Pleads to God

TRIGGER WARNING, MENTAL HEALTH, SELF-HARM, HOSPITALIZATION.

"Are you there God, it's me, I don't know what is happening to me,

Ghostly whispers echo through my mind, calling out, taunting me, and aggravating my soul to the very core of my being. I need answers. Why me? Who is it? What is it? Why is everything happening so subtly but leaving such a large imprint on my life? I can investigate as many mysteries as I want, but this one takes precedence. Caden was my childhood best friend. Tragically, he passed away at the ripe age of 20, a drunk driver. He was on his way to my house that night.

It has been five years since then, and I still feel the hole he left. I secretly thought we would end up together. However, that hope was cut short that night; now I’ll never know.

It started as a small whisper when I was walking through the streets, eyes burned through me, searing me. The buzzing in my ears echoed around my brain. I never liked being looked at, but it has worsened lately. Every pair of eyes feels like daggers in my skin, stripping away any sense of security. So I stay home and read, bake, write, do whatever, really. It sounds like heaven, but after a while, you go stir-crazy. The whispers have started following me home from the streets; they sound sluggish and agitated. I never understand what they say; it sounds like gibberish. My head is down, always down when I’m out. I don't want to see people, better yet, I don't want them to see me. Their stares and whispers make my head foggy and my brain bleak. My life is somber, and I don't see it changing.

Maybe I should take the pills my psychiatrist gave me; the whispers are getting stronger, and the language is more defined. I’m starting to understand small phrases slithering in my mind. I take a pill, and the whispers cease for just a moment. I have found peace. Cold sweats are a known side effect of this medication. I didn't expect to be so cold; I feel sick. My head has become foggy again. Sometimes I hear Caden, his voice is silky and sweet, I know it’s just my mind, but I swear he is in the room with me.

PSychosis, that's what my psychiatrist says I have. I don’t know if I believe her. I’m still taking my pills, but the buzzing is back. Last night, the whispers echoed silently through the depths of my brain, giving me a tickling sensation within the folds of my mind. I sat in silence for hours listening to the words descend upon me, whispers now completely discernible. They tell me things, and most recently, they have begun to show me things. I had a vision of a beautiful woman, she had brown hair and hazel brown eyes, she wore a red dress with a dark stain on the skirt. Stunned, I just stared into her eyes, mesmerized by her. Her face changed, grey peeling flesh replaced her porcelain skin, her mouth stretched wide into a strangled scream. Stunned, I slowly tiptoed backwards and made a break for the front door, my bare feet slapped against the pavement, and I got soaked instantly. My breath hitched in my throat, I began to hyperventilate, everything started to spin, blackness covering my eyes softly and violently all at once, like when you're asleep and jolt awake.

My eyes fluttered open, assaulted by fluorescent lighting and my ears seared by the tone deaf beeping of machines. Slowly, I look around and realize I'm in a hospital. I sit up and press the call button for a nurse, and I wait, wait, and wait. Eventually, I get up and grab the I.V. stand and wheel it to the hallway. It is chilly, cold chills spread through my body with each slap of my feet; the halls are dark for some reason…wasn’t the light just on? I can feel my eyes burning from the fluorescents still. Placing one hand on the wall, I gently guide myself towards what appears to be a door on the other end of the hall. My eyes finally adjusted to the dark, my body slams to a stop, and there is a shadow peering around the door at me, watching, lurking. It has long black hands with claws for fingers, and it’s extremely dark in complexion, darker than its surroundings. It starts to move in jerky motions, throwing itself towards me. A guttural scream escapes me, I turn wildly and dart back to my room; I can hear another set of feet hitting the ground behind me! I lurch forward and grab the door, yanking it open. The room is bright inside, why though? Everything else was dark. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I inhale deeply, trying to do the calming exercises my psychiatrist taught me, but they aren't working. I keep hyperventilating. I can’t do this any longer. Why won't these pills work? There is sudden banging on the door, and a nurse finally approaches me, her face twisted and wrong like something is wearing her as a mask. I do not want her to touch me! I shove past her and run down the darkened hall, slamming hard into the wall, and everything goes black.

This time, when I wake up, the room is dimly lit, and I'm restrained by my wrists and ankles. I’m still in the hospital, it appears different this time, the walls are pale yellow, the floor a nice clean linoleum. I can see the details this time, before it was nothing but darkness outside this room. I wonder, is it still dark? I shift my gaze to the nurse's button, hesitantly, I push the call button and wait, wait, and then there is a gentle knock on my door. A petite lady with short grey curls and a kind face enters my room. She smiles at me and begins to talk to me in a soft manner. I can't process anything she is saying, it is all muffled, and then I catch it, “You’re lucky to be alive. Do you remember anything, dear?” Her voice is sweet like honeysuckle. I shake my head no, and it’s true, I don't remember. She begins to explain to me, “You were found outside some apartments in the rain, you were hurt pretty bad, do you know how you got hurt?” I again shake my head no. “Well, you have a 1-inch deep gash on your forehead, and your wrists are cut pretty badly. Did you do this to yourself?” I rapidly shake my head no and begin to speak, “I don't think so, I don't remember much.” I looked down and noticed the bandages on my wrist for the first time; they are pretty bloody. “When was the last time my wrists were checked? How deep are the scratches?” The nurse looked at me with pity, “Honey, they are more than scratches, that's why I asked if you did this.” She made her way over to my bed and unbuckled one of my restraints. She pulled the gauze down to reveal a perfect line across my wrist that had been perfectly stitched together: “One centimeter deeper and you would have bled out on the street.” I blinked in disbelief, “But I didn't do this. What happened the first time I woke up? The hall was pitch black.” She stopped dressing my wound and looked at me, perplexed. “The hall has never been pitch black.” I touched my forehead and tried to remember. “I'm on a medication, it's supposed to help, but.. I feel like it isn't. What do I do?” I asked, genuinely confused, the nurse smiled and said, “My name is Hazel, if you need me, press the call button. What is the medication you take?” I look around the room. “I can't remember what it is called, but it is sitting on the table right there.” I point to the table beside my bed. Hazel walks to where I pointed and frowns, Sarah, there is nothing there.” I balked, “The bottle is right there!” I tried to point harder, but I still had a restraint on. Hyperventilation, I feel it. My chest tightens, my breath quickens, and I feel like I'm smothering again. “GET MY PSYCHIATRIST! AMY SAUNDERS FLOOR 5!” I can’t breathe, everything is swirling, and my eyes are fading. “Sarah, calm down, we will get Amy.” Finally, I begin to calm down and wait for Amy. I begin to drift restlessly to sleep. “ Sarah, we don't have an Amy that works with us. Are you sure that is her name?” My eyes shoot open, “Yes, I have been seeing her for 6 months!” I yelled louder than I intended to. “Additionally, we did some routine testing on you and didn't find any known antipsychotics.” I began screaming. Her beautiful face was morphing into a pointed mess, her chin jutted into a sharp point, her ears sharp like an elf's, her teeth began to resemble a shark's, and her eyes bulged. I ripped the IV from my arm and was gleeful that I didn't have restraints on. I pushed past what was once Hazel and out into the hallway. The hallway is pitch black, and the figure is back, the figure is hazel. She looks the same as the figure from my apartment and the hallway earlier. I keep running, pushing myself forward as fast as I can. I turn and slam back into the light. This time I'm in a room with a small bed and all white walls, no sink, no rug, nothing warm. Just cold, sterile light. The door is metal with a small window to look out, and when I try to open the door, I find it locked. My wrists burn, I look at them hard for the first time, and wonder how and if I did this to myself. There is a swift knock on my door, and it swings open. In steps a chubby short nurse with long black hair and a stern face. “Glad to see you’re up, let's change those bandages,” she works rhythmically to unwrap and clean my wrists, “you know, I think I am crazy. Can I stay here awhile?” Tears cascade down my face. I have never been this vulnerable before, except with Amy, but she doesn't exist. Imagery flashes before my eyes of me at my apartment, I was chasing that thing with a knife, suddenly it turned to me and spoke, “Do it, just do it!” I shouted “No!” and ran through it, knife first. I felt IT grab me and begin to control my limbs. They contorted in odd ways, ways I thought impossible. My back was burning. My legs bent backwards and my arms extended so far above my head that I thought they would dislocate. I fought against IT as much as I could, but IT overpowered me. I sobbed whilst IT picked up the knife and sliced at my wrists. I fought against IT as much as possible. However, in the end, IT got what it wanted, for me to be isolated in this hospital, right where I belong. Unable to speak my truth or tell reality from delusion. I will forever be in this cycle of torment, seeing and hearing things, not knowing what is real and what is a delusion."