The Wailing (part 2)

August, 22/ 5:00pm 

I took the bus to the market instead of my car. Whenever I drive my car alone I always worry that I will look into the rear view mirror and see someone or something sitting in my backseat. That was way too much for me to handle today. However on the bus ride home from the market something even worse than my dream happened. There was a lady sitting across from me, and I swear on my life that her face resembled that of the Mona Lisa. It was so awful. I felt like I was going to vomit. She just kept fucking looking up at me with that hideous fucking face. And I couldn't look away. I was so shocked, I felt like I was looking at a demon, and that my gaze was locked onto her against my will. Finally I was able to snap myself out of it. I got on the bus floor on all four limbs and growled and bared my teeth at her. Actually, it worked! She quickly got up and walked to the other side of the bus. But everyone else on the bus just kept staring at me after that. They really should've thanked me for that. I guess it's the thought that counts. When I got home I climbed back into my room through my window. I remembered that I have a pocket knife in the drawer on my night stand. And I grabbed that horrible nauseating painting from my wall, just touching it made me feel so disgusting and creeped out. I was ready to tear into that thing if it so much as blinked. I had my knife in my hand and it took me 20 minutes to work up the courage to leave my room. But I finally was able to walk to the opening of the attic in my hallway ceiling and climb up and leave that awful painting in the attic. I actually felt a little bit relieved. 

August, 23/ 2022.

I couldn't sleep at all last night. The whole fucking night I heard foot steps in the attic. It sounded like human footsteps. Something was walking around in fucking circles all night in the attic. But I obviously know what that something is. It's her. She’s trying to find a way out of the attic. That disgusting thing that is responsible for my anguish and being a prisoner in my own home. Home is supposed to be the safest and most comforting place on earth and yet I live the life of torment in my own home. I was contemplating just going out and sleeping on the streets but I'm just too accustomed to being in my bedroom. Fuck that, I'm not letting her or anything chase me out of my own home. I'll sleep with my knife next to me just in case if she ever figures out how to open the attic. My mother called me today, I didn't answer. I was too worried about it not being her and answering and hearing someone else’s voice on the other end, saying that they have my mother hostage or something worse. I'm sorry mommy I'm a coward. I just wish you were here with me I just want you to be here with me I love you so much. 

August, 27/2022. 

Things have gotten so much worse. The voices started. I haven't really eaten much the past 3 days. I forgot to put the groceries I got from the market a few days ago in the fridge and the perishables are sitting in my room spoiled. I hear a voice throughout my day. I can't tell if it's a female or male voice it's hard to explain. But what it says doesn't even make sense. Most of the time it just says my thoughts out loud. Whatever it is it can read my mind and it likes to mock me and repeat my thoughts out loud in a monotone way. I'm starving. I've eaten the rest of the non perishables of my groceries, all I have left is the spoiled meat and dairy products. I'm so hungry I'm tempted to eat those too but I don't want to get sick, if I get sick I'll be vulnerable. 

August, 29/2022.

The voice has taken a new approach to tormenting me. It no longer just mocks the thoughts in my head, it just taunts me now. I tried to call my mother back today, when I was about to dial her number I heard the voice say “I control you.” It startled me and freaked me the fuck out so bad, I just threw my phone down. I curled up on my bed and just started sobbing pretty much the whole day. She bangs on the walls now. Just bangs and scratches and bangs. I don’t even flinch anymore. 

August, 31/2022.

I question whether I'm even living. I feel so dead inside that sometimes I don't know if I'm even alive. I've been sleeping with my pocket knife in bed with me and I cut myself on it pretty bad while I was sleeping. The abomination in my attic has taken torment to a whole new level. She doesn't stomp around anymore or bang or scratch. She just emits this horrible loud wailing all day and all night. It is so loud and gross and demonic sounding. I have to listen to the wailing all day long. I'm not even scared to venture out of my room anymore. My anger has pretty much overridden my fear. But my anger hasn’t made me brave enough to go up into the attic and face her. I want to leave I want to just live under a bridge. But If I leave she wins, she gets to steal my home from me. My own fucking home. I pace around my house trying to block out the awful noise. I've hit the ceiling with the end of the broom, I've thrown chairs at the ceiling. I've even banged my head on the walls. I've left a couple cracks in the paint. I mostly just yell at the top of my lungs when the wailing gets too overwhelming. It helps somewhat drown out the noise. I don't know how things will end up for me, or if I'll see my mother again. I haven't been charging my phone lately so I don't know if I've been getting calls. All I have is myself and this journal. 

September, 2/2022

I don't have a life worth living anymore. I give up. I don't think I'll ever be happy again. I don't think I'll ever see my mother again. I've decided it's time to face her, the demon in the attic. She's still wailing. Her awful disturbing cry. I have nothing left to lose, if I die it doesn't matter. I'm going to go up into the attic now. I have my knife with me. I'll kill her and then myself after. Me from the future If you somehow read this, I apologize for letting you down, mother I'm sorry for letting you down, love you more than anything in the world. Goodbye. 

Not too long after I wrote this last journal entry my mother returned home from her trip to Miami. She came home to the house being a mess. Furniture tossed around, holes in the walls and ceiling, and a putrid odor of rot in the house. She checked for me in my room but I wasn't there. What she saw instead was trash, my bed and bed sheets all over the place, rotten food, and dare I say it, some bodily waste. She was horrified, having no idea where I was. That is until she heard a commotion from the attic. She pulled the string that let the ladder slide down from the attic entrance and she climbed up into the attic. She screamed in pure terror at the site she beheld. She found me sitting crisscrossed on the floor, next to the painting canvas torn to shreds. I sat there slowly bleeding to death from the cuts I made on the radial arteries of each of my wrists. I was going in and out of consciousness. Mother rescued me just on time and got me to the hospital. 

I was eventually committed to a mental hospital for some time. I was released after they saw me as no longer a threat to myself and others. A couple weeks later my mother got me to see a psychiatrist. I was diagnosed with schizophreniform disorder. A rare disorder that has a very rapid onset of psychosis lasting at least a month and usually no longer than six months. It can go away on its own with or without full treatment. It has been 3 months since my incident. I can say that things have gotten much better. I see a therapist regularly and my psychosis has vanished completely. I still enjoy outdoor activities and quality time with my mom. My anxiety of being alone is still somewhat present but has improved very much since I started therapy. I no longer allow it to negatively affect my life. But sometimes I have trouble sleeping at night. I lay awake tossing and turning in my bed. And sometimes on those nights, just ever so subtly, I could almost swear that I can still hear, the wailing.