Chapter 3
Borderline personality disorder—and friends!
I'm 'crazy'—or so they say.
No, I do not stray away from the term—I am crazy. Ceritfied looney toon.
Trying to tell an 8-year-old girl she was mental, and everything I believed was all some sort of lie—it wasn't always easy. I pushed back on a lot of It; especially the medications. I didn't know what it was like to be normal—I hated the idea of always being alone—that beautiful little voice helped me through some terrible things—if they were gone, then I would really be alone.
The love of this voice—the friendship it showed me—could not be replaced. Most of the things it encouraged was harmless. A few nights of running naked through the woods and some restless delusions. All in all, it was harmless.
Until it wasn't.
I never hurt anyone—or anything, but myself. Some of the rituals required blood and I would always provide. For months, I was slashing my hands, legs, thighs—the pain was cathartic; I told myself it was the magic working.
This big and powerful magic only I could wield. The need to have something that was entirely mine took over. No one else could know because they would never understand! No one would be able to understand how much I needed it.
I felt in control. Nothing in life was in my control. People didn't love me; they didn't even act like I existed. Instead, this person—this man—was always right beside me. They told me they loved me and would protect me forever, and truthfully, that was everything I wanted. So terribly I yearned to be loved…
My parents had the last of it, after they found me naked in the woods doing some sort dark ritual—I was speaking what they said was 'gibberish' and sat inside of a circle of stones. Not that anyone would blame them, but medicating a little girl that age? It was cruel.
I left the facility at age 11. Years of my short life take away from me by cruel fate and absentee parents. Being in there left me scars I would never recover from. The idea that I would be locked away forever was my deepest fear. Yet, it wouldn't be the worst thing in my life—there was so much more to my misery.
Parents that terrorized you at every turn—never good enough—never pretty enough. Their faces a blur these days; I tried to think of them, but the pain would keep those memories locked away tight. It was for the best; at least, that is what I tell myself. Had I not had such a terrible childhood—where would I be now?
They kept me homeschooled while I adjusted; even if though I never did a lick of work. The severe isolation wore me down even more; so I internalized my feelings harder, refusing to acknowledge I was alone. It was a person to me; this faceless, ideal person that loved me eternally. It would be a guiding light and friend, even if it was crazy. They were my savior—my love. And I loved it!
Endless dreams of our time together; his touch and smell familiar. If I just closed my eyes and let it take me away—maybe he would be waiting for me. Standing there with open arms; the scent of cologne on his skin still with just a hint of leather. He felt like home—like safety.
But, the medications kept that away from me, and I took my meds regularly now.
Those feelings are still there—even if I push them away. That feeling I ignored was still lingering trying to keep me safe. If I closed my eyes right now—in this moment of terror—could I go back to him? Back to the safety his arms offered me too much as a lonely child?
But wouldn't be offered such a luxury today; when I closed my eyes, it was just the darkness waiting on me. I sobbed, my heart shattering in my chest. When I needed him the most, where was he? Did he forsake me?!
He wasn't real.
This painful realization took over, the fear broke out, inhuman wails pouring from my chest. You were always there, why had you forsaken me? I loved you and you failed me—you left me here to suffer.
The reality of the situation hadn't quite sunk in; my head was far away, lost in my own thoughts—but my eyes. They saw it all:
His body covered in a cold sweat, dripping from his brow.
The look of hunger in his eyes—his flushed face—his erect penis… I couldn't see them anymore, I had to shut my eyes tight. This horror had to be blocked from my view; the images pushed me closer to breaking apart completely.
Brick pawed at my top, trying to pull out my breasts; I clawed at him, digging into his arms. "You fucking bitch! Just stay still, it will all be over soon." He slapped me again, the ringing returning to my ears. He would make sure I was in the moment; it would drive his degenerate sexual desire.
I really thought if I struggled and fought hard enough, it would make a difference.
He held his hand over my mouth as he pulled my top off, exposing me. He struggled to unclasp the skirt as I fought for breath; closing my eyes again, looking for the comfortable illusion, but it was still missing. Instead, a boiling anger continued to brew. Even with my continued flailing and pushing him back with all of my weight; it was futile. His body weight was twice mine easily; he used his knee to hold me in place.
Grasping my throat he growled, "Fucking stop! Fucking open your legs and stay still or I'll end you." He held his grip firm, slowly increasing the pressure. I choked, trying to breathe. "Just give me what you promised me."
What I promised? Was this my fault?
I surrendered, terror compelling me to stop or else die. Once he released his grip, I choked in another breath through the sobs. My eyes clenched shut, another cry into the dark—please help me! The dread flipping my stomach rapidly, the urge to vomit rising. I whined, begging—"Please help me!"
This time—something responded? He's close, he'll be there soon.
A crash startled me out of my head as the pressure relieved from my chest. The dull lamp illuminating the room suddenly went black with a loud crash. Immediately, I folded into myself, covering my exposed parts, and collapsing to the floor. I attempted to move, but there was someone standing above me with his arm extended.
Brick cried, "What the fuck, man! Who the hell are you?"
Pressing myself hard against the bedside, feeling for an escape in the dark. The words shot through me—someone else was in the room. My heart crashed against my chest, the vibration audible; the choking sobs timed to it's beat. The tiny bit of light peering in through the blind was enough to outline them. I could see this large man, his broad silhouette now holding up what I knew had to be Brick. Was he strangling him?
A familiar, gritty voice cooed in the dark, "And I am supposed to be the monster."
A loud snap echoed through the room as the body fell limp, almost landing on top of me. It twitched rapidly; the smell of shit filling the room. An involuntary screech left my lips; I attempted to stand and run for the door; after a brief second, a strong set of arms wrapped around me, picking me up as I fought against it.
Before they could speak, I kicked viciously, fighting for my life again. He seemed to be surprised by my attempts and lost his grip. I fell hard, landing on the end table covered in shards of the broken lamp. The world slowed in that moment, the pain radiating in my throat. Something lodged in my neck and I choked, trying to breathe, I gurgled as I screamed.
"No!" the voice called out. "No, no, no—" he murmured. My hand instinctively grabbed at my neck, my fingers cutting on something sharp. Whoever this was, pulled my body against theirs; a hand reached for mine, pulling it away gently. "It would be best if you left that alone, my dear." His hand touched my chin gently, his touch electricity on my skin--something powerful pulled him to me.
The voice so familiar—the scent—the feeling of his touch. It had to be him!
I looked up towards his face, leaning further towards him. I reached out with one hand, that tiny bit of light illuminated his face that was covered in blood marks. The paleness of his skin almost glowing in the dim light— I felt my pulse quickening, and I knew I was going to die. Terror-stricken, I pawed at him, desperate to feel his comfort.
At that moment, I got to see you for the first time.
The voice had a face.