaps you feel worthless or guilty?"

"...yeah." The whole family meeting where it was discovered that he had sleep paralysis made him feel downright sinful, especially considering the way his father looked at him.

"Do you feel ashamed or embarrassed over what happened?"

"...yeah." Though Mr. Umami assured his son that he didn't think twice about the move to the country and did it to protect him, Genmai still felt guilty, like he himself had just uprooted his whole family's lives. Moving from the city to the country was like moving from the Sahara desert to the North Pole-- it had to be. Genmai was grateful that his father was willing to go through such lengths, but surely, deep down, the man must have some sort of resentment at having to make such a drastic change.

"Are you sensing that your future has shrunk? Like, you don't expect to have a career, get married, have children or have a normal life span?"

What a horrible thing to think of! Yet, in the halls and classrooms, Genmai overhears all kinds of dreams and aspirations from his peers, all encouraged by their teachers, yet every time he thought of his future, he just imagined himself lying dead somewhere-- usually the side of the road. The thought of getting married seemed nearly impossible, and having children seemed out of the question entirely. When Genmai looked at his nephew, Yuzu, he thought that the baby was a fearless act of courage achieved by Karin and Senbei. How they could find it in themselves to bring this new, vulnerable life into the world was absolutely beyond Genmai's comprehension. Didn't they think about what might happen if one of them died? If both of them died? If-- God forbid-- Yuzu died? NOPE. Marriage and family was a castle in the sky for Genmai. A career was a little less difficult to think about; he figured he would just get some little-guy job, like a store clerk, and support himself until he died.

"...yeah."

"Okay. We're almost done. I would now like you to tell me if any of the reactions-- the thoughts or feelings that we identified-- appear to cause you significant distress or functional impairment."

"Woo-hoo," Genmai cheered sarcastically. It was painfully obvious that he was a head case; now they just needed to see if he was a danger to society, like what his dad said he'd wind up being.

"Do these reactions make it harder for you to get along with other people at home?"

"Not really." Granted, his relationship with his father and brother felt strained, but they still got along.

"Does it get you in trouble at home?"

"I always cause trouble. I never do anything right." Dr. Weir didn't seem amused by the (half) joke.

"Does it cause some other problem at home?"

"Um...sleep paralysis. Does that count as a problem?"

"It is to be noted. Does it make it harder for you to do well in school? The reactions, not the sleep paralysis."

"Not really. I get good grades and I have friends."

"Does it cause other problems at school?"

"I picked a fight with a former coach once because he was being a racist asshole."

"Okay. Does the reactions make it harder for you to get along with friends or make new ones?"

"Um...I can be on edge at first, but then once I get to know people, I'll relax. And I'm actually happy when I make a new friend."

"Okay. Does your reactions make it harder for you to do important things that other kids your age are doing?"

"I have trouble thinking about my future and I freak out when I get on a motorcycle, but other than that, no."

"Okay; last two questions. Have you had any changes in appetite?"

"Only when my dad tries to cook. The guy cannot boil water to save his life."

"Well, that can certainly turn a stomach. And have you noticed any change in sleep patterns?"

"Other than my sleep paralysis, no. I get my eight hours a night, though sometimes I'll take naps. I have a baby nephew at home, so sometimes he'll wake me up in the middle of the night when he cries. He's been kind of under the weather since the weather has gotten chilly."

"And you are done," Dr. Weir declared brightly. "Thank you for responding so openly. It makes both our jobs easier. Now, lets go and meet your father out in the waiting room."

Upon returning to the waiting room, Dr. Weir gave a brief rundown of what had gone on in his office-- Mr. Umami was aghast when he found that his son had the assessment read to him. "You know how to read!" the man remarked his son.

"I do," Genmai nodded. "I just chose not to."

"Please forgive my son," Mr. Umami bowed his head in shame at the doctor.

"No, it's perfectly fine, Mr. Umami. In fact, I feel that I was able to get a better grasp on his mental state through the verbal communication. He's a very open boy. Most clients I get around his age deny having a problem and try to fight themselves and convince me that they of sound mind. I usually have to fight them to get genuine answers. Now, would you like to join me in my office while I review your son's responses?"

"Do I have to attend?" Genmai asked.

"No. This will just be between me and your father."

"In that case; Dad, can I get something from the vending machine down the hall?"

With a sigh, Mr. Umami handed his son a few dollar bills before disappearing down the hall, back to Dr. Weir's office.

***

"So what were the results?" Sashimi asked.

"I had PTSD, but it didn't inhibit my functioning in society." Genmai replied. "Dr. Weir just suggested that we be more open to conversation about not-awesome things. I mean, we never really talked about my mother's death or my accident as a family. He also got my dad to go into therapy. Over time, I was able to get over my fear of the motorcycle and my sleep paralysis went away by the time I graduated high school."

"This I don't understand," Mizuame interjected. "If you were so afraid of being on a motorcycle, why were you so angry when your father took away your key? Wouldn't you be relieved?"

"That's like asking a woman why she wants a pearl necklace if she's not going to wear it everyday," Genmai remarked. "When you are a teenage boy with ANY set of wheels, you keep it! It's the coolest thing you can own-- a status symbol, if you will."

"Makes perfect sense," Mizuame nodded sarcastically, reminded once again of the kind of man she married.
---

I had a lot of fun looking up PTSD questions and facts about sleep paralysis
Probably a little too much fun

Anyways, these are my sources:
www.nimh.nih.gov/health/topics…
ptsdusa.org/what-is-ptsd/get-h…
www.nctsn.org/nctsn_assets/pdf…

Genmai definitely has his dark side, but he is strong enough to work through it in the end.
Also, this is the kind of art work you get from me when I'm going on one hour of sleep