Brigits_Flame December Week 3 Entry
This is my entry for the third week of the December contest in brigits_flame . Comments are the best Christmas gift ever!
As always, my mind interprets the prompts a bit wonky. My entry deals with abuse, so anyone worried about abuse triggers might not want to read it.
The theme for this week is: Truth
What's truth? For that matter, what's reality? I don't know. I do know if something's true for one person, it doesn't mean it's true for another. And that just because something is true, it doesn't make it reality. You know how I know?
My radio talks to me.
Now, I know what you're thinking. Radios talk to everyone but it's not like that. Mine doesn't tell me the weather or give me the news report. It doesn't sing to me... Well, it does do those things but it also talks to me. To me. Me personally. It calls me by name and tells me things. It asks me about my day. It wants to be my friend. And it scares me.
My medication isn't working.
At least, not anymore. Not like it should. And that scares me, too.
I don't want to go back to that place. The state mental hospital. The loony bin. I hated it there. They said I would like it but I never did. I was so happy when I was able to go home. When the voices stopped.
But now they're back.
*******
I can't sleep. I try and try but I just can't. My eyes close. I squeeze them shut as if willing myself to sleep will let me actually fall asleep but it just doesn't work.
And my damn radio just will not shut up! I unplugged it but it didn't stop. I threw it against the wall and smashed it into tiny, little pieces. I even stomped on it to make sure it was dead. Boy, was my sister pissed when she saw the dent I made in the wall! It would have been worth the scolding if it had worked, but it didn't. Now I just have lots of little pieces scattered everywhere. Which is bad.
They all talk to me now.
I snuck into my sister's bathroom and took a handful of the pills she keeps for me there. Maybe that will help.
*******
It's been a week. A week without sleep. I drink warm milk. I hate it but I do it because it's supposed to make you sleep, right? Wrong! Wrong, wrong, wrong!
I shake. I pace. I don't even bother laying down anymore. I lay there and the talking just gets worse. So, I pace. Back and forth and back and forth, over and over again. I just pace and listen; listen to what the voices are telling me about my sister, her husband... even me.
I cleaned up all the little radio pieces. Bagged them up tight and threw them in the pool. Water and radios don't like each other. The water should have killed it for sure but it didn't.
The pieces came back.
All nice, shiny and clean and scattered on the floor of my room again. At least, I think they were. I see them but it doesn't mean anything. I see lots of things when the voices get bad.
Oh God, are they bad now!
They're telling me things. Not nice things. Mean things. Things about my sister and her husband. How he's a drunk and he hits her sometimes and how he needs to go away like my parents went away years ago.
I don't want to hear them. I don't want to believe them. I cover my ears and scream to drown them out but all it does is make my throat hurt and my sister angry.
My sister; my nice, good, wonderful sister.
She took me in when no one else would. She took me from that awful place and brought me to live with her and her husband. Made me feel welcome and loved. God, things were so good! But they aren't now.
Why did that have to change?!
*******
Oh God, what happened? What happened? Why can't I think? My mind feels so cluttered and so empty all at the same time. A million thoughts, a million voices, all buzzing around in my head and they just won't stop!
My brother... no I don't have a brother. My sister... no, not her... My sister's husband, my brother-in-law... yes, that's it. My brother-in-law. The voices were right.
He hit my sister.
I saw it! Sometimes I see things but this was real. He hit her! I heard the slap, saw my sister fall, heard her cry, felt her tears, saw the bruise... and now everything is black.
WHAT HAPPENED?!?!
Think, think, think! I have to think! My head hurts so bad and my hands are covered in red paint. It's dripping from my fingers. At least, I think it's red paint. Please, God, tell me it is... please, please, please...
Oh, God. I hear sirens. Sirens getting louder and louder. I tell myself I'm hearing things again but I know I'm not. I know it's real. Blood on my hands and the sirens and soon it will be the hospital with the doctors and nurses poking me, prodding me, asking me questions...
Not this again.
If I curl up in a corner, make myself small enough, maybe they won't see me, won't find me.... ohgodohgodohgodohgod...
*******
With the police finally gone, the clean up can now begin. If only I could erase the memories of Jamie's banshee like cry as the police fought to arrest her as easily as bleach and water erase blood. It broke my heart to hear it but I really had no choice. It was the only way.
Things started out good with Jason. I didn't know about his drinking problem until after we were married. By then, it was too late. I couldn't afford a divorce and he often threatened to kill me if I left him. I thought I had forever escaped the abuse that haunted me growing up. I was wrong.
Then, Jamie was released. As much as I hated using her, she was my only salvation once again. She trusted me with her pills; I gave her sugar. She wanted a radio; I bought one with a wireless mic so I could talk to her, like I did before when the abuse got to be too much.
She wasn't fit to stand trial over the murder of our parents; she won't be fit to stand trial over Jason's death, either. In a few years, once her medication is sorted out and her therapist declares her "fixed" again, she'll be released. Maybe then we'll be happy...
Until then, I'll visit her as I did before. I'll hold her and fill her head with whispered stories of rainbows and sunshine. She'll never see my tears as I choke down the truth.
As always, my mind interprets the prompts a bit wonky. My entry deals with abuse, so anyone worried about abuse triggers might not want to read it.
The theme for this week is: Truth
What's truth? For that matter, what's reality? I don't know. I do know if something's true for one person, it doesn't mean it's true for another. And that just because something is true, it doesn't make it reality. You know how I know?
My radio talks to me.
Now, I know what you're thinking. Radios talk to everyone but it's not like that. Mine doesn't tell me the weather or give me the news report. It doesn't sing to me... Well, it does do those things but it also talks to me. To me. Me personally. It calls me by name and tells me things. It asks me about my day. It wants to be my friend. And it scares me.
My medication isn't working.
At least, not anymore. Not like it should. And that scares me, too.
I don't want to go back to that place. The state mental hospital. The loony bin. I hated it there. They said I would like it but I never did. I was so happy when I was able to go home. When the voices stopped.
But now they're back.
*******
I can't sleep. I try and try but I just can't. My eyes close. I squeeze them shut as if willing myself to sleep will let me actually fall asleep but it just doesn't work.
And my damn radio just will not shut up! I unplugged it but it didn't stop. I threw it against the wall and smashed it into tiny, little pieces. I even stomped on it to make sure it was dead. Boy, was my sister pissed when she saw the dent I made in the wall! It would have been worth the scolding if it had worked, but it didn't. Now I just have lots of little pieces scattered everywhere. Which is bad.
They all talk to me now.
I snuck into my sister's bathroom and took a handful of the pills she keeps for me there. Maybe that will help.
*******
It's been a week. A week without sleep. I drink warm milk. I hate it but I do it because it's supposed to make you sleep, right? Wrong! Wrong, wrong, wrong!
I shake. I pace. I don't even bother laying down anymore. I lay there and the talking just gets worse. So, I pace. Back and forth and back and forth, over and over again. I just pace and listen; listen to what the voices are telling me about my sister, her husband... even me.
I cleaned up all the little radio pieces. Bagged them up tight and threw them in the pool. Water and radios don't like each other. The water should have killed it for sure but it didn't.
The pieces came back.
All nice, shiny and clean and scattered on the floor of my room again. At least, I think they were. I see them but it doesn't mean anything. I see lots of things when the voices get bad.
Oh God, are they bad now!
They're telling me things. Not nice things. Mean things. Things about my sister and her husband. How he's a drunk and he hits her sometimes and how he needs to go away like my parents went away years ago.
I don't want to hear them. I don't want to believe them. I cover my ears and scream to drown them out but all it does is make my throat hurt and my sister angry.
My sister; my nice, good, wonderful sister.
She took me in when no one else would. She took me from that awful place and brought me to live with her and her husband. Made me feel welcome and loved. God, things were so good! But they aren't now.
Why did that have to change?!
*******
Oh God, what happened? What happened? Why can't I think? My mind feels so cluttered and so empty all at the same time. A million thoughts, a million voices, all buzzing around in my head and they just won't stop!
My brother... no I don't have a brother. My sister... no, not her... My sister's husband, my brother-in-law... yes, that's it. My brother-in-law. The voices were right.
He hit my sister.
I saw it! Sometimes I see things but this was real. He hit her! I heard the slap, saw my sister fall, heard her cry, felt her tears, saw the bruise... and now everything is black.
WHAT HAPPENED?!?!
Think, think, think! I have to think! My head hurts so bad and my hands are covered in red paint. It's dripping from my fingers. At least, I think it's red paint. Please, God, tell me it is... please, please, please...
Oh, God. I hear sirens. Sirens getting louder and louder. I tell myself I'm hearing things again but I know I'm not. I know it's real. Blood on my hands and the sirens and soon it will be the hospital with the doctors and nurses poking me, prodding me, asking me questions...
Not this again.
If I curl up in a corner, make myself small enough, maybe they won't see me, won't find me.... ohgodohgodohgodohgod...
*******
With the police finally gone, the clean up can now begin. If only I could erase the memories of Jamie's banshee like cry as the police fought to arrest her as easily as bleach and water erase blood. It broke my heart to hear it but I really had no choice. It was the only way.
Things started out good with Jason. I didn't know about his drinking problem until after we were married. By then, it was too late. I couldn't afford a divorce and he often threatened to kill me if I left him. I thought I had forever escaped the abuse that haunted me growing up. I was wrong.
Then, Jamie was released. As much as I hated using her, she was my only salvation once again. She trusted me with her pills; I gave her sugar. She wanted a radio; I bought one with a wireless mic so I could talk to her, like I did before when the abuse got to be too much.
She wasn't fit to stand trial over the murder of our parents; she won't be fit to stand trial over Jason's death, either. In a few years, once her medication is sorted out and her therapist declares her "fixed" again, she'll be released. Maybe then we'll be happy...
Until then, I'll visit her as I did before. I'll hold her and fill her head with whispered stories of rainbows and sunshine. She'll never see my tears as I choke down the truth.