Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.
Authors note: Based on a true story. Reviews?
Enjoy!
Depersonalization (DPD): is a state in which the individual ceases to perceive the reality of the self or the environment. The patient feels that his or her body is unreal, is changing, or is dissolving; or that he or she is outside of the body.
Isn't it funny to feel unreal. Almost as if the world you thought you knew, was a bizarre fairytale. A simple dream, or in most cases - nightmare.
Isn't it just ironic to see your life through white pupil-es eyes; literally. Or maybe feel - No, know that someone is taking you out of your body, almost like how a ghost hovers above there body, watching there corpse lye there.
In this case - were alive
Perhaps your brain locks you up in a box, a small black box, locking the door on its way out. While you're in there, screaming your heads off, a small TV appears. The screen frizzing and static, you stare at it. Then something flashes on, you look closer and closer, only to realize it's your own life.
Yet the scary part is being alone in there.
When you stare up at that screen, you realize someone else talking and moving for you. You're confused. Who's that person? Who could it honestly be that's talking? Well that very well is your conscious... or other inners.
So while you're suffering in the box, banging its black walls down, sobbing uncontrollably. Your body is being run over by 'another you' were no one can see your suffering in your own insane jail. No one is there to break you out, or save you. You're all alone, and it's depressing.
You wont get rid of it, if you "fight it", that's what keeps it going.
Wondering how all this started? How my depressing prison sucked me in. It was an un-usually cold day, were the wind blew in strands, and the trees shed leaves from there bark tames. My brother and mother had just picked me up from daycare, all walking hand in hand. None of us smiling, though.
Otousan came home early today.
Okaasan opened the apartment door slowly, letting brother and I to walk in first- in case we needed to make a run for it. We could hear the television playing, a reality show with the volume low. Sake bottles scattered everywhere, with a fresh pack of burned-out cigarettes on a wooden pot.
Cockroaches ran across the room.
My innocent eyes lingered from the empty chair in front of the television, to the kitchen. It was smelly and old, its color a stained brown and yellow.
Dishes upon dishes piled against another, the sink filled with brown-ish water and scum. The floors stained with alcohol, dirt, and red stuff. It smelled like cigars, and rotten food. I clutched my bag to my chest, burrowing my face in the bag to smell the intoxicating markers.
Anything was better then this.
I took a step forward toward the living room.
I heard a crunch, and looked down.
Another cockroach.
Scrunching my nose in disgust, I slid my foot across the floor. The bug was ripped apart. I sighed and rubbed my nose, looking behind me I could see my Okaasan's sad, tired face. Too her left was my dirty looking Oniisan, who'd surely had a terrible day at school.
We were the exact same. Anti socials. He being 10 years old and me being 3 years. No one really liked us as much, considering we were so isolated from the whole group. He being ridiculed by his clothing and taste, and I being stared at for my lack of speaking.
I slumped my bag to the floor, as did my brother. Okaasan slumped the groceries onto the table, sorting them out. My brother helped her out with them, as I went to playing with my toys. I thought about how much Okaasan suffered, seeing as she supported 2 young children, and husband on just 15 dollars an hour.
I also thought about my Oniisan, on how he suffers at school. Considering he's 7 years older, I think about how our life style affects his socialize state. To make everything clear, we basically live in the poor neighborhood. We live in a raggedy old building, were when you turn the tap on cock roaches come out, and rats and bugs scurry around the floors.
The ceilings crack, the electricity goes out, same with the water. There are always gun shots, police cars, and ambulance trucks outside every night and morning. Just last week my friend, 6 years old, who lived in the apartment across mine, was shot in the chest.
Probably it was last month a drug dealer asked me to hide 2 pounds of marijuana in my school bag for him; Police was coming. My neighbor next door is a geisha, and so is her neighbor. I guess only 1 family on my floor hasn't been arrested already; including ours.
Anyways, point is, everyone makes fun of her at school. Calling him poor and all, since Okaasan can't afford enough nice cloths for us. It's a pain we all have to cope with, as much as we hate it. I sighed out smoke and started choking, running into the kitchen I opened the fridge only to see rotten food falling out.
I stepped back and bumped into Okaasan's stomach, looking up I could see her distressed face. "Dammit..." she nearly sobbed out, while rubbing her strained temples and massaging her heavy bags.
"What the fuck is this?" a deep voice slurred out combined words.
Okaasan, Oniisan, and I all froze. The hairs on the back of our necks standing up, our oxygen seeping out. Okaasan was the first too turn around, she flailed her arms out, "I'm sorry! The electricity must have gone out. I'll pay it tonight, I'll go buy more food and clean this up." she begged.
He frowned, and spit on her. Grabbing her shirt and yanking her forward, he brought his fist up and slammed it across her jaw. She shrieked out in pain, as he dropped her to the floor, she'd started sobbing while clutching her already broken jaw. Brother and I watched in horror.
Otousan picked her up again by the hair, dragging her by it and stomping on her face. She screamed and cried harder, he told her too, "Shut the fuck up." and then proceeded to beat her more. At least until brother stepped in.
"S-stop hurting Okaasan!" he jumped on his back, trying to bring him down. He being much stronger then him, threw him across the room, making him hit the wall. I stared at my passing out beaten Okaasan, then to my unconscious bleeding brother. I panicked.
...and screamed.
I broke down on the floor, sobbing my little eyes out. Grabbing my head in pain, tears pooling over my red stained face. I felt a hand slid into my neck line, yanking me forward slamming me into the heating radiator. The pain was unbearable, yes. The blood oozing out made my head hurt, yes. The screaming from Okaasan made me cry harder, yes.
And yet nothing mattered.
Because there it was. Waiting for me. A shadow. A beautiful shadow. Sitting on a black box, holding out there arms for me. Even as scared as I was, they were honestly the only ones who seemed not to hurt me. I ran out to them, grouping them in a hug, crying.
"Shhh...dear child its okay now," they cooed, while rocking me back and forth. Slowly and silently, brushing my hair to the side. I looked up into there black orbs, there pale white skin, and beautiful smile.
"A life like this isn't suitable for a child your age, or any other age." they continued, bringing me to there chest and hugging me tighter.
"W-who are you?" I stuttered.
They smiled.
"I'm here to keep you safe, to take you away from all this bad stuff."
"W-what do you...mean?"
"You're never going to suffer again. I'll be there to help you, and keep you safe."
And indeed they did.
Just in the worst possible way they could.
It was then I could see Otousan strangling me. Okaasan standing in the background laughing. Oniisan smiling men-icily at the brutal murder.
They look so happy...
I could see my eyes going lifeless, begging the world to just take me now. The pain was too much, emotionally, mentally and psychically. I was a child, a traumatized child.
Who ate twice maybe three times a week. Who was beaten merciless there Otousan almost every night, who was ridiculed by an Oniisan who hated there every being. An Okaasan who cared not if the child died.
'It's because you were born this happened.'
'You destroy and mess up everything.'
'Go die you rotten piece of shit!'
The flashbacks intruding my eyes, sending horrid images into my already dying brain. The feeling in my arms numb and torn, my legs burnt and cold, my chest beaten and bloody. My brain tattered and broken down.
It was when I couldn't take it anymore. That I let the darkness get to me. It swallowing me in its whole-ness, eating me alive. Keeping me isolated in my very own mind, ticking day by day. Never letting me out.
Fool...
GET OUT!
The box's doors unlocked, and I already made a run for it. I ran so hard, feeling the muscles in my legs pumping faster with blood. My face stone hard and determined. So many years of being locked in that hell hole. So many years being wasted to rot away. So many years of unknown worlds, and old pains.
'I'm free.'
I had broken out of my black box.
Opening my eyes, white spongy walls in site. My breathe gasping wheezes, my lungs ready to explode. My brain throbbing in overdosing pain. It smelled like medicine and blood. There was too much white, the walls, the bed, and the pillows. Everything.
Sweat running down my body. Heart beat beating faster each minute. I'm panicking. A man came out, two men actually. There trying to calm me down. Apparently I'm not letting them. I punched one and kicked another. There taking out pointy objects.
They jab my leg.
Everything turned dark.
I woke up shortly after. Too only be welcomed by a doctor. They say there a psychologist. They say they want to 'help' me. I don't believe them. They say they help bad things go away. How can you honestly be so sure?
What if they...bring me back to the black box?
But they didn't.
They explained
... My illness
Depersonalization they call it.
Caused by trauma and anxiety.
"Where is my family?" I asked sternly.
The nurses and doctors glanced at each other. My doctor looked solemn, massaging his forehead, as he took my hands in his.
"That doesn't matter now, what matters is getting you proper he-," I cut him off.
"I said where is my family."
"...we don't know."
I sighed.
"Okay. Then what happened." I questioned.
"Your father was an alcoholic and used to abuse your Mother, brother and you." he explained.
"Go on." I nodded.
"You learned to ignore it, by staying quiet and or...going into your box," he shifted his weight.
How did he know about the box...
"By the time you reached 12, one of the school counselors recommended you see a psychologist immediately. Of course your father refused, so the school did it privately. When you went, you told the Psychologist everything."
I don't remember any of that.
"The doctor contacted us, and set out for child services. But by the time we got them, your parents and brother already fled somewhere, leaving you alone. So the social worker put you in our hands. We've kept you here for nearly 8 years, and you haven't spoken a word. You would act strange and like somebody else during time, but we just thought it was Multiple personality disorder-," he paused.
"In the end it wasn't, it was just the natural effects of-,"
"Depersonalization." I finished for him.
He sighed and nodded, "Yes,"
I nodded and folded my arms across my body. Eying the scenery. White walls. Doctors. Nurses. Medicine. A hospital? No. Maybe?
"One more question."
"Yes?" he looked up nervously.
"Where am I?"
He stared at his twiddling fingers, "You're in a mental institution."
And so here I am. In my lovely room. The sponge floors and walls comforting my seating. My dull black eyes matching perfectly with the white; everything. I chewed my nails, staring at the bars on my window, the locks on my door. The restraints on my bed, my arms, my legs.
I was—'dangerous'
My medication was just outside the door. Where the two body guards, and 4 nurses stayed and chit-chatted about there personal lives. I'd have to sit there and listen to them all day, talking nonsense. I barley ate, or slept. I wouldn't do anything, but stare at the empty walls. I couldn't do anything, anyways.
I tried thinking about the years where my body was taken over. What was I doing? Did I make friends? Where's my family. Was I somebody? Did anyone even care about me, or was I just some loony locked up in a bin?
I honestly didn't know.
I walked up from the floor, slid my bed towards the window and stood on top of it. Looking out in to the city, where cars beeped there horns, and streets were busy with people.
Business men and women walking arm to arm in unison, the smell of gas burning my nose. Spoiled fat children begging there parents for more junk food. Teenagers acting cool with there friends, couples holding hands, hobo's begging for money.
It's beautiful in every way.
I sighed and looked at my hell once more. A caged prison. You're never to be let out. Just to rot and spoil, like everyone else in here.
You're going to die, and you know it. You're never going to anything with your life, and you already know that. You accept this fate, and embrace it with either bitter or welcomed arms.
It's just like the black box
... except this ones white.
"I got out of one box, and entered another"
The end. (Confusing?)