Читать книгу Our Collective Life - JD Kennedy - Страница 5

I feel like I am suffocating. The blackness looms overhead before it lowers to rest on my shoulders once more. It reaches out, drawing the life from everything that was once beautiful and alive. I can’t get close to anyone, for fear the blackness will find them and suck them dry as it has me.

I put on a smile, a pretence that everything is fine. Nobody knows what life is like for me. They have no idea that even the simplest of tasks are made difficult when the blackness descends.

I pray for relief, but it never comes. I pray for death, but laughing it mocks me, dancing away when I reach out for it.

This is my life. I am Depression.

Jo was in the bathroom, leaning over the sink with blood flowing freely out of her arm. She didn’t recall how she got there or how she had injured herself, yet the bloodied razor blade in the sink gave her a good idea what must have happened. She tried to look at the wound to see if she would need stitches, but the blood kept pooling in the gash and she couldn’t see to get an idea of how deep it was.The blood was still flowing freely and, seeing the amount of blood that was in the sink, it had obviously been flowing for a while. Grabbing a towel, she wrapped it the best she could to try and stop the blood that didn’t seem to be slowing down at all.

Why did this keep happening? She didn’t remember hurting herself, she didn’t remember anything for…well, she didn’t know how long.

‘Fuck, she’s starting to cry again.’

‘Leave her alone.’

‘Just pull yourself together, fuckwit.’She couldn’t help it, she wanted to turn around to see who was speaking. But she knew she was alone.

It was coming from inside her head, she recognised that, although it didn’t sound like her voice. She had been hearing these voices for as long as she could remember, yet she still struggled to accept them. How could she accept them, when accepting them meant she was crazy?

She knew it didn’t make sense. Not only the voices that were obviously hers, yet sounded different to her. But she would also find herself in places without any concrete knowledge of how she got there or she would find herself doing something but not understand how or why she was doing it. Like this, with the injury and blood. If she thought really hard, she sometimes received fragments of time, and she saw her body doing things. But it was like she was in a dream, she wasn’t in control. Why couldn’t she control her life? Why didn’t it make sense? She couldn’t even string two days together.

Don’t worry, it’ll wash off. A male voice cruelly seemed to whisper in her ear and for some reason, the voice scared her. Her heart began to thud and she felt sick.

Oh God, what was happening? She felt like she was standing on a precipice and at any moment, the ground would shift and fall away and she would plunge to her death. Any maybe that would be a good thing. She couldn’t keep going like this, she didn’t understand her life at all.

Subconsciously she touched the wound through the towel and that was when the pain hit her. She felt the tears prick at the corners of her eyes and she started to cry.

She closed her eyes in an attempt to stop the tears and get a grip on the pain, and took some deep breaths. In and out, in and out, trying to calm herself just as the doctor had shown her. After a few moments, she found it helped and the physical pain had eased. Reluctantly she realised she was going to have to do something with the wound and clean the bathroom and so she opened her eyes again.

** ** **

She was no longer standing in her bathroom, and instead found herself sitting in Dr David’s office. David was mid sentence when he looked at her and stopped talking. He looked concerned, his brow furrowed as he studied her. Jo wanted to say something and felt the overwhelming urge to apologise, although she didn’t really know what she wanted to apologise for. She didn’t even understand how she ended up there, although this was something that happened often enough. You would think she would get used to it, yet she just couldn’t.

Don’t worry, it’ll wash off. That male’s voice again in her head.

“Jo?” She glanced at the doctor, who was now looking at her with what she could only describe as a kind expression on his face.

Jo, unable to speak, merely nodded. She couldn’t hold his gaze, so she looked at the floor, letting her hair fall over her face.

“Are you all right?” The doctor sounded genuinely concerned, and when Jo dared to look up again, she could see he was leaning forward in his chair in an attentive gesture, yet still keeping a firm boundary between them which for some reason, she felt was really important. Jo took a deep breath and, in a subconscious gesture, reached to feel her wounded arm through her sleeve. It was obviously bandaged, and although still sore it was more a dull throb. How did it even get treated? She was standing in the bathroom, then here in the blink of an eye. How did she get from her bathroom with blood everywhere to here, and with the wound bandaged?

Don’t worry, it’ll wash off. The male whispered in her ear again.

She felt the arm again, and her prodding did not go unnoticed by the doctor. He gestured to her arm and asked, “Do you know what happened? Do you remember any of it?”

Jo shook her head, looking at the floor once more. Why couldn’t she remember?

He looked concerned and gently said “It happened three days ago. There was a visit to the medical centre and it was stitched.”

Jo nodded mutely, still unable to speak. She felt so ashamed. What does David think? That this keeps happening? Does he understand that she just suddenly realises it has happened, without any recall of actually doing it? Can he even fathom what it’s like for her?

Again the overwhelming urge to apologise.

“Someone in the Collective was feeling very anxious, and ended up cutting the arm.”

Jo looked up, trying to meet his gaze, but failed. She resumed looking at the floor, allowing her posture to hunch over all the more, until she was almost sitting in a foetal position. The Collective? What was he talking about? She knew on some level they had had this conversation before many times, but it didn’t make sense and she just felt the urge to deny it, to tell him that it simply wasn’t true.

While all of these thoughts were flitting through her mind, David continued. “I know you don’t believe me, and I know you may not recall that we have had this conversation many times. But that’s ok,” he added, and softened his tone of voice. “I will go through it every time with you until it sinks in, if I need to.” Jo heard him move in his chair, and she couldn’t help but jump, although she didn’t know why.

“It’s ok,” he said, hurriedly. “You’re safe. I’m just adjusting position. I really need to get a comfier chair,” he smiled apologetically, before continuing.

“You have what is called DID or Dissociative Identity Disorder. You have alters, or personalities within, who take control of the body and have done so since you were very young. They call themselves the Collective. At those times you often have little to no recall of what is happening, nor do you have any control over what is said or done.” He paused, obviously waiting for some kind of reaction from her.

Jo shook her head, not believing what she was hearing. Why would he think that? She had heard about DID before somewhere and it came to mind that it developed due to severe trauma or abuse. Nothing like that had ever happened to her. She had a very normal and happy childhood, there was no trauma or abuse.

“I know you don’t believe it, Jo. Yet I can assure you it is the truth. I have been seeing you and the others within for many years now, and I have never had any doubts about the diagnosis.” He paused again, and Jo couldn’t help but feel he was preparing for a barrage of denial.

Don’t worry, it’ll wash off. The male whispered.

Jo physically shook her head, both against the cruel voice that kept whispering in her ear and what the doctor was saying. She struggled to speak, to voice her denial. She wanted to tell him none of it was real. She had made it all up and she didn’t know why she did that, but she was very sorry. She needed to explain and then apologise for wasting his time. He will possibly be angry when he found out how she had been lying, but it had to be done.

However no sound came out, other than a small squeak. She felt like the room was starting to fade and that she was beginning to physically sink into the chair. Without thinking she poked hard at the wound, and was instantly rewarded by the wave of pain that reached her and jolted her back to the present time.

The doctor noticed her digging her fingers in to the wound and automatically reaching out, he said “Please, don’t hurt yourself.”

Jo shrank into the chair away from his reach. She heard a scream inside and felt herself sink back into safety.