Since I was born, I could hear everything around me more clearly than my parents. I could hear their feet getting up out of bed when I would cry in the middle of the night. When they would go into the kitchen, grab a bottle out of the fridge, fill it up and warm it up in the microwave and then walk up the stairs again to come comfort me and as I got older I learned how many steps they took to be next to me. The amount of steps to take was 26. I don’t have OCD, but hearing more than a normal person has created other illnesses within me to keep me from being a normal person. It started when I was about five years old, I would have a nightmare about an ugly monster living inside my closet. It would come out when I was in a deep sleep, but I would hear it breathing next to my ear. It steps heavy on the floor and bumps into my dressers and drawers, making the books and stuffed animals fall off. Funny thing was, when I would wake up that monster would be the size of a seed but it made that much of racket and created the illusion of a bigger monster was to come later. When he waved at me from down on the floor, my tears would start to fall and I’d cry for my parents when they’d come in to be near me they would say “nothing’s there” but yet he would be there with his hand crossed looking at me slyly, I’d still be crying and my parents kept saying “there was nothing to be afraid of what’s not there.” They were real and I had created them in my mind.
When I was a teenager, the monsters got smaller and smaller until they turned into words. Every word, every sentence became a bigger monster. When I would go to school, the voices would start to shout at me, telling me to kill and love each of them to pieces. Every person I came into eye contact with was being judged with another voice inside my mind. “She is ugly!” one would say, in a high falsetto voice. “I think she’s pretty!” another would say, this time in a child’s voice. The ones that would whisper deep within, was from a demonic voice saying the words “kill her.” I had to fight back the tears in my seat, from the age five to 17 I would pee my pants in fear of the chaos inside. They would not leave me alone. Instead of being the good child when I came home from school, I would go into my room and throw my bag full of homework that will be completely and I went into my escape and that’s where the voices were at their peak and I was free to cry in silence. I would crawl underneath my bed and look up to the wooden box that the bed springs were resting on. So many memories lied within the words already written in place. Each bed I ever had, had words and sentences that never made sense to anyone but myself. It would be covered with the truth and lies of what each voice would say about myself, my parents, and what the outside would thought of me.
I tried to get help as a young age, but there was no helping the demons that appeared on top of the shrinks head, they were tickling their ears and nose. They traveled down their bodies were loose hairs and giggle their way down and stomp on his shoulders, thighs, knees, toes, and fingers with such force you would think thee pain was caused from falling down a large case of stairs. It was hard to heal what was easily the best form entertainment to an only child. When they would ask, “what do you see, child?” I would freeze up as I had made a promise to one of the monsters that I would never describe them to anybody, but when I was 15 I couldn’t take the pressure of keeping in a dumb secret like this. “They look like little elves, but not like Santa’s elves. They cause chaos to everything I look at and the pain you’re feeling right now was made from them right now.” I gave up trusting them as they were tearing me apart piece by piece. When the shrink looked at himself and saw the places that were burning of pain, nothing was there. “Don’t say what my parents said to me as a kid. They do exist. They’re there, I can only see them.” I would say out loud in front of the shrink, who would start writing in his pad of paper again. When it was time to leave, he excused me out of his office into the waiting area so he could discuss my actions with my parents. When they came out, they had a small piece of paper in my mother’s hand of a prescription of a medicine that would “help” cure the monsters that roamed freely around me. That first day was pure heaven; I was normal for once. I was no longer looking for them anymore or counting how many steps a person took in the house. Seventeen days later, the monsters had found a way into my ear canal and said clearly, “we’re back.”
Some of them where from the elves, as some where formed from the people I had meant around town. I had remembered what each person who talked to me sounded like and mimicked their voice to make them say what a monster would say. I was in a panic, I was being good and taking my medicine but we would run out for three days at a time to get a new refill, it was like a jail sentence all over again. They were just voices, some in accents and others in softer tones. It was exhausting to have them back filling the void of being normal. They said they had mourned that I had destroyed their bodies, but since I had a great memory I had brought them back to life with their voices. It was scary to think that thirty days ago, I could only hear one voice, my voice. Now here they were again, making me write underneath my bed. Writing instructions of what I should do and who I should be. They would be angry that when I was on my medicine I had slashed “x’s” on each rule and then once they were done yelling at me, I was back to sanding each part down with new wood and I’d be right back to were I had started. I wasn’t alone in my mind but I had so longed to be again. When the pharmacy refilled my contains, I felt like unbalance of happiness and conflict between the demons and myself. I wanted to be a good person again, but they controlled my body the most. At my worst, my parents would have to hold me down to force feed me the pills in order for me to take them. I was consumed with them that I fought hard to regain strength in not taking them at all, even spitting them out while my father held my head and hushing me to relax, if two pills escaped from my tongue to reach them and go down the back of my throat, down to my stomach, I could feel the demons running away.
I would be crying for my friends who nobody had ever meant or seen. I had tried to make myself gag in hopes of the pills spilling out in the process. My parents would be there, holding me tightly as I sat there waiting for the medicine to reach the source and then the sounds and feel of heaven erupted inside and the enemy was gone. As days went on, my mother and I were closer and my father and I bonded over our common traits, hair, eyes, and our love of golf. When the sun was high up in the sky and the birds sang away in the trees, I cried tears of joy of what I was surrounded by, a believable heaven that only a person who has once lived in a hell could only see. Rain and storms never terrified me because of the demons I have faced that were much more scarier than something could easily break trees, power lines and rip roofs off a house. I had a chance to analyze what I was able to experience without a monster waking me like a dream. Each day was the same, just different dates and conversations. At the end of every month was also the same, everytime I had tried to break a pill in half at the last two weeks of the month, I’d be out again and they’d start to creep back in. It was heartbreaking to feel the darkness swept in like wind, my family was in fear of letting me out of the house when I was out or ever leaving me alone in my bedroom for the fear of my demons taking over and I’d have nothing left to drown the agony, they knew I had stashed a knife somewhere in my room but didn’t know where. I didn’t ever know where until the time of ten voices came waltzing inside the core of my brain. It was a constant struggle; a beautiful chaos inside my ruined mind.
Like this:
Like Loading...
Got Meghan's Blog 