Medication
Chapter 13: The Road to Recovery:
At some point I guess I must have fallen asleep on the floor. One of them put a thin blanket covered in fuzz-pills over me. It's filthy, and it reminds me of myself. Once a usable, desired tool now tainted and marred and covered in tiny problems caused by its excessive use and wear and tear.
I can tell it is still very early, both Devi and Squee are still asleep on the couch. Squee's head is resting on Devi's hip and her own head is resting on the arm of the couch. Her eyes are slightly purple underneath, and if I had to guess, I would say it's not all from make up. She looks pale, worried and exhausted, even in her sleep, which was obviously troubled. Even her hours of rest are burdened by me.
Every second I spend in this house, 777, it becomes more and more apparent to me that I am not the good person I have seemingly been medicated into thinking I am.
Looking around in my temporary (and isn't it always) solitude, I see a small desk like table with a lamp on it. Pens and pencils. I quietly walk over, and see papers. Doodles, mostly. A stick figure. What nonsense. However, upon closer inspection I note that it is some sort of comic. Nothing important or anything that makes sense is happening in it. Just some little stick guy yelling obscenities and nonsense at people. A tiny "JC" with a date from a while back is scrawled in the corner.
I would draw something so vapid and disturbing? While I find it hard to believe I would create something of this nature, it is, in fact, becoming increasingly evident that I would do a lot of things that were disturbing and somewhat random.
I decide to look around this area more, since it is clear these comic strips are going to tell me nothing more. I look up at the walls to see brilliantly vivid paintings – demons, monsters, horrid disfigured looking things. People couldn't hope to dream up the nightmares painted on these canvases and posters. In each, I am shocked to see a little, more elegantly presented "JC" signature, carrying dates from way before the comics.
I feel like a detective, piecing together the disappearance of a victim. Except for the fact that I am the person I'm looking for and I have very serious doubts that I am any victim at all.
Suddenly, everything goes dark. I can feel the desk beneath my fingertips, the papers being frantically pushed around by my hands as I try to get my bearings in the sudden darkness. However, all I can do is notice teeth. Teeth and eyes, black gums against the dark backdrop to my nightmares.
But this creature is familiar somehow. This creature is staring at me, intently. As if it does not know what I am waiting for. I don't know how to communicate to it that I am not who it thinks I am. Not currently, not for a while, anyway.
The noise has alerted Devi and Squee to me, and they spring to my side. Thank goodness, not a moment too soon, because now I am terrified. What could this beast possibly want with me?
A giant claw-like hand reaches out toward me. It's skin is wrinkled and scaly and quite disgusting. I am horrified to think that I have anything to do with this monster. Until I realize what it is trying to say to me. I sense I am clearing up. My head, the medication. Things are starting to come together. In my inescapable nightmare that Devi cannot seem to rescue me from, this demon thing touches a single claw to my forehead. It's like a punch to the face, and I am thrown back by the sheer magnitude of the knowledge it has just implanted into my brain.
This demon is a creature I have lived with for years.
Never quite finding it's way to sleep inside me, never quite being comfortable enough to live with. It is me.
I am a horrid, wretched monster. I am no keeper of cleanliness and virtues, as I have believed since the Sleep, I am a beast. A beast that would have been better off caged up.
Quickly and only for a flash of a second, I regret leaving with Devi. The feeling is gone instantly, though. She is, without a doubt, the key to my past, the key to my future, and the key to my soul. I know in the most basic levels of my heart that I must keep her with me, never harm her or allow harm to come to her, for she can guide me to my light. The light at the end of this very long, sad tunnel.
Plus, my past was something I ached to know.
Who I really am. And if, in fact, ceasing to do something that defines you as a person, stops you from being that person. Are you who you are if you stop doing what makes you...you? Is an artist still an artist if she stops drawing? Is a writer still a writer if they cease to write? And—is the answer you get worth the experiment of stopping?
The monster inside me is whispering something, and I sense I will hear it when the time is right. For now, it moves back, into the dark shadows of my subconscious. Waiting for the right time to reveal its secrets to me. Tell me my purpose, however ugly it will probably be.
My eyes crack open a sliver, and I hear Squee say something.
"He's coming to," he says, "I think he's waking back up." As my eyes open the rest of the way, I see Squee's big innocent eyes staring down at me in concern. He is too young to have such a worried expression all the time.
They help me up to a sitting position, and I just sit with my face in my hands for a moment. Then I realize I know the deal with the artwork, as well as the comics. Quiet little memories, seeping back in.
"I was an artist." I say, slowly peeling my hands away from my face. This is so draining.
Devi nods. "Yes. Yes you were. An incredible artist. It paid your bills."
I blink my already tired eyes, "It was a comic. A comic that homeless, mentally ill people loved, right? No surprise there, have you read any of it? What sick garbage." I sighed.
"If I remember correctly, the comic was a small part of your artistic life." She says, and I feel her hand rubbing my back. She has got some soul, my mystery girl. Meanwhile, it would seem I have none at all. What is it about me she is so drawn to?
"Well, I certainly hope so. Jesus Christ." I say, and suck in a sharp gasp. Foul language? Again? Something is changing inside me.
The sudden slip is not lost on Squee. "Nny, I know you say you need to know...But are you sure? Like, really certain you want to know?"
I just look up at him sheepishly. Of course I want to know, but I battle with myself. Honesty, confusion. The line between reality and insanity was regularly absent in my life prior to knowing my therapist.
Devi's beautiful eyes are boring into my still-bruised temple. "I know you have something to say, Devi. Please just say it. I just don't have the energy to dig it out of you."
She seems a little stunned at my bluntness, and her voice indicates that she does understand what is happening here. It is all a lot to handle. "Well, I know this is a lot to take in and you are obviously overwhelmed. But I have to tell you I keep getting this seriously intense feeling that we need to hurry this the hell up, because someone is going to realize you either escaped or were kidnapped. You've been missing since last night, and they definitely noticed your absence this morning. I am willing to bet the first place your therapist looks is this house. Where else would you go? Your basements are here, your art, your equipment, your memories."
I am suddenly revived. Her words are correct, and I am to have answers, I have to get a move on it before they come and take me away.
I shoot to my feet, and look back at them as I enter my bedroom. I see the dresser, and root through the clothing. All of it is black or striped with varying images on them. My hands finds a black t-shirt, a striped long sleeve shirt, and black cutoff shorts. I quickly change, not really caring who sees me. Boots – at the edge of the repulsive mattress. I slip them on and strap them up. This outfit feels strange – but comfortable. Familiar. It occurs to me that I wore this sort of thing a lot.
I notice that instead of bucking the things in this house as I had originally, I am now embracing them.
I stand at some sort of dresser, with a busted mirror. There is old, brown, dried up blood everywhere, like someone's face was smashed into it. Shards of glass all over – I have a flashback. I fear I am rushing the memories, as well as my acceptance of them, but it does not matter, because it's coming.
I am screaming, and I have knives the length of my arms. I am screaming at someone, I sense they are important.
Immortalizing the moment.
It's fuzzy, and I am unable to really figure out what it is I want to do to this person. I am waving knives around and hysterically yelling. I see this was a very pleasant evening that has now turned into something tainted and horrible.
No.
No way.
Jesus, no.
I can see her in my flashback. I am screaming at Devi. I am waving knives at her. I am threatening to kill her...No, not threatening. Promising. Closing in for the kill.
Jesus Christ, no. NO. NO! What the fuck is wrong with me?! How could I ever want harm to come to someone who has cared so deeply for me?!
I watch myself, wanting to stop it, but watching her stop it for me. She punches me, and smashes my head into the mirror, resulting in its current state.
She escapes.
The only one ever to.
The one that got away.
I start to come out of it, and I can feel that Devi and Squee just approached the archway to the room. They are standing, waiting to see if I'm ok. It's dark and I've sunk to a crouch, steadying myself with one hand on the dresser and the other on the floor. They can probably barely see me, I'm sure.
Before I rise, I solemnly promise myself to keep that line. I will never lose the line again. I will do what I must, but I will not let demons or fears control my actions ever again.
I open my eyes and stand up in one fluid motion, and turn around to face them.
"I am so glad you got away, Devi." I say. Her face pales no less than five shades, and Squee just looks horribly confused.
Her lips part, and her mouth drops open a bit.
I smile, and it is small and genuine and sweet, and before I can stop the coming words, they are already out of my mouth.
"You know, I think you're the only one who ever did."
AN: I know, it has been years since I updated this story. But I have acquired inspiration from a friend recently to write a little bit again. This will be continued!