[ WP ] You are a schizophrenic maddeningly in love with the man/woman of your dreams . But you 're becoming increasingly unsure if she 's real , or just another hallucination .

The voices had been in Patrick's head for as long as he could remember. They were his imaginary friends as a child; he had always had a hard time making friends that were anything other than a figment of his imagination. The other children simply did n't understand. On Patrick's fifteenth birthday his father did what he did every other day, he got drunk. This is when he told Patrick that he was too old for imaginary friends and to man up. Unable to control the voices, Patrick simply internalized them. By his sixteenth birthday he could n't take it anymore and went to a therapist. The doctor diagnosed him with differential schizophrenia. Nothing worked: Clozapine, Aripiprazole, Loxipine, he tried them all. Then he met Victoria. The voices simply disappeared; from the moment he bumped into her on the subway platform, and for the first time in his life, Patrick did n't have his imaginary entourage. She was beautiful. Her graceful curls dyed and unnaturally dark shade of red contrasted against her ivory skin perfectly, and when she smiled with her ever-so-slightly crooked teeth her whole face seemed to light up. Patrick fell in love the moment he saw her, he thought that perhaps that was why the voices had stopped, why he could no longer see and hear the only company he'd had for most of his life. Patrick told his therapist, Dr. Walters about Victoria. The good doctor, ever worried for his patients, began to ask all sorts of questions, `` Have you seen her apartment?'' `` Where did you meet?'' `` Did you see her on the platform before you bumped into her?'' Confused, Patrick asked about the nature of these questions, and that is when the tiny, insidious seed of doubt was planted. Dr. Walters was worried that she might be a hallucination worse than all the rest, not only visual and auditory, but tactile, olfactory, and gustatory as well. From then on Patrick questioned everything about her, the sound of her laugh, the smile that had lit up his world, the smell of her Love's Baby Soft perfume, the feel of her hand in his, the taste of her lips, all of it. He began to grow distant, fearing that he may get hurt. This only made her upset, she thought that she had done something wrong so she tried harder. Eventually his doubt pushed him over the edge, Victoria found Patrick hanging from the rafters of his loft apartment on November 23, just as the snow began to fall again, with a note pinned to his shirt. 
 
 *Victoria, * 
 
 *I do n't know if you're real, or simply a figment of my imagination like so many of the other `` people'' in my life, but I want you to know that this is not your fault, and I love you with all of my heart. If you really were in my head you'll die with me, and if not, I hope you'll keep me in your thoughts. * 
 
 She fell to her knees and screamed. Victoria felt as if she were looking down at herself from the rope where the love of her life was dangling. When she woke up the window and blown itself open and Victoria realized she must have cried herself to sleep, the tears were frozen to her face. She got up and crossed to the window. Rather than close it, however, she simply peered outside then decided to open the rest of them. She lay back down on the floor feeling rather like Juliet. That evening's blizzard filled the apartment with snow, and they were n't found until several days later, human corpsicles for the morgue to deal with.
