I froze; my feet became glued to the frost covered ground. My chest tightened in fear and anxiety. I could hear my heartbeat in my ears; my pulse could be felt in my fingertips. The sound of my blood rushing in my ears drowned out every other sound. It was so loud I could hear nothing else.
I willed myself to calm. With great effort, began to slow my breathing, in through the nose, out through the mouth. While it still came in shallow bursts but it was easier now, and my burning lungs began to no longer reject the cool autumn air.
The crack of a stick broke me out of my attempt of calm. My pulse began to race again as the fear and adrenaline began to spike. I pushed my stiff legs back into movement.
“Don’t stop!” I screamed internally. If I stopped, I would be done, I would die. I ran deeper into the forest, surrounding myself with the burning reds and oranges. The trees appeared to be on fire in the pre-sunset light.
I could hear his footsteps begin to pick up speed. Mine began to slow in response. No, this could not be happening, not when I was so close to escaping fate. If I don’t keep going nothing would save me.“Push.” I screamed at myself. As his footsteps become louder, I pick up speed in response. I hear him even more clearly, he must be close.
I stop and hide behind a large gnarled oak tree, my back pressed into the gritty bark. I tried to cover myself behind the changing leaves of a partially broken branch.
I hear him come to a stop and I stifle the sound of my breathing. He is so close, then I see him come around the side of the tree walking to the clearing, his face was flushed and primal and his breath was as heavy as mine.. How did such a portly man give such a chase in this molted terrain?
He was so close to my hiding spot I can feel his rancid breath. I pounced on him, grabbing him; finally I slit his throat and removed his tracking device. Then I smiled, I was safe, no one would know about me. I began to hum as I headed home to my cottage in the woods.
I love the thrill of the hunt.
Tuesday, May 5, 2015
Sunday, May 3, 2015
HE IS COMING BACK
I looked down at Juliet lying in my lap. Her quiet form was beyond angelic. It was a little early for her to be sleeping, but I just couldn’t bring myself to move her. My little angel, she had such a hard day. Not only was she sick earlier today, but her father walked out on us.
My husband just left. He packed his clothing and left. There was no preamble. There was no warning. He just walked out a hardened look on his face. Our marriage was strained at best. The conversations we carried rarely lasting more than a few brief moments, but the one thing we could agree on was our daughter. Juliet was the light of our lives.
I sat on the couch reminiscing about our dying marriage, while gently stroking her baby fine hair. I looked down at her. Her hair was the color of mahogany. The same color as her fathers. A tear escaped my eye, gently landing on her face. All the while thinking more and more on what I had failed at.
We were fighting all the time, until we finally snapped. The fight was as volatile as it could be without fists flying. I stormed off to my daughter’s room to comfort her crying. Giving her more Benadryl to help with her cough, I held her in my arms. She went to sleep her breathing slowed, and she was out.
Resting her head in my lap I sat there for hours, staring at the wall. How could my husband leave me? We were everything to each other. He will be back; I know this in every fiber of my being. I continued to stroke Juliet’s hair. My husband would be back, I keep repeating this internal mantra. Over and over, for what seemed like hours or days, I continued to repeat this.
This whole fight, everything, was all over him having another mistress. I was getting him back, one way or another. With no regard to anything that anyone would say or do, I would get my husband back, at no expense. He had no choice. I knew he would be back, he was mine. No one else could stake that claim to him, I would never allow it.
My daughter stirred in my lap, and looked up at me with sad eyes.
“He is not coming back, mommy.” Her voice like a thousand angels speaking at once both comforted me and broke my heart. My perfect angel lay her head back down in my lap just as it was before.
The sound of banging on the house door registered to my mind, yet I could not focus on it. Still I continued to stroke my daughter’s hair. The footsteps racing down the hall still were ignored by my mind.
My angel lay still in my lap, the poor thing. The door to the room we were sitting in was busted down, and rushed by a group of men in swat gear. I couldn’t hear the screaming. Juliet’s words were still ringing in my ears.
“He is not coming back, mommy.”
The officers swarmed me. They took my baby from my lap. I know I screamed; I wanted my husband. Where was he? They took the empty bottle of Benadryl off of the night stand. They continued to yell at me, while gently placing my child into a black bag.
My poor baby, she had such a hard day. She was sick, her daddy left us. However, I know she is happy. As often happens with children her age, she was wrong. I know she was wrong. Her daddy does not love his mistress. He is mine.
My sweet angel, she had such a hard day. Tomorrow will be better; I know her daddy will come back. I continue to smile lovingly at her as the man zippers up the black bag she is in. Her daddy will be back. He is mine.
My husband just left. He packed his clothing and left. There was no preamble. There was no warning. He just walked out a hardened look on his face. Our marriage was strained at best. The conversations we carried rarely lasting more than a few brief moments, but the one thing we could agree on was our daughter. Juliet was the light of our lives.
I sat on the couch reminiscing about our dying marriage, while gently stroking her baby fine hair. I looked down at her. Her hair was the color of mahogany. The same color as her fathers. A tear escaped my eye, gently landing on her face. All the while thinking more and more on what I had failed at.
We were fighting all the time, until we finally snapped. The fight was as volatile as it could be without fists flying. I stormed off to my daughter’s room to comfort her crying. Giving her more Benadryl to help with her cough, I held her in my arms. She went to sleep her breathing slowed, and she was out.
Resting her head in my lap I sat there for hours, staring at the wall. How could my husband leave me? We were everything to each other. He will be back; I know this in every fiber of my being. I continued to stroke Juliet’s hair. My husband would be back, I keep repeating this internal mantra. Over and over, for what seemed like hours or days, I continued to repeat this.
This whole fight, everything, was all over him having another mistress. I was getting him back, one way or another. With no regard to anything that anyone would say or do, I would get my husband back, at no expense. He had no choice. I knew he would be back, he was mine. No one else could stake that claim to him, I would never allow it.
My daughter stirred in my lap, and looked up at me with sad eyes.
“He is not coming back, mommy.” Her voice like a thousand angels speaking at once both comforted me and broke my heart. My perfect angel lay her head back down in my lap just as it was before.
The sound of banging on the house door registered to my mind, yet I could not focus on it. Still I continued to stroke my daughter’s hair. The footsteps racing down the hall still were ignored by my mind.
My angel lay still in my lap, the poor thing. The door to the room we were sitting in was busted down, and rushed by a group of men in swat gear. I couldn’t hear the screaming. Juliet’s words were still ringing in my ears.
“He is not coming back, mommy.”
The officers swarmed me. They took my baby from my lap. I know I screamed; I wanted my husband. Where was he? They took the empty bottle of Benadryl off of the night stand. They continued to yell at me, while gently placing my child into a black bag.
My poor baby, she had such a hard day. She was sick, her daddy left us. However, I know she is happy. As often happens with children her age, she was wrong. I know she was wrong. Her daddy does not love his mistress. He is mine.
My sweet angel, she had such a hard day. Tomorrow will be better; I know her daddy will come back. I continue to smile lovingly at her as the man zippers up the black bag she is in. Her daddy will be back. He is mine.
MIGRAINES
For as long as I can remember I have had migraines. I wish they were just the sensitive to light and smell kind of migraines; you pop an Excedrin and get on with your life. No, I get the completely debilitating ones. They come with a fever, nausea, and little shadows out of the corners of my eyes.
That is usually the first clue; I see shadows in the peripheral of my vision. The dark auras eclipse everything out of the corners of my eyes. I know the second I see these floating entities that I need to get into a dark room with a Hydrocodoine and a cup of chamomile tea. The doctor calls them cluster migraines, but I really have no clue what he means by that. All I know is the pain gets worse every time around.
They come about once a month. Then, this last month things began to change. They become more frequent, increasing in intensity. It started about two weeks ago. The headache was due to come on. The black wisps were floating around harmlessly in my peripheral, and I knew it was time to get home.
My boss was a pretty understanding woman, and being a decent level public accountant, most of my work could be done at home. With the letter of medical problems from my doctor, my boss usually let me go home at the first sign of a Migraine.
As soon as I walked into my door I immediately closed all of the curtains, turned off all the lights and used only a battery operated candle for necessary lighting. I grabbed the Vicodine from the medicine cabinet and lay on the couch with the tea. The only thing to do was sleep it out.
Even in the extreme absence of light I could see the aura’s moving around violently. With a sudden intensity, the strangest thing of all happened. A loud blaring began in my ears. It was like a tinnitus ringing, but louder than anything I had ever before heard. I felt the scream rip from my chest, but couldn’t hear it over the deafening ringing.
I rolled onto my side, and wrapped my pillow I kept on the couch for these days, around my head. I prayed the Vicodine would kick in at any moment and knock me out.
The blessed darkness came, and I slept a heavy sleep. I dreamed of blood, and screams. Both of which things could be explained by the amount of pain I was in just a while before.
Awaking sometime later, the headache was hanging on by only a thread, and the ringing in my ears had dulled down considerably, but was now replaced by a whooshing sound, like you hear inside of a conch shell.
I went back to bed several hours later, and the next morning, the last of the residual headache was gone. Work was as usual, I used some of the time after work that day to catch up on everything that needed done the previous day, having done a bit of it between the nap and actually sleeping.
As I looked around the area where I worked, I could hear the whispers of those who usually say hi to me first thing in the mornings. Ms. Barstow called me into her office shortly after work that day to talk to me, Where she scared the hell out of me. Apparently, the nap I took after the headache was longer than a nap. I was out for two days. I couldn’t wrap my head around what she was telling me.
“Look, you are one of the best workers I have. Your co-workers look up to you and the account holders you are responsible for say nothing but the best about you. So, I will let this accident go one time. However, this cannot happen again. Understood?” Ms. Barstow used a kind but stern voice.
I just nodded my head in shock of the time that I had lost. Had I mixed up the Vicodine and the Ambien I have in the cabinet? They look nothing alike, and are completely different sizes, but maybe I was more dazed than normal?
The whole situation made less and less sense as it went on. The rest of the week was hectic, catching up on the extra day of work I didn’t even realize I had lost. Sunday I was off, as well as the following Monday. I was just sitting down to watch the game (I love football) and the aura’s came back.
They were darker than usual; swirling more violently than ever before, It was almost like they were waving at me. The ringing started almost immediately after I noticed the aura’s I didn’t even make it to the bathroom to grab the painkiller; I just collapsed onto the floor grabbing my head. The pain was searing from my ear drums racing across the brain, setting fire to every neuron it crossed. It was as if boiling water was funneled into my skull.
I stood up to head to the bathroom. The next thing I knew was darkness engulfing me as I writhed to the floor. For the first time in my life I fainted from pain.
There were no dreams, just knowing that even in my sleep wild fire roared across my gray matter.
Awaking however long later, I doubt I will ever know, the headache was gone, but both the auras and the tinnitus were still there.
The shadows seemed to wave to me. The ringing started to sound like speech, very high pitched speech. I was losing my ever-loving mind. I called into work, and told my boss that I was leaving for an emergency, and that I could not make it in for a few days. I was so confused. Why were the auras still there?
They came more on more frequently, almost every other day. I began alternating between Vicodine and Ambien to sleep, and not feel pain. But I am almost out now. Neither prescription was meant for everyday use.
The auras are closer now I can see the faces. They smile at me and ask me for help. They want out, but when I tell them that I don’t know how to release them they scream, so loud, for hours and hours. They never stop screaming, the high pitch ringing in my ears that was only a taste of their volatile voices.
I don’t know how much more of the screaming I can take. I reach the end of my chain within an hour of the screaming this time around. In the dining room is my mountain bike. The spokes will be perfect. I take the last Vicodine, and Ambien. Heading into the kitchen I begin boiling the water. Once it has begun to roll I stick one of the spokes in, letting it stay to clean off the germs and bacteria.
With careful precision I slowly poke the spoke into the ear canal, stopping when I come up to the thin membrane. The screaming is louder now than ever before. With a single quick thrust I pop through the ear drum, quickly repeating it on the other ear. Silence engulfs me. For the first time in weeks the screams are gone.
I look at the heavy spoon sitting on the counter next to the spoke and boiling water. Soon I won’t see the auras any more either.
That is usually the first clue; I see shadows in the peripheral of my vision. The dark auras eclipse everything out of the corners of my eyes. I know the second I see these floating entities that I need to get into a dark room with a Hydrocodoine and a cup of chamomile tea. The doctor calls them cluster migraines, but I really have no clue what he means by that. All I know is the pain gets worse every time around.
They come about once a month. Then, this last month things began to change. They become more frequent, increasing in intensity. It started about two weeks ago. The headache was due to come on. The black wisps were floating around harmlessly in my peripheral, and I knew it was time to get home.
My boss was a pretty understanding woman, and being a decent level public accountant, most of my work could be done at home. With the letter of medical problems from my doctor, my boss usually let me go home at the first sign of a Migraine.
As soon as I walked into my door I immediately closed all of the curtains, turned off all the lights and used only a battery operated candle for necessary lighting. I grabbed the Vicodine from the medicine cabinet and lay on the couch with the tea. The only thing to do was sleep it out.
Even in the extreme absence of light I could see the aura’s moving around violently. With a sudden intensity, the strangest thing of all happened. A loud blaring began in my ears. It was like a tinnitus ringing, but louder than anything I had ever before heard. I felt the scream rip from my chest, but couldn’t hear it over the deafening ringing.
I rolled onto my side, and wrapped my pillow I kept on the couch for these days, around my head. I prayed the Vicodine would kick in at any moment and knock me out.
The blessed darkness came, and I slept a heavy sleep. I dreamed of blood, and screams. Both of which things could be explained by the amount of pain I was in just a while before.
Awaking sometime later, the headache was hanging on by only a thread, and the ringing in my ears had dulled down considerably, but was now replaced by a whooshing sound, like you hear inside of a conch shell.
I went back to bed several hours later, and the next morning, the last of the residual headache was gone. Work was as usual, I used some of the time after work that day to catch up on everything that needed done the previous day, having done a bit of it between the nap and actually sleeping.
As I looked around the area where I worked, I could hear the whispers of those who usually say hi to me first thing in the mornings. Ms. Barstow called me into her office shortly after work that day to talk to me, Where she scared the hell out of me. Apparently, the nap I took after the headache was longer than a nap. I was out for two days. I couldn’t wrap my head around what she was telling me.
“Look, you are one of the best workers I have. Your co-workers look up to you and the account holders you are responsible for say nothing but the best about you. So, I will let this accident go one time. However, this cannot happen again. Understood?” Ms. Barstow used a kind but stern voice.
I just nodded my head in shock of the time that I had lost. Had I mixed up the Vicodine and the Ambien I have in the cabinet? They look nothing alike, and are completely different sizes, but maybe I was more dazed than normal?
The whole situation made less and less sense as it went on. The rest of the week was hectic, catching up on the extra day of work I didn’t even realize I had lost. Sunday I was off, as well as the following Monday. I was just sitting down to watch the game (I love football) and the aura’s came back.
They were darker than usual; swirling more violently than ever before, It was almost like they were waving at me. The ringing started almost immediately after I noticed the aura’s I didn’t even make it to the bathroom to grab the painkiller; I just collapsed onto the floor grabbing my head. The pain was searing from my ear drums racing across the brain, setting fire to every neuron it crossed. It was as if boiling water was funneled into my skull.
I stood up to head to the bathroom. The next thing I knew was darkness engulfing me as I writhed to the floor. For the first time in my life I fainted from pain.
There were no dreams, just knowing that even in my sleep wild fire roared across my gray matter.
Awaking however long later, I doubt I will ever know, the headache was gone, but both the auras and the tinnitus were still there.
The shadows seemed to wave to me. The ringing started to sound like speech, very high pitched speech. I was losing my ever-loving mind. I called into work, and told my boss that I was leaving for an emergency, and that I could not make it in for a few days. I was so confused. Why were the auras still there?
They came more on more frequently, almost every other day. I began alternating between Vicodine and Ambien to sleep, and not feel pain. But I am almost out now. Neither prescription was meant for everyday use.
The auras are closer now I can see the faces. They smile at me and ask me for help. They want out, but when I tell them that I don’t know how to release them they scream, so loud, for hours and hours. They never stop screaming, the high pitch ringing in my ears that was only a taste of their volatile voices.
I don’t know how much more of the screaming I can take. I reach the end of my chain within an hour of the screaming this time around. In the dining room is my mountain bike. The spokes will be perfect. I take the last Vicodine, and Ambien. Heading into the kitchen I begin boiling the water. Once it has begun to roll I stick one of the spokes in, letting it stay to clean off the germs and bacteria.
With careful precision I slowly poke the spoke into the ear canal, stopping when I come up to the thin membrane. The screaming is louder now than ever before. With a single quick thrust I pop through the ear drum, quickly repeating it on the other ear. Silence engulfs me. For the first time in weeks the screams are gone.
I look at the heavy spoon sitting on the counter next to the spoke and boiling water. Soon I won’t see the auras any more either.
MADNESS
Madness is a beautiful thing. The slow decent into mindless delirium takes my breath away. Madness is nothing more than a state of being that is nigh understood by the society of people in which you reside.
However, I understand you, I see you for what you are.
When you stand afore the mirror, freshly showered, water still slowly beading down to the small of your back, I see the look within your eyes. Were it not for your ignorance of me, I would caress your dear face.
I should wish to stroke your imagination, feed unto your gore infested dreamscapes, and enthrall myself with your nightmares.
I have followed you for much longer than you could comprehend, from one life and unto the next. Your twisted darkness has always been my saving grace, and what gives me strength. I would, that I could feed into it. I wish to see your depravity become something more, I wish it to evolve. No amount of blood shall be enough. When I am done, you will thirst for it as none before you have thirsted. Thus, I will relish the light, finally able to walk amongst those whom have forgotten me for so very long.
Foremost, I must make you knowledgeable of me afore we may continue. I must hurry; I must make you aware of my presence. Alas the wasting away of youth is such a shame, we must make the most of it. Learning one’s craft so young, it is but how we shall hone it towards your older years.
That buzzing your ears, do you hear it? That is me, my beloved one. It is but me attempting to be heard unto you! Oh, dearest one, I know in your heart you wish to know me, and soon you shall. I want to shout to the heavens from where we all fell. My beloved hears me, although you do not know it yet, but soon my love, oh soon.
Like every life you have lived unto now, you shall hear me in the eventuality. You cannot ignore the call of me for long. We have always been as one, me leading, and you ruling steadfastly at my side. For now, I am but your conscience, that convenient name you give for the arguments back and forth over the right and wrong. Just give into the wrong, precious one. You will eventually, and it will be deliciously tantalizing, drawing you towards more.
Yet, worry not my love, my voice it gets ever stronger in your mind, and the blood we seek is getting ever more vivid pulling you towards it. Oh dearest, you are beginning to hear me now, are you not? Ever so quietly; I am beginning to feed into your depravity, you hear my whisperings guiding your actions. This life shall be no different than that of the hundreds we have lived together before. We will begin anew, another covenant, another pact.
I am getting louder, Beloved. Oh so very soon, I will have the strength; that which is necessary to direct your fate. Fate, even with my use of the verbiage it is such a silly word. Fate implies that something higher than me has preordained what you shall do. My beloved, think on it not, for you are mine, and I shall always tell you what you shall do. The fates do not control me. There is no God to whom I shall bow or obey.
At Last! You are hearing me now Beloved are you not? My voice has finally reached your ears? I saw your reaction, the blink of surprise. Oh my most precious one it is almost time. You shall have all of my attention soon.
Beloved, before I can become corporeal however, you must do one thing for me. You must kill them. The innocents, My love. They will seek to destroy us, you must not allow this. I will tell you who they are, but you must listen carefully. You must never tell them of me, they will give you pills beloved, and take you from me.
Be silent, my dearest, be quick, and kill them all.
However, I understand you, I see you for what you are.
When you stand afore the mirror, freshly showered, water still slowly beading down to the small of your back, I see the look within your eyes. Were it not for your ignorance of me, I would caress your dear face.
I should wish to stroke your imagination, feed unto your gore infested dreamscapes, and enthrall myself with your nightmares.
I have followed you for much longer than you could comprehend, from one life and unto the next. Your twisted darkness has always been my saving grace, and what gives me strength. I would, that I could feed into it. I wish to see your depravity become something more, I wish it to evolve. No amount of blood shall be enough. When I am done, you will thirst for it as none before you have thirsted. Thus, I will relish the light, finally able to walk amongst those whom have forgotten me for so very long.
Foremost, I must make you knowledgeable of me afore we may continue. I must hurry; I must make you aware of my presence. Alas the wasting away of youth is such a shame, we must make the most of it. Learning one’s craft so young, it is but how we shall hone it towards your older years.
That buzzing your ears, do you hear it? That is me, my beloved one. It is but me attempting to be heard unto you! Oh, dearest one, I know in your heart you wish to know me, and soon you shall. I want to shout to the heavens from where we all fell. My beloved hears me, although you do not know it yet, but soon my love, oh soon.
Like every life you have lived unto now, you shall hear me in the eventuality. You cannot ignore the call of me for long. We have always been as one, me leading, and you ruling steadfastly at my side. For now, I am but your conscience, that convenient name you give for the arguments back and forth over the right and wrong. Just give into the wrong, precious one. You will eventually, and it will be deliciously tantalizing, drawing you towards more.
Yet, worry not my love, my voice it gets ever stronger in your mind, and the blood we seek is getting ever more vivid pulling you towards it. Oh dearest, you are beginning to hear me now, are you not? Ever so quietly; I am beginning to feed into your depravity, you hear my whisperings guiding your actions. This life shall be no different than that of the hundreds we have lived together before. We will begin anew, another covenant, another pact.
I am getting louder, Beloved. Oh so very soon, I will have the strength; that which is necessary to direct your fate. Fate, even with my use of the verbiage it is such a silly word. Fate implies that something higher than me has preordained what you shall do. My beloved, think on it not, for you are mine, and I shall always tell you what you shall do. The fates do not control me. There is no God to whom I shall bow or obey.
At Last! You are hearing me now Beloved are you not? My voice has finally reached your ears? I saw your reaction, the blink of surprise. Oh my most precious one it is almost time. You shall have all of my attention soon.
Beloved, before I can become corporeal however, you must do one thing for me. You must kill them. The innocents, My love. They will seek to destroy us, you must not allow this. I will tell you who they are, but you must listen carefully. You must never tell them of me, they will give you pills beloved, and take you from me.
Be silent, my dearest, be quick, and kill them all.
THE SCIENTIST
“Gods be Damned” His inner voice growled.
What were they thinking? After everything he had given them, after his hours of unerring work, and the sweat of years of testing. They asked him for it and he had delivered. He had given them what they wanted.
“The Society” wanted control. They were bigger than the Masons, and better hidden than the Illuminati. You did not find them, they found you. They had asked for control, they wanted a serum that would enthrall the masses under their wishes.
He, the most prestigious scientist in the world, had delivered. The serum was amazing; it passed every test it was put to, rats, small mammals, and humans. Once it was delivered into the system, the auditory system began to respond only to the voice that had used the opening command. The combination of Sodium Pentothal, and Nano-technology, was above and beyond anything that had ever been seen before.
Everything about the test subject was at the command of the Activator. The Neurological System, the Cardiac System, the Limbic System, and even the Renal System, nothing was unreachable by the Activator. The Receiver could not even urinate without the permission of the Activator.
He gave them everything, and then fired him. Taking the Serum with them they left him with nothing, or so they thought. One test vial was left; the one vial that was designed for human use.
“Let them control the rats.” He chuckled with malice. “I will control the world.”
The Society wanted a super army of the best the species had to offer, but the scientist knew better. If you wanted to control the masses you used fear. The Scientist knew, if you wanted to make them fear you, you stole their most precious resources.
He looked over into the corner where his daughter sat crying through her bonds and gag. You controlled their children.
What were they thinking? After everything he had given them, after his hours of unerring work, and the sweat of years of testing. They asked him for it and he had delivered. He had given them what they wanted.
“The Society” wanted control. They were bigger than the Masons, and better hidden than the Illuminati. You did not find them, they found you. They had asked for control, they wanted a serum that would enthrall the masses under their wishes.
He, the most prestigious scientist in the world, had delivered. The serum was amazing; it passed every test it was put to, rats, small mammals, and humans. Once it was delivered into the system, the auditory system began to respond only to the voice that had used the opening command. The combination of Sodium Pentothal, and Nano-technology, was above and beyond anything that had ever been seen before.
Everything about the test subject was at the command of the Activator. The Neurological System, the Cardiac System, the Limbic System, and even the Renal System, nothing was unreachable by the Activator. The Receiver could not even urinate without the permission of the Activator.
He gave them everything, and then fired him. Taking the Serum with them they left him with nothing, or so they thought. One test vial was left; the one vial that was designed for human use.
“Let them control the rats.” He chuckled with malice. “I will control the world.”
The Society wanted a super army of the best the species had to offer, but the scientist knew better. If you wanted to control the masses you used fear. The Scientist knew, if you wanted to make them fear you, you stole their most precious resources.
He looked over into the corner where his daughter sat crying through her bonds and gag. You controlled their children.
COGNITIVE BEHAVIORAL THERAPY
I am going to start by saying I am terrified of spiders. Actually, terrified is to mild of a word to describe it. In fact it got to be so bad, that my boss told me that if I did not overcome my fears, that they would have to fire me, since it was getting in the way of me working.
People use the term “phobia” too lightly many times, but that is in essence what I suffer from, Arachnophobia. An extreme and unreasonable fear of spiders. A good example is when I was going to the bathroom and a spider (a small one at that, or so I was told) crawled up the bathroom wall, and I jumped off of the toilet and ran stark naked through the apartment. I was lucky enough that my place had two bathrooms, and to this day I refuse to use the first one. Yet I digress.
On my boss’s prompting I decided to try something called Cognitive Behavior Therapy or CBT for short. It is where not only are you trained against your fear, but in some cases even subjected to it. Now, at the time I thought this was a good idea, to the tune of One hundred and Twenty dollars an hour, for about twelve to sixteen sessions ranging from one to two hours apiece.
It started out simple enough, the therapist asked me questions about my fear, what triggered it, how often I freaked out, and even what sorts of stimulation brought on the fear. He frowned at me when I explained that even a picture of a spider would cause my skin to start crawling and send me into a full blown anxiety attack. Then he smiled, in what I assumed was his attempt at a reassuring manner.
We started small. For the first session I was subjected to picture after picture of spiders, everything from the common Garden Spider up to Hobo Spiders, St Andrews Cross Spiders and Redbacks. I couldn't even move from my position, even when the psychiatrist insisted that I touch the picture. This went on for two hours.
By the time my session was over the doctor decided that I would need more than the standard twelve to sixteen sessions. He even went as far as to hint at possible inpatient therapy options. While this struck me as odd, I really did want to overcome my fear. I had never heard of people being treated in hospital for something as minor as a phobia (even if an extreme one.). However, when I looked back at the picture I ignored my misgivings and agreed to the inpatient treatment.
I was taken voluntarily to a Psychiatric Institution where I would receive every kind of therapy I could need. Shortly thereafter everything went down hill.
The first week was the same as the first appointment. Lots of pictures, and by the end I even touched the picture of the Garden Spider, although there was no way in hell I was going to touch the Redback picture. I was so happy, but the Psychiatrist felt that my progress was too slow. He asked me to sign a consent to try a radical therapy.
He explained how he was going to take the Pavlovian Therapy of Classical Conditioning and apply it to me. I was so excited to possibly be free of my horrid fear, that I quickly signed the consent form. I didn't even read it, although now I wish to god that I had.
As I said the doctor wanted to apply the theory of Pavlov to my case. Classical Conditioning is where the famous Psychiatrist Dr. Pavlov trained his dog to salivate at the sound of a bell, causing him to anticipate food. That didn't seem to bad. I knew enough about how it worked from a college class I took in Psychology.
Again this started out simply. I was bound to a bed, and given a strong dose of ativan, a medication that is used to calm anxiety. It put me in a kind of daze, during which I was exposed to several images, and models of those creepy crawlies. It actually wasn't so bad, it was kind of nice to look at them without going into an instant freak out.
However, that is where the good ended. I began having nightmares. Well, actually Night Terrors, I would scream horrendously for hours on end, with no exit from the dreams. The dreams had a certain glowing look to them, and even though it was so dark in all of them, the glowing illuminated the things that I feared.
At the foot of my bed, where I would be trapped by lengths of webbing, would stand the largest arachnid I had ever seen in my life. It would release its young from a pouch it had on its back, they would crawl over me. Those, things, would crawl into my mouth, my ears and nose. I could feel them biting me everywhere that they walked. When I would awaken from the dreams, I would be covered in little bumps, that my doctor told me were hives, all due to my irrational fear.
Apparently, he said, my therapy was not going well if my mind could cause such a systemic reaction to dreams. So, he decided to push my therapy up a notch. I was told that they were taking away the ativan, and instead going to put me through the CBT without any drug to aid me.
It was horrible. The hours that I was locked into the room with the therapist would become my new nightmare. I would be forced to touch the actual spiders. At the end of the session, I felt better, but only because I had eventually given in even if only to make it stop, I would put my hand in the terrarium that held the little eight legged freaks, and wait for them to scuttle to my hand.
I still had the night terrors, and they only grew worse. The spiders in my dreams got bigger, and more ugly every time. Finally after a month of this, the doctor said I would need to stay longer, and that due to my new symptoms, of night terrors and hives, I would not be able to go out into the real world. He said that if I were to have a PTSD flashback due to the therapy or nightmares, the hospital would be at risk. I should have known something was wrong then and there. As far as I knew you could always back out of therapy as long as it wasn't mandated, but with my lack of sleep I didn’t think to question it.
Eventually I began having terrors even in my waking hours. The doctors said that they were going to give me something stronger than the Ativan, but for some reason it had no effect. That giant creature continued to pester me. It would release waves of its young whenever I was alone. They continued to bite me and even tried to create webs in my hair, over my eyes, and in my mouth.
Within three months, there was nothing left of what had once been me. I had lost weight, my eyes were sunken in, and what was once just a phobia, was now full blown insanity. As those creatures continued to try and devour me, my therapy stopped. The medication was not helping, but I didn’t want the staff to take away the one thing that maybe kept me from being scared around other people.
Finally I snapped. I had enough, nothing was being done to help me and now, my fear was hundreds of times worse than it ever was before. I began trying to kill myself, every way you could think of. Hanging, slashing my wrists, Overdosing on my sleeping pills. However, the staff stopped me each time, and I was tied to my bed eventually.
For weeks, I was left there, only seen occasionally by a passing Psychiatrist. I stopped talking. And the giant spider continued to watch. Eventually they stopped coming around at all. For three days I didn't see a single soul.
Suddenly there was a banging on the door.
I had not seen the monster spider in almost two days, and I thought he was finally coming to finish me off. But it was only a cop. He called in a group of medics. Who untied me, and shipped me off to a hospital.
When I got there, I could only hear whispers in horror. What had happened, was I wrong in assuming that the spider was just a figment of my imagination? Was he real? Had he finished off all of the psychiatrists.
I thought that I had my answer, when the head doctor explained that what I had was not hives, but rather thousands of tiny spider bites. Apparently the medication that the doctors had given me, was working, only it was an antivenin for the Redback Spider, a creature indigenous to Western Australia, and a relative of the Black Widow. It would seem that the Redback spider’s bite can cause hallucinations stretching for days on end.
Those, bastards, had intentional exposed me to hundreds of baby Redbacks, whose venom is more often than not dry or non existent, in hopes of eliciting hallucinations from me.
When I was released from the hospital I found that I was still very afraid of spiders. I also discovered, that the “hospital” I was locked in was a facility for testing out new biochemical weapons. Mostly to try and cause intense and terrifying hallucinations against enemy military personnel.
I hate spiders and now, I hate doctors.
People use the term “phobia” too lightly many times, but that is in essence what I suffer from, Arachnophobia. An extreme and unreasonable fear of spiders. A good example is when I was going to the bathroom and a spider (a small one at that, or so I was told) crawled up the bathroom wall, and I jumped off of the toilet and ran stark naked through the apartment. I was lucky enough that my place had two bathrooms, and to this day I refuse to use the first one. Yet I digress.
On my boss’s prompting I decided to try something called Cognitive Behavior Therapy or CBT for short. It is where not only are you trained against your fear, but in some cases even subjected to it. Now, at the time I thought this was a good idea, to the tune of One hundred and Twenty dollars an hour, for about twelve to sixteen sessions ranging from one to two hours apiece.
It started out simple enough, the therapist asked me questions about my fear, what triggered it, how often I freaked out, and even what sorts of stimulation brought on the fear. He frowned at me when I explained that even a picture of a spider would cause my skin to start crawling and send me into a full blown anxiety attack. Then he smiled, in what I assumed was his attempt at a reassuring manner.
We started small. For the first session I was subjected to picture after picture of spiders, everything from the common Garden Spider up to Hobo Spiders, St Andrews Cross Spiders and Redbacks. I couldn't even move from my position, even when the psychiatrist insisted that I touch the picture. This went on for two hours.
By the time my session was over the doctor decided that I would need more than the standard twelve to sixteen sessions. He even went as far as to hint at possible inpatient therapy options. While this struck me as odd, I really did want to overcome my fear. I had never heard of people being treated in hospital for something as minor as a phobia (even if an extreme one.). However, when I looked back at the picture I ignored my misgivings and agreed to the inpatient treatment.
I was taken voluntarily to a Psychiatric Institution where I would receive every kind of therapy I could need. Shortly thereafter everything went down hill.
The first week was the same as the first appointment. Lots of pictures, and by the end I even touched the picture of the Garden Spider, although there was no way in hell I was going to touch the Redback picture. I was so happy, but the Psychiatrist felt that my progress was too slow. He asked me to sign a consent to try a radical therapy.
He explained how he was going to take the Pavlovian Therapy of Classical Conditioning and apply it to me. I was so excited to possibly be free of my horrid fear, that I quickly signed the consent form. I didn't even read it, although now I wish to god that I had.
As I said the doctor wanted to apply the theory of Pavlov to my case. Classical Conditioning is where the famous Psychiatrist Dr. Pavlov trained his dog to salivate at the sound of a bell, causing him to anticipate food. That didn't seem to bad. I knew enough about how it worked from a college class I took in Psychology.
Again this started out simply. I was bound to a bed, and given a strong dose of ativan, a medication that is used to calm anxiety. It put me in a kind of daze, during which I was exposed to several images, and models of those creepy crawlies. It actually wasn't so bad, it was kind of nice to look at them without going into an instant freak out.
However, that is where the good ended. I began having nightmares. Well, actually Night Terrors, I would scream horrendously for hours on end, with no exit from the dreams. The dreams had a certain glowing look to them, and even though it was so dark in all of them, the glowing illuminated the things that I feared.
At the foot of my bed, where I would be trapped by lengths of webbing, would stand the largest arachnid I had ever seen in my life. It would release its young from a pouch it had on its back, they would crawl over me. Those, things, would crawl into my mouth, my ears and nose. I could feel them biting me everywhere that they walked. When I would awaken from the dreams, I would be covered in little bumps, that my doctor told me were hives, all due to my irrational fear.
Apparently, he said, my therapy was not going well if my mind could cause such a systemic reaction to dreams. So, he decided to push my therapy up a notch. I was told that they were taking away the ativan, and instead going to put me through the CBT without any drug to aid me.
It was horrible. The hours that I was locked into the room with the therapist would become my new nightmare. I would be forced to touch the actual spiders. At the end of the session, I felt better, but only because I had eventually given in even if only to make it stop, I would put my hand in the terrarium that held the little eight legged freaks, and wait for them to scuttle to my hand.
I still had the night terrors, and they only grew worse. The spiders in my dreams got bigger, and more ugly every time. Finally after a month of this, the doctor said I would need to stay longer, and that due to my new symptoms, of night terrors and hives, I would not be able to go out into the real world. He said that if I were to have a PTSD flashback due to the therapy or nightmares, the hospital would be at risk. I should have known something was wrong then and there. As far as I knew you could always back out of therapy as long as it wasn't mandated, but with my lack of sleep I didn’t think to question it.
Eventually I began having terrors even in my waking hours. The doctors said that they were going to give me something stronger than the Ativan, but for some reason it had no effect. That giant creature continued to pester me. It would release waves of its young whenever I was alone. They continued to bite me and even tried to create webs in my hair, over my eyes, and in my mouth.
Within three months, there was nothing left of what had once been me. I had lost weight, my eyes were sunken in, and what was once just a phobia, was now full blown insanity. As those creatures continued to try and devour me, my therapy stopped. The medication was not helping, but I didn’t want the staff to take away the one thing that maybe kept me from being scared around other people.
Finally I snapped. I had enough, nothing was being done to help me and now, my fear was hundreds of times worse than it ever was before. I began trying to kill myself, every way you could think of. Hanging, slashing my wrists, Overdosing on my sleeping pills. However, the staff stopped me each time, and I was tied to my bed eventually.
For weeks, I was left there, only seen occasionally by a passing Psychiatrist. I stopped talking. And the giant spider continued to watch. Eventually they stopped coming around at all. For three days I didn't see a single soul.
Suddenly there was a banging on the door.
I had not seen the monster spider in almost two days, and I thought he was finally coming to finish me off. But it was only a cop. He called in a group of medics. Who untied me, and shipped me off to a hospital.
When I got there, I could only hear whispers in horror. What had happened, was I wrong in assuming that the spider was just a figment of my imagination? Was he real? Had he finished off all of the psychiatrists.
I thought that I had my answer, when the head doctor explained that what I had was not hives, but rather thousands of tiny spider bites. Apparently the medication that the doctors had given me, was working, only it was an antivenin for the Redback Spider, a creature indigenous to Western Australia, and a relative of the Black Widow. It would seem that the Redback spider’s bite can cause hallucinations stretching for days on end.
Those, bastards, had intentional exposed me to hundreds of baby Redbacks, whose venom is more often than not dry or non existent, in hopes of eliciting hallucinations from me.
When I was released from the hospital I found that I was still very afraid of spiders. I also discovered, that the “hospital” I was locked in was a facility for testing out new biochemical weapons. Mostly to try and cause intense and terrifying hallucinations against enemy military personnel.
I hate spiders and now, I hate doctors.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)