The two knocks were a welcome interruption to Galen's morning. For the past eight hours, he had stared at the wall as still as a corps, barely even breathing. he was not even sure if he was breathing at all, or whether he had even blinked once the entire time. Of course his psychologist would insist that he was breathing, and that he had to have blinked. but Galen had no memory of either, which he found odd considering he remembered everything. He had done this every night for a week, and did not feel the least bit tired. His Physician said that he suffered from an advanced form of insomnia, but he would fall asleep eventually. Galen was not so sure. He felt as if he never needed to sleep. So when the two knocks came, he jumped off of the bed, and all but ran out of the door. He hated that room with a burning passion. Mainly because he had to sit in his bed and stare at the wall for eight hours every night.
When he saw Castiel, he nearly smiled, wanting to be glad to see her; that oh so familiar face. But then he remembered. this was not the woman he loved. His psychologist had been extremely adamant about that. Galen's fiance died several years ago in a car accident is the middle of a storm. First, he went into a psychotic depression, and convinced himself that his fiance did not die, but was death itself. He came up with an elaborate story that told of him first dying, then meeting a beautiful woman named Death, then finally becoming immortal. He had immersed himself in this fantasy so deeply that he had a full recollection of the past 6,000 years of history. This was easily explained by him having a masters degree in world history. Even now after three years of intense psychological therapy, he struggled with the memories, and had to constantly convince himself that they were fake. Now he was at a second phase of the fantasy, which he was at least becoming more realistic, and was projecting his fiance onto this woman, the only new employee since his arrival. Every time he looked at her, he wanted to wrap his arms around her, and hold her, swearing to never let go again. In fact, this was exactly what he did the first day he laid eyes on her at the institution. But after that, once they had pried him off of her and somehow forced him into a straight jacket as he was mercilessly attacking anyone who laid their hands on either of them, he slowly accepted that she was not his love. Even now, just like with the memories, he struggled to convince himself that she was someone else. A stranger whom he had frightened and possibly traumatized. He then wondered why she was always so eager to be the one to listen to him during the conversational therapy. he theorized that she was developing Nightingale Syndrome, but then remembered that he was the one with the mental illness. Not her.
He grimaced as he walked past her, nodding politely as he headed to the cafeteria. if sleeping hours were his most hated time of day, then meal time came in an extremely close second. The problem was just as he never felt a need to sleep, he also was never hungry, or thirsty. Even when he refused to eat, he never lost energy, and was never dehydrated. He only ate because his psychologist insisted that he was subconsciously willing himself not to feel the symptoms, even though they were there. The Nutritionist said that he was malnourished, and on the verge of starvation, but he never felt any different than normal. When he did eat, it was because something tasted good, not because he needed to eat it. He slowly made his way through the serving line and got the minimal amount of food required, while at the same time as many pancakes and sausage links they would give him. He sat down in the back corner of the room so he could see everyone who came in and out of the room. Another psychological problem he presented. He displayed all of the symptoms of a shell shocked soldier with 20 years worth of PTSD. But the problem was that he was never in the military, or experienced anything even remotely similar. He was a Wallstreet business man, his stress was all papers. nothing physical or traumatic, other than his Fiance's death, which he already suffered separate symptoms from.
And such was his life. Confusion, self deception, mystery, and chaos. He glanced around the room to the other patients. Most old, but a few new. He was mildly interested in them, all suffered something similar as him. They thought they were magical or unnatural creatures. Oddly enough, he always knew what each of them were when he saw them. That one is a Wearwolf, Vampire, Elemental, Harpy, Fox, ext. Of the new ones there was a Light Mage, Werewolf, and Vampire present. The others would most likely arrive shortly.
