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The medication was increased last week. They explained it plainly: regulation wasn't working at the current dosage, so they were adjusting. I said fine. I meant it. If it works I want it to work.

It does seem to work. The surges are quieter. The sense of pressure before something moves is lower, more manageable. In the sessions I am measurably more controlled, which they document and file and I never see the results of.

What I can't document: it feels like having cotton wool around the part of my head where the power lives. Everything is slightly muffled. I don't know if that's the medication or if I'm imagining it because I'm watching for it.

The father didn't look up from his notes today when I came in for my session. He said 'sit' the way you say it to a room, not a person. I sat. We proceeded.

Rhys brought me a book from somewhere. No author on the spine, old binding, turned out to be a very strange novel about a lighthouse keeper and his relationship with time. I read it in two days. I don't know where he finds these things. I've never asked. I suspect the asking would ruin it.

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