Status: Hiatus
Remember To Breathe
Disgusted
Sometimes I wondered why my life wasn't going the way I wanted it to. I wondered why I could hear this voice and no one else could. I always imagined that it was my conscience, and that I was going crazy because I was responding to it. Dr. Santori said it wasn't normal, but it wasn't as if I was in some sort of severe sort of insanity. I didn't know what else to do but to listen to him, so I did. He prescribed some medicine to me to help get more sleep since that voice was keeping me up until the sun rose every morning. He said the medicine would help me no longer hear the voice at all anymore.
Thankfully, today was a better day. The voice wasn't there, but Dr. Santori said if it did come back I should breathe, that it's just me belittling myself. I heard him say something to my mother the other day. He said that I might have a double personality in its early stages. I didn't get it. Why would I be telling myself horrible things? He said it could get worse if I didn't treat it, if I didn't take the regular sedatives that he provided me. I wanted to be like I was before. I did as I was told, I took the medicine every night, as told, and in the morning, I was still tired, but I could still do everything I could do before.
It was a bleak morning in April as I woke up, fully sedated, but I felt normal. I didn't hear anything I wasn't supposed to hear and I didn't see anything I wasn't supposed to see. Everything was normal.
I went to go change into some new clothes and my shirt rose above my stomach to reveal a diagonal looking scar that went straight across my stomach. I couldn't take my eyes off the disgusting memory and I stared at it in the mirror for what felt like forever, the whole flashback replaying in my eyes.
It was the last week in October, almost near Halloween and I could see them everywhere, little bugs, everywhere. They were crawling on my clothes and they were in my bed. They were moving so quickly, I tried killing them but nothing worked, I couldn't get ride of them. I was too afraid to do anything because nobody would believe me. I remember seeing them climb in girls' hair and I kept on telling the teachers, but they would tell me to be quiet. I told my parents and they kept on telling me that they would bring me to the doctor's office tomorrow. They wouldn't help me. The bugs were all over me.
I was in my room, trying to stay away from them, but they were continuing to come near me, until a voice came out and said, 'Stop'. They all went away and I was grateful to the voice. My mother told me that it was just a dream, that I had a nightmare. I thought different; I vowed that I would listen to that voice.
Whatever the voice said to do, I'd oblige greatly. It told me I didn't need anyone because I didn't deserve them. I let myself live in the shadow of that voice, never listening to my own. I stayed secluded to myself because no one needed me. No one wanted me.
I was sitting in the kitchen while my parents were getting ready to go celebrate their anniversary. It was now a week into November and the voice said that the bugs were back, but I couldn't see them anymore. The voice sounded like a distorted version of my own as it kept on telling me that they were crawling all over me. 'They're in your skin, get them out,' that was all I needed to hear. The voice told me they were crawling inside my leg so I took the steak knife that was placed at my left and I lifted it up. I hesitated and as I was about to bring the knife down to my leg, my mother came down the stairs and screamed.
I didn't drop the knife but instead clung onto it, she came over and started to wrestle me for the knife but I resisted. Soon enough my father came and began to try to pry the knife away. My grip was loosening and my parents were still pushing. I let go of the knife, my father had accidentally leaned forward, the blade facing me, and the knife made a smooth, long cut right through my clothing, and my skin. The gash was deep and my mother started crying.
"What did I do wrong?"
The ambulance arrived shortly and I was beginning to grow tired. The voice was telling me they were still there, but I didn't see anything, I didn't feel anything. I was too weak to move. Blood was everywhere, over my parents' clothes, over the countertops, on the floors. I didn't remember anything else that happened that night except for the voice telling me I was almost there, I was so close.
I shuddered and quickly threw on a new shirt and walked away from the mirror. Those were bad memories that made me who I was today. I wanted to forget those disgusting memories so badly. I suffered enough, I just needed to forget.
Thankfully, today was a better day. The voice wasn't there, but Dr. Santori said if it did come back I should breathe, that it's just me belittling myself. I heard him say something to my mother the other day. He said that I might have a double personality in its early stages. I didn't get it. Why would I be telling myself horrible things? He said it could get worse if I didn't treat it, if I didn't take the regular sedatives that he provided me. I wanted to be like I was before. I did as I was told, I took the medicine every night, as told, and in the morning, I was still tired, but I could still do everything I could do before.
It was a bleak morning in April as I woke up, fully sedated, but I felt normal. I didn't hear anything I wasn't supposed to hear and I didn't see anything I wasn't supposed to see. Everything was normal.
I went to go change into some new clothes and my shirt rose above my stomach to reveal a diagonal looking scar that went straight across my stomach. I couldn't take my eyes off the disgusting memory and I stared at it in the mirror for what felt like forever, the whole flashback replaying in my eyes.
It was the last week in October, almost near Halloween and I could see them everywhere, little bugs, everywhere. They were crawling on my clothes and they were in my bed. They were moving so quickly, I tried killing them but nothing worked, I couldn't get ride of them. I was too afraid to do anything because nobody would believe me. I remember seeing them climb in girls' hair and I kept on telling the teachers, but they would tell me to be quiet. I told my parents and they kept on telling me that they would bring me to the doctor's office tomorrow. They wouldn't help me. The bugs were all over me.
I was in my room, trying to stay away from them, but they were continuing to come near me, until a voice came out and said, 'Stop'. They all went away and I was grateful to the voice. My mother told me that it was just a dream, that I had a nightmare. I thought different; I vowed that I would listen to that voice.
Whatever the voice said to do, I'd oblige greatly. It told me I didn't need anyone because I didn't deserve them. I let myself live in the shadow of that voice, never listening to my own. I stayed secluded to myself because no one needed me. No one wanted me.
I was sitting in the kitchen while my parents were getting ready to go celebrate their anniversary. It was now a week into November and the voice said that the bugs were back, but I couldn't see them anymore. The voice sounded like a distorted version of my own as it kept on telling me that they were crawling all over me. 'They're in your skin, get them out,' that was all I needed to hear. The voice told me they were crawling inside my leg so I took the steak knife that was placed at my left and I lifted it up. I hesitated and as I was about to bring the knife down to my leg, my mother came down the stairs and screamed.
I didn't drop the knife but instead clung onto it, she came over and started to wrestle me for the knife but I resisted. Soon enough my father came and began to try to pry the knife away. My grip was loosening and my parents were still pushing. I let go of the knife, my father had accidentally leaned forward, the blade facing me, and the knife made a smooth, long cut right through my clothing, and my skin. The gash was deep and my mother started crying.
"What did I do wrong?"
The ambulance arrived shortly and I was beginning to grow tired. The voice was telling me they were still there, but I didn't see anything, I didn't feel anything. I was too weak to move. Blood was everywhere, over my parents' clothes, over the countertops, on the floors. I didn't remember anything else that happened that night except for the voice telling me I was almost there, I was so close.
I shuddered and quickly threw on a new shirt and walked away from the mirror. Those were bad memories that made me who I was today. I wanted to forget those disgusting memories so badly. I suffered enough, I just needed to forget.