Messages from the Dead

The soft sound of pattering fills my ears as gentle sheets of rain trickle down from gloomy skies, accompanied by the shrill call of a seagull somewhere off in the distance. Cool, moist air dances in through the open window as I sit, indian style, with my recent birthday present on my lap; eerie shadows stretch along the walls as the ghostly white screen casts soft light along my neck and face. I pause and take a long drink of my coffee, enjoying the way it slides down my throat and pools within my stomach like a hug from the inside. A better morning than the last, my emotional state having leveled out to a mostly normal status compared to how I felt yesterday when I rose from the other worlds. The days leading up to yesterday were incredibly hard; emotionally speaking, I was a gorramed mess. Nothing I did seemed to calm the static from inside my head. Even when I tried to write, to type out the chaos behind my eyes through poetic-prose, I found myself worse off than Sisyphus. Plainly put, it was maddening.

Due to the sporadic nature of my emotions my mental state was beginning a dangerous decent into the rabbit hole. A place I never willingly go.

Terrible thoughts were coursing through the fried pathways of my mind and all the while I was screaming soundlessly within myself for it to all just stop. It had become so bad that it was beginning to manifest as horrific anxiety; breathless and on edge I felt as though some monstrous unseen hand wrapped its skeletal fingers along my ribcage and was squeezing the life out of me.

Not a pleasant experience, no. Not at all.

There was so much venom dancing through my thoughts, my emotions having gone rabid; ripping into me at every available opportunity. I was helplessly trapped inside myself. Nothing helped. Not the cool air of a beautiful winter day, not the playful interaction of small song birds thanking me for bringing them wild bird seed. I tried so very hard to get away from myself, from these self-destructive thoughts that I knew were initially brought on by an unwanted yet necessary evil I must face once a month.

For the past week I have struggled to find my words again. To sit here calmly and hear the soft tapping of my now long nails dancing fluidly along these black keys. But every time I tried, every time I even had an inkling to allow some of this poison out, I was stopped. My brain would fill with white noise, my breath would hitch, pain would slither through my ribcage as my chest tightened and I’d just sit here in frustration, completely defeated.

The dreams held no more comfort than my waking hours. My escape into the other worlds held no safety as it always has, just more shadows and confusion. I felt impossibly alone; trapped within the endless twisting labyrinth of my mind. I had even fought myself to watch something that would have brought me some kind of peace, but it only triggered more sorrow. I decided to start watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer again, more as background noise…what a terrible mistake that was on my part. Being that it was watched almost religiously by my Father, instead of it bringing me comfort, I was suffocated in grief. That’s when the frayed strings of my sanity began to tear and break loose. That’s when the sickness pooled to the surface and I found myself drowning in my own self-hatred.

You don’t deserve to live. You are a worthless excuse for a human being. You break everything you touch. You are nothing.

I couldn’t breathe as tears stung at my eyes, threatening to pool along my lash line and escape in streams of liquid emotion down heated skin. A tremble had started in my hands and no matter how I tried to fight off the horrible thoughts ripping through my brain, the anxiety and panic only intensified and my heart felt like it was going to reenact a scene from Alien and morph into a chestburster at any moment.

Somehow, later on in the early hours of night…it ebbed and began to fade away. It had reached a dangerous level and nearly pulled me apart at the seams. Thankfully, its attempts to destroy me from the inside out were futile.

It’s rare when my emotions go through a nuclear melt down during my Monthly Self-Destruct Sequence. The ‘crazy’ generally happens prior to said event, not during. When it does, it’s bad. Very bad. The term, ‘mentally unstable’ seems almost too gentle for the madness that coursed through me.

*chuckles and shakes her head before taking another hefty drink of her coffee*

“Hello? Is there anybody in there? Just nod if you can hear me. Is there anyone at home?” I heard these words singing in my head when my eyes fluttered open this morning. “Come on now, I hear you’re feeling down. Well, I can ease your pain and get you on your feet again.”

The strangest part is as Pink Floyd’s, ‘Comfortably Numb’ played only certain lines through my thoughts as I rose from sleep, I was beginning to remember my dreams. Namely, I was speaking to my Dad.

It was nothing more than a blip in a series of different dream segments. Yet for some reason, this was the one I remembered above all the others. The one that I know was a message I was meant to recall and study once I was awake.

We were watching tv and Sigourney Weaver made an appearance. Dad had said, “15 months.” Something to do with how much time she had left. Saddened by the news I replied softly, “No! Aw, dammit. I’ve always wanted to meet her and now I won’t get that chance.”

I don’t think it means she’s going to die. It felt more like she was going away. But the number 15 means something. It could be 6 or the 15^th or 15 days, etc. It was definitely Dad and his voice is still dancing behind my eyes as though I just spoke to him. It’s also very odd that I would wake with that song playing in my head as though I was listening to the radio when I fell asleep to only the sound of the rain trickling gently along the roof.

Whether it’s my subconscious using him as a way to speak to me or it was actually him visiting me in dreamscape, the message was heard loud and clear. No idea what it means, but I’m sure I’ll figure it out when I’m meant to. That’s usually how it works for me anyway.

Well my luvlies, it’s time I bid thee anon and find something interesting to occupy my brain-meats with.

-Adieu