head_psychic

You know you're different.

Your father doesn't say it, neither does your mother. Your father tells you it's all about being a good police officer but sometimes, when you're not mad at him or angry or too busy doing something else you wonder if maybe it is also about control. About being able to grasp what's happening every time you see something.

You haven't asked for that. You've cursed it. You've cried because you were so frustrated, so angry. Because you don't understand why you have to do another task and excercise, why you have to recall another picture with details from memory, why you should try when it never is enough anyway, when giving up is so much easier, so much less painful because there is never the feeling of success after you accomplished anything.

You don't really get what it is you can do but you think it's neat and you start to tell the others about it. Maybe brag a little. Not too much, just like you would brag about a toy or the way you can play football or run faster than the other kids. It's not a big deal. It can get you into trouble but just within the bounds of children's rules.

Until you learn that people don't like it.

They start getting mean. They are over you like a horde of wild animals, tie you up and blindfold you because little kids in groups are bastards like that and they carry you away and drop you somewhere and they sing and chant and laugh and you're nothing but scared. Find your way home, Spencer! Remember the roads! Show us you can find your way home by memory!

You never ever tell anyone about your skills again. Only Gus. Because Gus understands.

They don't understand why you're being friends with the geeky kid, the one that doesn't have a friend beside you. Well, he does, but they are all imaginary or action figures. They don't understand. They shake their head at you, because by now you're somewhat the popular kid and that is just weird.

They don't understand that you are the geeky kid as well. That you know that knowing stuff, being skilled, being able to do stuff can be so bad for you. You just know how to hide it by now. Your grades suck. But Gus understands and that saves you.

You travel the world, searching for a way to use your special gift, because you don't seem to fit in, you can't find your place in life, you are just so restless.

And they want to arrest you and it would be so easy to tell them you just have this amazing skill, you can see things within seconds, details, you can put it together, compare, think, place it into contexts, you are just good, you are a genius.

Who likes a genius?

The detective glares at you. Don't you dare to trivialize police work. There it is again. The anger of the world that doesn't understand that for you it really is that easy. That there are other things that are incredibly hard for you but this, this part you don't have to trivialize because it is just that. Easy.

They want answers and it's so hard to speak, you can't tell them you have a photographic memory, you're eidetic, you have been trained in hours and hours of frustration and strain to use exactly this to think at the speed of light.

There are so many excuses for what you are doing and you collected them during the years but right now you can't think of a single one and then you see that pendant and you are a psychic and flop around and yelp theatrical sighs and call upon the spirits.

And suddenly you love it.

Love it more like anything you've ever done before.

Love what you're doing because people are annoyed but nobody hates you for what you're doing and though you tend to piss people off nobody really hates you for your success.

You learn that people hate you when you're skilled. Not when you're gifted.

Muse: Shawn Spencer
Fandom: Psych
Words: 692