Possessed

My head feels like its floating, just above my neck like I’m just my vision, observing the people walking by. I feel a little rattled, shaky, because they don’t know that I feel like some “thing” in a disconnected body. I can barely feel my body, like it’s been anesthetized, but it’s still moving me. However, I can’t tell if I’m moving it forward, or it’s doing it on its own. I can barely feel my head or my face, I just see with some slight static and hear with the volume turned down, while thinking in the background. My thoughts aren’t me and I’m not my thoughts. That’s what I learned in meditation videos. But what are my thoughts then if not mine? Whose are they then? If I don’t want doubts, or negatives, Why do I still have them? I’m worried the rationale is right, that we are actually in control of them. It would mean most people don’t want to be free. They want to keep their fear and worry, no matter how small. But, (of course), I could be wrong, and if so, thoughts are as animal as our bodies hunger and itch and breathe. This does matter. It’s the difference between real control and the lack of. And that, leads to where we’ll carry our lives, or where we’ll plummet with them.

I tried seeing a counselor last fall. After a few visits she said I might have BPD, that I should see a psychiatrist. That was the last time I heard back from her. Time went by, I got on Adderall and things leveled out, until they didn't, until they plummeted like a market crash. Over the summer, I tried again, from someone outside the school but after sending in some paperwork to a therapist detailing my situation, I never heard back from them either.

When these moods go away, it always feels as if they’ve gone forever, as if I’m finally cured, but with no recollection as to how bad being in the pit was, like it never happened. But it always comes back, the right thing just needs to trigger it. It’s a painful pimple that swells, pops, and forms again. I just hope a scar isn’t left over.

Anyways, I’m at this pajama party my friend Amy is throwing. I brought this vodka that has a light at the bottom, and it flashes in different modes, lighting the whole thing up, a party bottle. I decided to be fun tonight, because who cares, right? I put on a red bath robe over a black tank top and dark green flannel pants.

I want to be fun but the whole time I’ve been here I’ve wanted to plop down and nap on the couch. I feel like to get over this and be free I gotta push. I keep telling myself over and over, I don’t care I don’t care; there’s nothing to be ashamed of. Normally when I get like this and I push, it feels like I’m overheating on the periphery but not the core, like cooking chicken that hasn’t thawed completely and looks just fine on the outside, until you bite or cut in to see that the raw and poisonous inside is still there, inedible.

I walked up to this girl Lauren, who I once made out with who also happens to be one of Amy’s best friends. She was next to her roommate, Phoebe, one of the girls Amy used to like, and then next to her was Amy’s new guy friend, Freddy, who seemed very enthralled in talking to them about James Joyce, (at a party mind you), a real intellectual.

“Do you believe in ghosts?” I asked.

“Uh no,” said Freddy.

“What about you? And you?” I asked the two girls.

“I don’t think they’re real. It would be cool though,” said Lauren.

“Oh yeah well there’s one riight there,” I said pointing to the space right by her head. She gave an embarrassed smile.

“Oh you can see ghosts?” asked Fred.

“Yeah there’s one, riiight under this table here too,”

“Uh-Huh,” said Fred.

“Yeah this one flicked you off though, yikes," I said.

“Wow what an asshole,” said Fred.

“Mhm, yeah he’s not that bad though, he taught me how to drive a boat,” I said.

“Do you have a boat?” asked Fred.

“Yeah but it’s not like a regular boat, it’s got these flippers on the side, and these spin-y things that lift it up. It’s like sailing but up in the air.”

I look over and see Lauren smiling more brightly.

“You mean a plane?” said Fred.

“No silly, that’s for walking on. You meant p-l-a-i-n right?” I said. “Wow you can spell?” said Fred.

“Mhm, I was making sure you could too,” I said.

“Hey, I have a question, how do you think our socio-economic state is being influenced by the sudden fluctuations of--”

“You know, that’s out of my pay grade, why don’t you talk to my roommate here. Hey Eric, this guy likes talking about socioeconomic stuff. I think you two would make for a great debate,” I said.

At this point, I’ve had a few heavy drinks, not that I feel them much, I think it’s the Adderall. I’ve finally gotten myself down to five milligrams after months of trying. Peter came up to me.

“Hey these beatbox drinks are really good,” he said.

“Yeah, you make any new friends?” I said.

“Yeah I was talking to the girl that speaks Portuguese. She’s really cute,” he said with an excited smile.

“I’m glad man,” I said.

“Come here Pat,” he said as he gave me a hug.

“I know you don’t like when I get like this, but I don’t care,” he said. I just hugged him back. There have been times in my life where I was sure I was haunted. Over the summer I saged my apartment because there was a demon in my bathroom. I think its tied to when I bashed my head into the cabinet mirror and used the shards to cut myself. After that, I think an omen took up shop there. Every time I walked into the bathroom, I could feel the fatigue and a looming darkness cast over me. I thought all the omens had vanished up with the smoke, but I guess it’s not a permanent cure, like flu vaccines being seasonal and all. I played this pong game but I’m feeling more off. I got loud and was definitely joking with the trash talk but the look on their faces seemed like they were being berated. Maybe they don’t know me well enough. At this point my body is acting without me and I’m barely watching, I’m just in here recording these thoughts. I fade back in and find that I’m playing with a lighter, sparking it aggressively. It’s really close to some girl’s face, and she yelps. My stomach wringed.

Uh-Oh. Here it comes, the burning and scalding under my skin, deep in my gut. This is why I can’t be myself, there’s no control when I allow myself to be natural. I go around the kitchen island and bump into some girl.

“I think you should leave,” she said.

“Wait really?”

“No yeah, you should really leave,” she said. I exited with two of my other roommates, Jason, and Peter, and headed towards the elevator. It’s getting unbearable.

“I fucked up,” I said.

“What are you talking about?” said Jason.

“Oh shit dude,” I said. As we entered, the omen must have grabbed the steering wheel as now I’m yelling, swinging, and kicking around, shooting the walls with my feet, bashing the elevator buttons. Jason put his arm around my neck and held me back. Suddenly, “Hello… Hellooo,” said a voice. We paused with a ringing of silence.

“Is everything okay in there?” said a voice. We were all taken aback. The voice repeated itself and Jason spoke into the speaker. “Uh hi, yeah we seem to be stuck in the elevator, but everything is fine,” said Jason. I continued my struggling and started shouting again.

“It doesn’t sound fine,” said the voice as I’m snarling in the background.

“Patrick, stop. Just stop,” said Jason.

“Alright well we already have help on the way. You’re going to have to hang in there though,” said the voice before ending the call.

“Oh my God,” said Peter.

“Jesus, the elevator is actually stuck,” said Jason.

“No, we can fix it,” I said.

“Dude look at the panel,” said Jason referring to the whole section of buttons and screen busted outwards.

“That must be a really shitty panel,” I said. I tried to examine it and open the bottom portion a little to see the issue.

“Leave it,” said Jason. I continued trying to examine and feel around and Jason kept telling me, all aggravated, to leave it alone. It started to piss me off. So I turned and he said, “Please, just wait.”

We sat there waiting in silence. Jason pressed the call button and spoke to the man again and we were assured help was coming soon. I look over and Peter gives me a burning look that scalded my skin and boiled water in my gut.

“What, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU LOOKING AT,” I said, standing straight up.

“Are you freaking kidding me. Look at what you did,” said Peter. “Shut up, shut you fucking faggot! You stupid bitch!” I said.

“Are you fucking serious? You’re really talking to me like that?” he said.

“Yeah, you don’t like it, stop being friends with me. I’d prefer it.”

“You know what I just might!” said Peter.

“Alright then, come on pussy!” I said motioning with my arms.

“Oh I’ll fucking go bitch,” he said standing up, ready to come at me, the most rage I’ve ever seen in his eyes. The truth is I want him to beat the living shit out me. I need him to hate me. Shame I do this to my nicest friend. Jason held out both of his arms, pushing both of us to the sides as I kept berating Peter, snarling, and viciously barking like a Rottweiler. How come the sweetest people are the ones we treat the most like shit?

Jason put his arm around my neck again only this time I swung and swung, hitting my own face, swinging bags of rocks on my cheeks. I grabbed his arm and choked myself on it. I used to get this way. I just thought I was over all that. I guess now I know for sure that I’m not a good person. As we continued waiting, Amy called and told us to stop pressing the emergency button because the mechanic was already there, and it was only going to make things worse. So we sat there, occasionally hearing some metallic and muffled noises. It was getting hot, and muggy. Every breath got uncomfortable as the air got heavier and more viscous, weighing on us. Peter was breathing pretty heavy too. He just needs to hold out for a little longer. I spoke softly, “It’ll all be okay, I’ll make this right. I know what I gotta do Jay. It’s what needs to happen. My retribution.”

“You know Pat, you’ve managed to make this whole thing about you,” said Jason.

“So what,” I said. He just sighed and kept trying to keep calm and I continued murmuring.

I know what I have to do when I get home. It’s my duty, I just have to. God I really want to. Finally, after some loud thuds, and one big metallic pull, the door slowly opened, and we quickly got out of that steam box. Amy and her roommates were all there. Peter immediately ran down the hall. I quickly waved at everyone with a cheeky smile and said to the mechanic, “You’re a God sir. But look at that, I should go after him, he needs me.” I said forcing a smile. Jason stayed and probably told the mechanic everything. I ran after Peter but ended up walking once I lost sight of him outside. If he’s not home, he’s probably at his buddy Kevin’s. Decisions feel alien to me, they feel monumental and crucial. Every mistake is a torch to the gut. It gives me tunnel vision, down a one-way road to the white light at the end. My brain is burning, cooking, a demon that wants to claw its way out, well I know a way. I opened the door of my apartment and sat by the kitchen. I played Elliot Smith on my phone. I just hope they all hate me. I know, I’m a drama queen and a coward. But I won’t be a coward for long because this time, it has to be done. I’m sorry mom and dad, I’ve been alive because of you two but at this point, it’s a necessary evil, I have to go through with this now. It’s my duty. Oh my God, every damn day, it’s so tempting. I pulled up a chair by the garbage can and grabbed a small kitchen knife. I hung my wrist over it and stopped. I got my phone out and texted my parents: “You did nothing wrong.” I texted my cousin who once did the same as I: “I’m sorry, I love you, I hope you’re okay.”