March 18, 2008

Dear Keely

I'm sorry I haven't written to you in so long. I would probably be e-mailing this to you on any other day, but I can't get the internet on my laptop to work. I'm still typing it onto my computer, just in case the internet starts working by the time I finish it. I really don't feel like writing this whole thing out by hand. …I guess I may have to, though.

I was in the library a few weeks ago when a quote came to mind. "Selfishness is not living as one wishes to live, it is asking others to live as one wishes to live." Know who said that, Keely? Oscar Wilde. Ask Via about him; she's smart. I'm sure she knows all about him. I don't know why I thought of that quote, Keely. I really don't. But it spoke to me. Remember how you thought Bonnie was being selfish by doing what she did, Keely? She wasn't. You're the selfish one for wanting her to live a life she just wanted to escape. Hard to swallow, I know. But it's true.

Sometimes I go to the park and feed the birds. It has long been an axiom of mine that the little things are infinitely the most important. I find that it lets me take my mind off all of the dissonance, even if only for a while. I think it helps my mind to sort of bridge this schism inside of it. I'll see parents with their kids, couples, young and old, and people with their pets. Sometimes, I expect our old dogs Saint and Bandit to come running up to me. I know they've been dead for four years now, but sometimes, I find myself thinking that I wouldn't be surprised to see them bounding towards me. I miss those dogs so much… I hope that wherever they are, they're happy and making new friends.

I've been meaning to ask you a question for a while, Keely. I just haven't got around to it. But I suppose I can ask you now: At what point does fantasy become reality? …Looking at that question written out seems a little awkward. In case you don't understand what I'm asking you, I'll rephrase it: At what point do you become so immersed in a particular fantasy that the line between it and reality is no longer corporeal? This has been plaguing me for the past few months, and I just don't know what to make of it. I guess it's just the way things have been going for me. It seems like sorrow is sinking into me again, Keely. It's been that way ever since I got here. Maybe that's coming from the schizophrenia.

It's unbearable, Keely. I hate it. I hate the therapy, I hate the visions, and I hate taking the medicine. I know they said it would take a lot of time and effort, but it seems like they're only getting worse. I can't ignore them. Even if I tried, they wouldn't let me. Do you want to know something Molly said to me? She said to me, "Demons from the past can torment you, yes. I won't deny that, Ashley. But they can also set you free." I think she wants to help me, Keely. I don't think she wants me to be in this kind of pain. But the doctors say that she's just an illusion. A phantom. That there's no real reason she says the things she does, other than the fact that it may be something from my subconscious. But Keely, I think she wants to help me. And the only thing holding her back is me.

I'm sorry… this letter is all over the place… I don't even think I'll send this to you. Are you there at all? Do you care at all?

I can't believe how quickly things move here. It's like the world just decided to get itself in a damn hurry. You remember Max? He's working to help pay his way through college. I have to tell you, Keely, I'm so glad I got that scholarship, because there is no way I would've been able to handle work, shattered mind or not. Sometimes, we'll study together. At least I know he's real. My life has crept so long on a broken wing through cells of madness, haunts of horror and fear, that I come to be grateful for a little thing. But with all the writing and typing, my hands hurt all the time, Keely. All the goddam time. I don't think the professors like me. In fact… I don't really think anybody likes me here. I think it's because of my illness. I don't think they like me because I'm insane. Do you think that's fair? Of course it's not. But I can't blame them for it. I hate it, sure, but I just can't blame them, honestly. I wouldn't even really be that hurt if you thought ill of me because of this. I'd understand, Keely. So don't feel bad if you do.

I'm scared, Keely. I'm so scared. Will I ever be healthy again? I keep myself up late at night thinking about things like that, Keely. I almost never sleep anymore. These thoughts, these visions, these illusions… they're plaguing me. They're sucking the life from me, like a lich. And whenever I do sleep, it's like hell. I fear falling asleep just because I don't want to face what kind of dream my mind might cook up. I dream about Bonnie an awful lot, Keely. Almost every time I go to sleep. Sometimes she's trying to talk to me in those dreams, but I can never quite tell what she's saying. I'll try to talk, but I just won't be able to make a sound. But she keeps coming back, Keely. And she keeps trying to tell me something. Maybe she's trying to help me too. Just like Molly.

The voices are getting harder and harder to ignore. At first they'd only pop up once in a while, but now they're tormenting me every day. They're constantly criticizing me, slandering me… I can't ignore them. They're interrupting me all the time. They never stop, Keely. Never. That's part of the reason why I hardly sleep anymore. Because of those voices. These treatments just don't seem to be working, Keely. I need help. I need to save myself from this madness.

I always wake up scared. It sometimes even takes me a while to realize where I am. Keely, it's torture. I'm living in a constant state of fear. Maybe I should just run away from here. Just run away and never look back. Like the three of us would do when we were walking home and old Mr. Fender started yelling at us for hanging out just outside his house… but I guess I'm too old for that kind of childish naïveté.

I don't like it here, Keely. Yesterday, I just started crying. I couldn't stop for hours. I guess just the reality of everything was catching up to me. I'm tired of being so afraid of everything all the time. I can't stand this condition, Keely. I can't tell what's real and what's fake anymore.

I've decided not to stay. I don't think anybody around here will mind. I'm truly sorry, Keely. Tell Mom that I'm sorry, too. Tell her I'm sorry for being such a disappointment.

And as always, innocent like roller coasters, fatality is like ghosts in the snow. You have no idea what you're up against, but I've seen what they look like: becoming perfect, like sterling silver chainsaws cascading…

Love, your sister,
Ashley

P.S. --- I know I'm a week early, but… happy birthday, Keely.

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I'd say that chapter was hard to write, but that would be a terrible understatement.