7-31-15
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I've started cutting. Directly on my skin, so my feathers would cover them. I used a sharp scrap of aluminum from a Radicola Can.
Margaret hasn't found out. I hid the piece of scrap metal in my shaving kit. By the way, I moved in with her, but not at Eileen's place where she was staying; she had just put the down payment on her new townhouse the day before and moved all her stuff in. Its a small, cozy little place. She made me come with her, it was good walking distance to the park. She talked me into it so she could monitor me more closely. She had to talk to Benson about it. She told him that our relationship was getting serious and he bought it. Rigby was a little off-put by it but he didn't give me too much shit about moving out. Benson hasn't stopped verbally abusing me at work though. He's actually harder on me during the workday now because I don't live there anymore...
I haven't slept in a week; since my last entry. I just lay in bed awake all night while Margaret cuddles up to me. The voices are getting a lot worse. They used to be whispers and now they've grown into clear voices. I hear them all night, and whenever I'm near the park house. They tell me to cut. They tell me that "they" won't ever leave. That wherever I go, "they'll" be there with me as soon as I try to sleep. And whenever I go to that damn house... I just hear laughter. Maniacal laughter. Like some kind of evil hyena.
I started listening to music at night, not even to help me sleep; to drown out the voices. But no matter how loud I turn it up, the voices seep through, and become louder than the music.
I'm scared. I'm scared whoever "they" are they're gonna come for me. I don't know how or why though.
Margaret looks at me different now. She looks more sympathetic than she does loving. She sees me and she sees a broken, shell of a soul. I came home from work yesterday and she told me I looked older. I didn't know what she meant until I looked in the mirror. The bags under my eyes were noticeable. The feathers around my face looked slightly faded and discolored. My complexion made me out to look kinda sickly. I looked like I had been in a war.
That poor woman is at her wits' end trying to ease my pain. It's not really working, but she's helping me to live day by day.
I've learned to appreciate the world around me. When I walk around town, I don't look around for pizza places or arcades or comic book shops like I used too; I pay attention to nature. The trees in the park. The natural, vibrant green color of the leaves and grass. The shade of blue that graces the sky every day. I study it, almost. It distracts me from my mind.
Rigby isn't ignoring me anymore. He's cracking jokes to me at work. It's nice to hear him tell me jokes and stuff again, but I just think it's weird that he ignores me for almost a month and then acts like it was nothing. I suppose I should be happy he's speaking to me again, but like... I just don't feel good about it at all. I can't explain it.
I really hate Benson. He's become a freaking slave driver. Yesterday there was some Middle School Soccer Game at a field on the other side of the park and he wanted us to bring four really heavy water kegs to the field. We were loading it onto the cart when he told us he wanted us to walk them over. Keep in mind it was 101 degrees and sunny. He didn't even give a reason, when we asked why he said "just carry them to the field like the pack mules you are without any complaints or you're FIRED!"
I feel like I'm hanging by a thread. I'm gonna go into Margaret's tiny backyard to chill and listen to music. Bye Amethyst.
[Entering traditional story format]
Margaret's POV
Mordecai walked down the stair, iPod and shades in hand. "Hey Mags, I'm gonna chill out in the backyard and listen to some tunes for a while" he said to me as I read a book on the couch
"M'kay hun, by the way do you wanna go see Jurassic World tonight?" I asked. I knew he loved the Jurassic Park movies, so I thought seeing a movie could take his mind off things.
"Nah, I'd rather stay home tonight. Maybe some other time." he said as he walked out the back door.
That was the response I've been getting a lot lately. I was only able to get him out once this week, besides work; that was because I dragged him grocery shopping. I feel so bad for him. My poor boy is going through an awful time in his life. I'm at the end of my rope trying to make things easier for him. I tried the whole "pamper him/wait on him" technique, but that didn't work so well. He still insists on helping with the cooking and cleaning and such (even if he rarely ate the food he helped cook). I think it's because it gives him something to do to take his mind off things. So I figured I'd let him. I'm also having him channel his emotions into lyrics and music, and while it serves as an outlet he enjoys, it's not making things better. Mordecai said his only family member who knew about his depression was his mother. I think I'll give her a call.
I picked up the phone and dialed for Mordecai's parent's house. A deep voice picked up on the other end. Must've been his Dad.
"Hello?"
"Hi, this is Margaret Smith, is Mrs. Quintel home?"
"Why yes she is! And by the way I've seen you on the news, you're one of my favorite anchors! Didn't you date my boy Mordecai for a brief time?"
"Aw, that means a lot Mr. Quintel! And yes, I did! We actually got back together some time ago. He moved in with me."
"Haha, well isn't that grand? I'll put his mother on the phone right now!"
For someone who didn't recognize depression as an actual disease, Mordecai's Dad sure seemed like a nice guy.
"Margaret! So nice to see you! How you been? I've heard you're back with Mordecai, I'm so happy to hear it! What can I do for you?" Mordecai's Mom's voice was soft and filled with joy. It made me happy to hear it.
"Heh, actually Mrs. Quintel-"
"Oh please, call me Jeanne!"
"Okay, Jeanne- I called you because something serious has arisen. Mordecai isn't doing to well. It's his depression, he's deteriorating fast. I'm so worried about him, I'm at my wits end trying to ease his pain. The medication you brought him only made him worse. He told me he's hearing voices, he isn't sleeping at night, I was wondering if you could come down and talk to him or something, and maybe see if you can help me at least ease his pain."
"Oh... I was afraid this might happen. I knew that pharmacy was sketchy, I feel awful. It was all I could afford for him."
"He knows you meant well, Jeanne, but I think right now some comforting time with his mother could do him some good."
"I'll come over right away, what's you're address?"
"41 Summit Court." I replied.
"See you in 30 minutes" she hung up. I glanced at Mordecai through the screen door that led into the backyard. He was sitting on a lawn chair, he looked so peaceful. I knew on the inside his mind was a madhouse.
Jeanne arrived promptly, thank god. She greeted me at the door with a warm smile. She had a tupperware container with her.
"What's that?" I asked.
"Homemade sugar cookies. It was the recipe I made a lot when Mordy was a toddler. I stopped making them so much when he became a teenager. Where is he?"
"He's in the back, I'll go grab him, go ahead and make yourself at home." I said as I walked into the backyard.
I walked up to Mordecai from behind and kissed him on the forehead to grab his attention. He took out one of his earbuds.
"Huh?"
"Mordecai, there's someone here to see you. And they brought cookies." I said. He got up and followed me into the house.
"There's my special guy! I'm so sorry the meds I got you made things worse!" Mordecai's Mom said as she got up and hugged Mordecai.
"Mom? What are you doing here?" he seemed pleased to see his mother. It was nice to see him smile.
"Margaret called me up told me my Mordy was having a rough time" she said as she lightly pinched his cheek. I thought it was cute how she still sorta babies Mordecai. "Let's sit down. Mordecai, I want you tell me everything that's been troubling you. I also brought your favorite sugar cookies from when you were little."
Mordecai started from the top and told her everything. About Benson, about Rigby, about CJ, about the voices, everything.
"...and I can't sleep, I can't eat, I always feel cold at night and I can't stop shaking... also the voices ring out in my head every time I try to sleep. I feel like a zombie. I don't what to do with myself." He said as he finished up. He was starting to sound like a zombie too; his tone of voice was almost monotone.
"Oh honey, you're beginning to look like one too. Look at you! You look like you've aged..." she said as she hugged Mordecai.
"I've been getting that a lot lately.." He said as he glanced at the ground.
"Y'know Mordecai, when I was a teenager, and I was feeling depressed, I used to read my grandmother- your great-grandmother's diary- and it'd help. She was a very bright, very funny lady. I brought it with me and I want you to start reading it." she said as she handed Mordecai a very old book.
"Thanks Mom, I appreciate it." replied Mordecai.
"No problem, sweetie. Now if you excuse me, I'd like to have a conversation with your lady friend in private." she said as she gestured to talk to me in the backyard. As we walked out, Mordecai cracked open the diary.
Outside, I turned to Jeanne.
"What can I do to help him? I.. I love your son, Jeanne. I want to help him."
"I'm glad you do. Especially because I can't always be there anymore... Mordecai can be a tough cookie to crack. I think the best way you can help him would be to nurture him. Make him feel like someone out there cares, make him feel protected. As if he were your own child, but obviously you'd want to do it in a more boyfriend-girlfriend manner so it doesn't come off as weird." the old avian explained. I felt a bit disappointed.
"But I've already tried to do that! I've been reminding him constantly that I'm here for him."
"Don't do that silly, he'll get annoyed with that eventually. I want you to act protective of him. Hold him in your arms, make him his favorite breakfast every now and then, that kind of thing. Oh, that reminds me, make sure he eats better. Don't be afraid to push him with that. I'm starting to see his ribcage."
"Uh, god, I know, he's starting to look like a Holocaust prisoner... those damn pills are killing his appetite and the side affects just won't wear off. Apparently the bottle said they side affects permanent." I said. Jeanne sighed at this.
"Appetite or not, you feed that boy! Look Margaret, I know you can pull Mordecai through this. As long as you love him, he can do anything."
I blushed at this. "I hope you're right, Mama Quintel." I said as I glanced at Mordecai reading the diary.
Mordecai's Mom left awhile ago and Mordecai helped me make dinner. We made beef stew served over pappardelle pasta. Mordecai ate a very, very, small portion. I knew he didn't have the appetite, but I made him eat a bigger helping. He was reluctant at first, but he eventually ate it. I made sure he ate it slow so he wouldn't get sick from overeating (which is ironic because he's borderline malnourished).
That night, I woke up to the sound of crying. It was 2 AM. It was raining hard outside, and I noticed Mordecai wasn't in my arms like normal. In fact, he wasn't in the bed at all. My eyes adjusted to the darkness and I spotted Mordecai in the corner of the room, curled up on the floor. He was rocking back the forth and he kept repeating "go away, shut up, leave me alone" through a seemingly endless stream of tears.
"Mordecai!" I exclaimed as I rushed to his side.
"Th-They're here Margaret, and they're s-so loud.. arghh..." he wept out. It was a heartbreaking sight.
"Where are they Mordecai?" I asked, alarmed. He turned his slowly until his eyes met mine. A flash of lightning struck as he pointed his hand to his head. I noticed something off about his arms, though. His blue feathers were stained purple. I then noticed he had cuts going up his left arm, and a piece of shrapnel in his right hand. I gasped. He was cutting himself!
"They're s-so loud... ughhhh!" Mordecai groaned as he put another gash in his arm. "I th-think the blood scares them, every time I do it, they get a little quiet, but then they come right back..."
All of the sudden, Mordecai broke away from my hold and flopped onto the ground. He started shouting in agony.
"AHHH! GET OUT OF MY HEAD! GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HEAD! YOU'RE! TOO! LOUD!"
As he continued to shout and scream in agony, I sprinted downstairs at the speed of light and grabbed an empty mop bucket and filled with with water. I burst back into the bedroom, Mordecai still sprawled out on the floor, blood gushing out his arm. I flipped on the lights and I threw the water on him. In hindsight it might have been better to contact 911, but I was scared. I wasn't thinking straight. I luckily got the problem under control. His screaming stopped, and I pulled him into my arms.
"Uhh...nyuhhhh.. my head..." he moaned out.
"Shhh, shhh, my baby, it's all okay, everything's going to be okay..." I cooed. The blood mixed with the water and stained my night gown. I took him into the bathroom and pulled out my first aid kit. I sat him down on the closed toilet seat I cleaned all the cuts, there must have been at least 15 of them going up his arm. I stitched up the worst cuts (luckily only three or four of them were deep enough to warrant stitching) and wrapped the wrest in gauze. I went through 3 rolls. Almost his entire arm was wrapped up. When I finished my handiwork, I took a good look at him. His body was stained with the blood from his arm. He was barely conscious. It was too much for me, I broke down in tears. I pulled him close and I cried into his shoulder. Then I realized. He wasn't barely conscious because he was sleeping.. he's suffering extreme blood loss.
I called 911.
A/N: This was NOT a suicide attempt. This was Mordecai going crazy over the voices and losing sight of what he was doing.
