Path Into the Abyss

Letters to the Abyss

TRIGGER WARNING FOR SELF-HARM, MENTIONS OF BLOOD, DEPRESSION, DISSOCIATION, DEPERSONALISATION, PULLING OUT HAIR, AND PERSONALITY DISORDERS UNDER THE LINE.

If you are in a bad mental state right now, do not continue reading this. Close this book and speak to someone you trust and try to work through this problem. Contact a helpline. Do not use this story to justify your actions or use it as "ideas". That is NOT what this is for and I am explicitly stating this.

This section contains mature themes of self-harm and mental illness, but do not mistake this as glorification. I am writing this from a place of experience to depict an accurate portrayal of the emotions and thought processes behind the act within a controlled setting of fiction. The Abyss is a metaphor for depression, and the next chapter will include a dissection of this one.

The story will resume underneath the line. This is the last chance to exit. It is more graphic than my other chapters.

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Am I truly alone this time? Have I been wiped from the face of existence, or am I still lying there in my room with this void existing only in my head? If this sludge surrounding me is all in my mind, how does one escape from within oneself? Should I attempt to find a way through my mouth, spitting my subconscious out as a vile-tasting thought form? Would I assume the form of a calm spoken word or a snake's venom? Or should I instead attempt to locate my ears, clawing my way out silently and following the sound of those around me?

I close my eyes, but nothing changes. There is still just as much darkness as there was when they were open. I try to calm myself but feel as though I am in a trance. There is a faint buzzing in my skull, not a sharp whistle but a droning vibration that draws me into a languid stupor. I feel somehow disconnected from my body, unable to feel where my fingers are. I wouldn't be able to bring myself to focus enough to find anything in here at this rate.

(Possibly triggering content begins here. Discontinue reading if at any point it begins to affect you.)

I attempt to will myself to speak, using all of my effort to push my mouth open and force the slime out of my lungs, but no sound comes out. I push harder and harder until I finally feel something; a dull ache. I latch onto this. Despite not being a pleasant feeling, it is better than the state I was in before. I continue pushing and the pain grows in intensity.

Yes, yes! I think to myself. Now I am getting somewhere!

I am sure if I could see anything, my vision would grow darker as the buzzing gets stronger. I must be losing consciousness. My body betrays me, gasping to once more fill my lungs with the fluid. The buzzing retreats back to its prior level, and the ache subdues. I am once again floating in nothingness. Pushing once more, I attempt to return to that place. This time though, there is no ache. The drone remains at its lowered level, and I just keep floating along.

Why is it not working? I have finally caught a glimpse of the world, I cannot allow it to slip away so easily!

I clamp my jaw down in frustration, catching my tongue. A jolt of electricity fires from between my teeth through the muscle. The void around me lightens a little but fades once more to black as I quickly unclench. Hesitantly, I press my teeth back into place atop the sore spot before clenching again. The electricity jolts and the void lightens! I begin to taste a metallic substance mixing with the sludge in my mouth but dig harder. The void continues to lighten, now a murky darkness instead of a complete void. I keep pressing harder and harder, but the lightening of my surroundings seems to stop at a certain level.

I see now. My pain seems to correlate to this place. To see where I am, I need more of it.

I drag my hand agonisingly slowly through the sludge to my opposite arm. I begin to sift through the hairs, twisting them around my fingers and pulling them towards my palm until they rip from the follicle. The lightning erupts from the surrounding skin, shooting towards my core again. The area lightens some more, no longer completely black and instead a darkened grey. Yet again, this seems to have its limits.

I trace down my arm, grazing the skin with a sharp touch of my nails. I press and drag, the skin reddening and rising at the sensation. Nothing happens. I dig deeper, but there is a minimal change in the colour of my prison. I am still suspended here, trapped and barely able to see or move. I can't feel anything I don't inflict myself.

My fingers trail down my arm once more, past my wrist and palm, down to my other hand's fingertips. I slowly trace the outlines of the sharp hangnails jutting out of their corners and the short pieces of skin that have lifted from the edges. The ridges of my fingerprints come into contact with the exposed nerves hidden underneath them. There it is. I extend my forefinger and thumb, pinching the targeted hangnail. I grip it tightly and wrench it, pulling some of the surrounding skin with it. The sludge loosens its hold on me just a little. I continue to pick at these fragments of myself until there are none left and my fingertips are covered in blood. It is ever so slightly easier to move now.

I move onto my fingernails next, as it is still too difficult to move too much. Sliding my forefinger's nail underneath its twin on the other hand, I pry and lift until there is a soft pop. There is so much pain, my body is urging me to stop. I give in, retracting my finger. The throbbing in my finger subsides and the sky darkens once more.

No. No no no no no no NO!

I resume my attack on my keratin-plated finger caps, popping them off one by agonising one. Blood and plasma are leaking from underneath them as they float away through the ooze. I lift my hand to my head and wrap tendrils of my hair around my fingers, the locks gliding through for a final time. I continue to increase tension and pull. They come loose with a pop. I increase the size of my chosen segments until I am ripping out entire handfuls of hair. My head pounds with pain but I push on. My head is full of angry bees, stabbing every pore from the inside and filling it with venom. My head feels wet with pain, and despite no blood actually leaving this time, I find the sludge is still thinning. Eventually, I am out of hair on my scalp and move onto my face. Eyebrows and eyelashes are removed individually, zapping more and more shock into me, but it becomes easier to move, and I can feel my legs now.

That's right, I have legs! I have a whole body! I am not just a floating head and arms, I exist!

I lower my other hand past my nose and down to my lips, pushing my tongue out of the way and replacing it with my nails. I bite the remainder of my nails off, chasing an i̶m̶a̶g̶i̶n̶e̶d̶ escape. I spit them out and watch as the sludge thins more and the void becomes a dark reddish colour. I feel around for something else to attack, but... without my nails... how would I do anything?

There was nothing around me, despite being brighter and less thick to traverse, I was still trapped. I had caged myself without realising it. I had no more skin to pluck at, no more hairs to yank. I was stuck.

...Or...

was I?

Just when I think I have run out of options, I feel my tongue still pressing against my teeth. I gently widen the gap between my upper and lower mandible ever so slightly before pushing the muscle back through and slamming it down as a test. Blood starts to slowly replace the sludge in my mouth, thinning it out. It is now that I realise what I must do to allow myself to swim to find an exit. I clamp down as hard as I can. The world turns a blinding white as I feel something warm flop into my cheek and a thin sharp-tasting liquid bursts from my lips and mixes with the sludge I am suspended in.