Manic Episode Pupils Novels & Stories

They asked me a lot of questions about my childhood, my mom, my episodes, and my medication. I answered each one. Finally, Dr. Ally Martin said, "We need to understand what you’re like during an episode. Can you try to recall how it felt?" I closed my eyes. The scene flashed through my mind: fragments, white powder, me kneeling on the floor, too afraid to touch it. My hands started trembling. As my heart sped up, my breathing grew uneven.

“I know I didn’t tell you but there’s a rumor that says she’s mentally ill, but I was hoping it was not true.” “So you mean she had an episode.” “Yes. Do you think it has anything to do with the phencyclidine you found in her blood?” I asked. Mr. Petecin adjusted in his chair. “Differentiating between someone suffering from a mental illness and someone experiencing the effects of phencyclidine can be challenging as both may exhibit psychotic symptoms like hallucinations, delusions, and disorganized behavior,” he said. “However, phencyclidine effects are directly tied to the timing and dosage of the drug use, meanwhile, is more likely to come in episodes.”

My demand came out louder than I intended. "Ore-Mr. Ferrari, I'm afraid your wife may be going into shock. Pupils contract to light not dilate. Her pupils have enlarged since my initial exam. The cause could be a combination of the medication and her withdrawals." "None of that's changed since we took off." "I'm concerned that the move has been difficult for her." I sprang the latch on the seatbelt and stood. "No, that's not it. Whatever's happening, make it stop."

“Earl, where are your pants?’ I had just noticed that Earl was in his tighty-whitey undies and that they were in serious need of a washing. I was a little surprised that he had managed to knock Mark down so readily. Of course, Earl was swinging a Louisville Slugger and Mark was an innocent party not expecting the blow. Sinking to my knees, I looked into Mark’s eyes. I knew from the emergency room that dilated pupils or uneven dilation could indicate a concussion. “Are you alright?” I asked, hating how my voice shook a little.

"The kind you can't shut off. It pulls you back. You forget where you are. You forget who's next to you. I thought... it was him. My father. I reacted on instinct." "And you hit her?" "Not intentionally. The movement... it was a reflex. Sloane slipped behind me, tried to wake me, and I... I caught her. She fell back. Her head hit the nightstand." Marcus nodded. Slowly, deliberately. His voice didn't change—neither accusing nor shocked—but it did grow deeper, a shade rougher. "That's not a small thing, Lennox." "I know." "How long have these episodes been happening?" "I was thirteen when I had my first one. Since then... they come back, sometimes. Sometimes I go months without them. Sometimes

I could not cover my nose for that will hurt him, so I inhaled the increasing smell, my stomach twisted and my heart bled. His eyes were cold when he said his last words "A-l-e-x, care…" Then suddenly his grip tightened and his breathing rate increased. He began fidgeting like someone with epilepsy and turned sideways. White substances began pumping out from his mouth. The fidgeting intensified as the substances turned red. I sat beside him unable to do anything other to call on the name of the Lord and begged him to bring me back. But only moments after his pupil reappeared before it finally shut close and he became motionless.

He was just about to descend on her when his body suddenly went stiff on top of her. The golden rim in his eyes began to dim until it completely disappeared and his usual piercing blue irises emerged within the dark pools of his dilated pupils. Emmeline's gaze had been locked on his eyes this whole time and she could swear she saw every change his eyes underwent. However, she didn't think much of it, believing she was merely hallucinating due to being overly intoxicated.

I asked Marcus, keeping my distance from both strangers. "You wanted to know if what I was saying was true, right? Well, I'm giving you a demonstration, so buckle up." He clamped his hand into a fist and the man convulsed on the ground, his teeth shattering while his eyes remained open and bulging. On his skin were his veins vibrating and popping, creating a painting of blue, green and violet. I recognize this scene anywhere. I quickly glanced at Marcus, my eyes rounder than necessary, "You- You're controlling his blood?"

My pulse hammered painfully against my ribs. Then his eyes opened. Relief hit me so hard it almost hurt. Until I actually looked at him. Then the relief disappeared. His pupils were huge. Far too huge. His gaze struggled to settle on me. When it finally did, it lasted only a second before drifting somewhere over his shoulder. Like he couldn't quite hold on to reality. Like reality kept slipping through his fingers. "Hey," he mumbled. My stomach dropped. The word slurred. Not injured. Not exhausted. Drugged.

John said, gesturing to the small case on the table. "The lenses only get you past the first gate. The second gate uses a heat signature of the eye. It checks for the dilation of the pupil in response to light. Abram’s right eye was sluggish. He had a faint case of Horner's Syndrome. If your pupil reacts too fast, the system flags it as a fake." John sat back, his face darkening. "How the hell am I supposed to control my pupil dilation?" "You can't. Not naturally. But I have drops. They'll paralyze the muscle for four hours. You'll be half-blind in one eye, and the headache will feel like a spike through your skull."