Nearly Transparent

Reminiscing on the past for some is easy and an enjoyable experience. For others, it can be as difficult to endure as pulling teeth. Others like me, that is. 

Days like these always tend to tug on those old memories. The ones that lay deep, buried in the back of my mind, waiting and wishing to be forgotten forever. 

I tentatively shut my eyes as the regressed echoes of my past pushed their way to the front of my thoughts. The rain pattering against the walls of my sanctuary eased my tension and allowed me to stop resisting, much to my displeasure. 

As a child, my father would always tell people I was an imaginative kid. His lips always pulled into a tight, yet defensive, smile when he'd explain. My mother, on the other hand, seemed like she was just waiting for the perfect opportunity to send me to the psych 

ward. The idea of shipping me off seemed more enticing to her than simply dealing with my quirks. Back then, I couldn't really blame her, though. 

My entire life had felt like a game of Russian roulette. A potentially lethal game of chance where the empty chambers were reality, and the bullets were the things condemning me to a life of lunacy. 

My troubles all began when I realized I could see things, and people, that no one else could seem to see. When I was younger, it could be passed as a child that happened to have oddly many imaginary friends. As I grew older, people stopped playing along with my fantasies. They weren't seen as "cute" anymore, but rather as a reason to be judged and maybe even feared. 

I would enjoy the stars that would appear on my bedroom ceiling every time I turned off the lights. They would twinkle and dance, seeming as if a dream had come to life right before my eyes. Rainbows that twirled around the sky like a ribbon, white rabbits that could speak. It was my own wonderland. But what felt like a dream soon became a nightmare. 

I wouldn't be able to prepare myself if my water suddenly decided to turn into bugs when I swallowed. I would feel them crawling down my throat right into my stomach. And even that was one of the lesser things I'd experienced. 

It wasn't uncommon for my parents to find me hiding under my bed with my knees up to my chest and my hands clutching the sides of my head, begging over and over for it all to stop. It was a maze of horrors from which there was no escape.  

A second wouldn't pass without everyone around me reminding me that the things I saw weren't there. They thought they were helping by giving me assurance, but it only confused me further and upset me more. 

"Sweetie, nothing's in your closet. Are you sure you saw something?" They'd tell me. "There isn't anyone outside. Maybe you're just sleep-deprived."  

"No, I don't hear anything. Are you sure you shouldn't be taking medication for this?" Oh, and one of my favorites. "Can you stop lying for once? You would do anything for attention." 

Doubt and paranoia were my life story. I've lost countless friends and even scared away family members. Nobody wants to be near the person who sees and hears things that aren't really there. 

The worst part was, I couldn't even decipher the things that were or were not there. I couldn't separate reality from fantasy. Just coming to terms with that realization was, simply put, terrifying. 

Over time I could feel my sanity dwindle like a dying flame. I'd lost any trust I'd previously had in myself and my judgments. If I poured myself tea in the morning, was it really tea? Was it even really there? Was anything really there? 

The possibility of me even having created my own family loomed over my head. After all, with all the things they told me had never existed, what's stopping them from not having existed? Sometimes I'm still not sure if I believe them or not. Like they could be making some of the things they say up, just to mess with my head. Just to drive me insane like it was some cruel joke. Like the idea of their words tearing me apart on the inside was humorous. After all, everything I saw and heard seemed so real. 

Some moments have made me doubt even my own existence entirely. Countless hours of mine have been spent staring at my own hands apprehensive and waiting for the moment they may turn into something else or even vanish. 

Due to my "disorder", some saw me as a danger hazard. Something to be feared. A reason to hug your children closer to your side as you pass by me on the street. Sure, I'd gathered a reputation. I was bound to. But, nonetheless, I would be lying if I said it didn't hurt my feelings seeing their reactions to my "episodes". 

A dream of mine was to one day close my eyes and open them to a new sight. A realization that everything had all been just another illusion. That I wasn't actually insane, but rather I'd been something or somewhere else entirely. Waking up to a different life, per se. 

My eyes clamped tighter and I bit my lip. One morning I had gotten sick of it all. It was a particularly hard time for me. The sights and sounds just wouldn't leave, they were adamant, and I still didn't know if any of it was real. I assumed it would be easier to end my life than continue what little "life" I had. I was ready to do it, too. The memory is still as vivid as if it happened yesterday. Watching the rapid water thunder below me looked so deliciously inviting. I didn't see it as suicide, but rather as a relief. Before I could step off the pier, a lightly colored butterfly whisked past my nose, causing me to step back. 

Now, I wasn't sure if the butterfly was real or not, but I was thankful for it either way. That tiny sight made me realize that sometimes the things I saw were for a purpose. Whether it be to comfort me, help me learn a lesson, act as a warning, or even save my life. 

From that moment on I vowed to push forward. Rather than hate myself for what I heard and saw, I decided to accept and love that part of me. Even when it got frustrating, very frustrating, and even frightening, it was something I couldn't get rid of and I had to learn 

to live with it. I had to learn to move on. 

So even now as I rest upon the velvet sheets of my bed, I remain grateful for myself and all that I am. My eyes fluttered over to the window and I watched as the rain continued to hit the ground.

Between the heavy fall, a lightly colored butterfly could be seen 

gliding through the air, unbothered by the drops, being carried by its nearly transparent wings. I felt an effortless smile tug upon my lips and I closed my eyes to continue being lulled to sleep by the rain.