Hey. So I'm, like, alive. Anyways, life has been haywire between battling ADHD, depressive psychosis, insomnia and two different schools all at once. I think that sentence right there explains why I haven't updated in a while, right? Not to mention I'm a sophomore in high school now, so shit's always more and more demanding of my time. So this is chapter one revamped, it has extra text on it and everything. Anywhore, see y'all at the bottom!
Hello. My name is Cameron Ann Morgan. I'm currently 26 years old, and I now live in New York City. If you are the person I gave this to, then you knew all of this before. If you are not the one who was meant to be reading this, I ask you to close this book, and either give it back to her or burn this. This is too personal, I really hope you have the least amount of decency to respect that.
You know how sometimes your life seems perfect, and then suddenly it's not anymore? When one bad thing happens, and then boom, only bad things happen to you? I hope you never have to go through this, because I do know, and I wish this on no one, not even my worst enemy. But I guess I would have to know, considering how I got here. I wouldn't be me if I didn't know, I guess.
I guess I should explain. Actually, scratch that, I have to explain. I need to get this off my chest; I've reached a stage in my own self-loathing that means that I can't even stand the thought of not telling someone. I can't bear the weight of this alone anymore. I can't bear it at all, in fact. Honestly, I never could. This is why I'm writing this. I'm writing this so that once this is over, I can be free. No, I don't mean that I'll be free of the guilt. I will never be free of the guilt. My hands are still stained with the blood they made be shed, and some stains never really do come out. I'm going to be free, but of the one thing that most people chain themselves to willingly. I'm going to be free of myself, of my memories, and most importantly, I'm going to be free of my life.
Once I'm done writing this, I'm going to print this and send this to my mother, and then I'm going to hurl myself off the Empire State Building, and for the first time in my life, I'm not going to do anything to stop it.
Mom, if you're reading this now, I'm sorry. It had to be done. I couldn't keep living like this. I couldn't keep doing what I was doing to everyone. I couldn't keep doing it to myself. I'm so sorry, Mom.
How stupid was I to think that I could learn to control this? The answer to that would be very stupid, in case you were wondering. Nobody can control it. It has a mind of its own now, it's clearly not happy with just sharing mine. I know you're surprised at my use of a 3rd person pronoun. You should be. But I still used it. That thing, that monster, it isn't me. I am not whoever it makes me become. That person, that blood-crazy sick sliver of a human being, is not Cameron Ann Morgan.
Do you want to know what's the worst part? It's not the fact that I know now that I can't control it. It's not even the nightmares that have plagued me ever since. It's worse than both of those combined.
The worst part is knowing that I will never forget, and I would know, I tried to forget. I tried pretending that if I forgot what happened, maybe it actually didn't. Clearly my brain doesn't agree with that idea. To this day, I still remember the face of every single person I've killed. No matter how hard I try, I just can't forget every single scenario my twisted mind came up with and that my lips had spouted without a second thought into the world. Whenever I closed my eyes, I could see the light leave the eyes of all the people who hung on to every word I said and followed them without a moment to say no, because it wasn't like they could help it. I've found that I'm quite persuasive. I wish I weren't.
I don't understand how anyone who has this... this... this thing... can still stand themselves. I've only suffered with this for the past ten years, and I hate myself every second for it. I know, I know, it's not my fault. I know, I have no control over this, I shouldn't hate myself for it. But I do, and there isn't anything anyone can do about it. I don't get how anyone who is a home to this kind of foul, loathsome, despicable waste of brainpower can even want to be alive anymore. If they wanted to do the world a favor, they'd do exactly what I'm going to and kill themselves before they kill anybody else.
Back when I was still in school, young and stupid, I was, my mother told me that I would be fine, that I would learn to control what used to control me, and therefore I would be able to become a better person. As if. What was worse though, is that I believed her. I knew that kind of thing didn't happen, but I still hoped it would. It was quite different, what actually did happen.
I began slipping back into my own mind, and that time, it was almost impossible to pull me out from the haze, to force the beast locked inside to retreat. When I woke up in a hospital, I was told that I spent nearly a year prisoner to my own mind. Something that I find not quite as odd, but just as off-putting, though, was how I couldn't remember what had happened in between the killings, but I could remember their faces. I could recall what I'd tell them to do as if the thoughts had just come to me for the first time.
Even though I kept being reassured that it wasn't me, and that it was not by any means my fault, I still felt as guilty as anyone would. Just because it wasn't my mind that was controlling my body didn't mean that, in essence, I killed all those people, it just means that if I ever were to go to court for it, I had a legal justification, which to me was as good as nothing.
You know, anybody in this situation would have said that they just wanted to get better, but you want to know something? Before it gets better, the darkness gets bigger, and the person you'd take a bullet for is behind the trigger. Actually, you know what, scratch that. There is no "getting better". There are just distractions to keep you from returning to old habits. I've heard they have this terrible thing for being hard to extinguish. I'd have said kill, but killing is easy, and I'd proven that more than enough in my lifetime.
Anyone that knows me would know that I'm not to be trusted with my own mind./p
So... Like it? Don't? Tell me what you think in the review box down below!
Like I said the first time I posted this, this story is about as personal as my writing gets, and it's really tough on me to write about this, since I never had before this story. Due to that, I will take a lot of time to update, because while a lot of this is fiction, the other bits are based off places I've been emotionally, and it's taxing on one's mind to do it for too long or too much of it.
Anyway, I still hope you guys are willing to see where this story goes, this time I actually know what I'm doing with my writing, which is a plot twist in its own, so if anything makes you stay, I hope it's the promise of good writing and good reading.
I love you all, and if anyone needs to talk, my PM inbox is always open, okay?
Over and out
~JOZL
