The strongest and weakest part of the mind is memory. The easiest to access and hardest to comprehend is also memory. It’s hard to remember some things back then, but keep in mind.
Memory is long to remember suffering.
The degeneration of my psyche went in four very simple stages after her funeral.
Then
The iceberg broke. The iceberg b(rokebrokeb)rO(kebrokebrokebro)Ke.
I didn’t notice until Junior left me alone after the funeral (he had a shift to do). The sounds of fallen, broken glass crashed in my ears, and it was so. Damn. LOUD.
I was being crushed by the sound. I couldn’t hear myself think, there was nothing but the sound of breaking, broken, shatter, clatter. The sound of a million tiny nails hitting a glass floor, someone taking out their madness in a glassware store with a metal slugger.
The noise.
The noise.
Crushed by the noise.
(Apparently I was screaming for hours. After the fifth hour, my neighbors finally decided to call the police. Not because they were concerned, but because my screaming went in cycles from low wailing to outright “I’m-being-murdered” death howls.)
Something’s pounding on a door. Something’s pounding on a door. Rap, rap, rapping, punch, punch, punching, something’s pounding on a door in my brain and the splinters are integrating into my neurons.
I’m touched.
Someone screams. No, not someone---
“OH SHIT!”
She’s still alive! She’s still screaming! Someonehelpsomeonehelpsomeonehelp---
“Don’t go…”
I can feel her all around me! Someone PLEASE! Don’t put her in there! Don’t put her in the dark!
Don’t go… Don’t go…
Stars, fading. Nononono! Dontputmeinthedarkdontputmeinthedarkillhearitillheareverything!
An endless vision of water, vibrating as if it sits on top of woofers turned all the way up. Not water anymore, blood. So much blood, blood reaching up, up, up, to bowed figures in white.
Fading (“…fading…”)…
Oh god, oh god, don’t put me…
“Jethro…”
In…
“I’m sorry…”
The…
“I just want you to be happy…”
I want to be cold… with her…
(The police came, heard my screaming, kicked down the door and I was in a really bad state. When the cops touched me, I flipped out. They tried, and failed, to talk me down. It got so bad one had to molly wop me with a baton. I still have the scar.)
Moving, moving. I’m in a chair. No, I’m strapped in a chair moving on a rail.
I don’t wanna be here. This doesn’t feel right. I hate restraints. I hate the darkness, this feels like a tunnel to somewhere I don’t wanna go.
Where the fuck am I going?
Why the fuck am I… Ajax?
Ajax is right next to me, she’s looking ahead and smiling about something. I want to speak, but it’s like I’ve forgotten how. I look down at her hands, she’s strapped in, too.
Wait…This is a car seat… Oh fuck…
I look up in time to watch her eyes buck, she slams against her seat, I look forward.
The tunnel illuminates with two blinding lights, coming right at us. The quiet is breeched by the soprano of her terror, it reverberates everywhere. The light change into… I scream---
Into the light (my terror falls).
No, more darkness (my terror climbs).
No, dull light (my terror stabilizes on a single note).
(“What’s wrong with him?”)
(“He just recently lost a friend.”)
Where is she? I saw it, too. Ajax, I saw it, too!
Where am I? This room isn’t… IdontknowwhereiamIdontknowwhereIamIdontdontdont---
The walls either grow or I shrink.
The suddenness of it makes me fall to my knees, disorientated. I’m looking at it, I see the floor (notminenotminethisisnothomeIdontIdontIdont) but I still feel like I’m falling
like I’m shrinking
like I’m disappearing
I’m falling away, I’m going away…
I start to do the one thing I haven’t done since I was in 3rd grade (and since the accident). I start to whimper (afamiliarfamiLIAR feeling), my eyes burn, I welcome the blindness and the moistening-dryness on my face.
(“Are you sure they were just friends?”)
(“I don’t fucking know…”)
I need to convince myself I’m not disappearing.
I need to
(“Fuck! Restrain him!”)
feel warmth spread through my body. Remember me… Damn, that feels good…
I feel foreign sensation. It doesn’t feel good.
(“Ouch!”)
(“Watch that hook, he used to be a boxer!”)
(“That was my EYE!”)
More foreign sensation, I’m lifted towards the dull light.
And I still feel like I’m falling.
(“I need sedatives!”)
Nonono, no more restraints!
No more foreign sensations! I need to feel me, I need to stop feel like I’m disappearing, becoming a ghost!
Someone tell Ajax I saw it, too!
Someone--- PAIN jerks my racing thoughts to a screeching, skipping, tripping halt.
Darkness comes quick and heavy… and cold..
I want to be cold with her…
“I just want you to be happy…”
(In case you’re wondering, I used my perfect manicure to rip a good chunk out of my left arm. I covered that scar with a tattoo.)
YOU ARE READING
The Then And Now of Despondency
Fantasy"Hi. Everyone calls me Joker and you should too. So, you must be interested in what that title means, huh? Well, understand a few things first. One: Trauma is tailor-made for the person who is experiencing it. Two: Hug your friends today. Three: I...
