Schizophrenia denial medication

I'm 17, and I decided, hey, I think I should go to a therapist--well, I can't really remember the reason why. To be honest, I wanted to hear from someone that I was normal, someone who had a degree in mental health. I was having bad anxiety problems--and I assumed, hey, I'm 17, and in High School. Maybe he could give me tips, yeah?

Well... not so much the case, after a few visits, I felt as if I could trust this guy--he acted like I was normal, and, you know, that's pretty rad. He didn't give me any weird looks. So I told him about my friend Nathan. He's from 1942, and he visits randomly. I'm not really sure how--and after telling him about Nathan, I figured I'd admit to my problem with the one I called Jayden. Jayden has had different names and such, and different genders, since I've been little, but he's always been there, you know? A real big jerk, he has been. Scoffing at the things I do, laughing when I get upset and cry. I mean, with him and Nathan and Elizabeth--who is such a twit, let me tell you--I can get through whatever knocks me down. I don't cry as much as I used too, because I'm too busy laughing.

I tell him, Mark, the therapist, that I need to stop seeing him after five visits. 'Cause I was getting angry. I guess Jayden doesn't like me talking about him, he's still pissed that I ruined his relationship with someone. The session before, Mark told me everything was fine, that Jayden was nothing to worry about. When I told him I was quitting and such, he tells me,

"You know Nathan isn't here, right?"

Obviously, he's in 1942. I also found it weird that he wanted to meet Nathan--why not my other friends?

And then, he goes on to say...

"It's not real."

My mother's life partner, Laura, talks to him after I go wait in that little waiting room thing. He bleedin' recommends medication!

I'm hysterical. He's telling me nothing is real! Well, fine! It's my reality, and I see it, too bad he can't, I'm convinced he merely wants money. I can't take medication, it'll rewire my brain, I know it will.

You see, I'm a writer. And if Nathan and Jayden and everyone--if they're just things I make up and see and can talk too, what's wrong with that? I function fine in the world, don't I? ...So I, after crying and feeling so terrible about myself, and feeling like I needed to alter my entire life around, becoming confused about whats "real" and whats not, I started some research--on Schizophrenia, it was the only thing that dealt with... with whatever!

And it made me so sick. I couldn't read it. Because I've learn to deal with whatever, why should I be medicated?

But now I'm worried. I'm worried again. See... sometimes I feel like I don't know how to talk at all, and sometimes I realize the things I say are... well, off. Sometimes I get these paranoid thoughts and I believe them--until later when I smack myself on the forehead and realize how nuts it all sounded.

I've always been able to tell when I was about to "go away" from people. First it starts with the ruddy nervousness, and then I have difficulty understanding where I am in school, or who people are. I mean, I think I'm rather good at pretending--but the communication gets so difficult at times. And then the childish behavior would start, and I'd either start sleeping a lot or hardly at all. Jesus, I can't detach again--I just did that for four months. I just came back, and been social for three-two months and now I feel that... like, I don't know. You know? That, whatever, thing? I mean, once I become detached I forget what its like be social and I'm content and everything, just writing...

I'm not sure why I'm even writing this. Maybe for Molly, because I don't want to leave her again--I messed her up real bad when I left, and she's what keeps me clinging to some sort of sane reality. Eh...

I guess I'm asking... for help? I don't think anything is seriously wrong with me, I function wonderfully, and I'm a C-B student, I can cope well, and I'm not a danger to myself or others...

Tell me my therapist is a crack-pot? Tell me everyone goes through this, that it's a normal teenage thing. Or tell me I'm absolutely nuts. I just have nobody to really talk to about this who won't either get upset, or go into denial, or try and shove me into medication.