I just wanna sleep forever.
But instead I wake up every morning, wishing I didn't.
When it comes to fake smiling I'm a professional.
Because the truth is you never realize how lonely you are until its the end of the day and you have a bunch of things to talk about and no one to talk to.
I've started actively searching out things that pain me, just so that I can validate that my pain actually exists.
There is no way to find help when you can't find anyone who is interested in helping you.
So the solution is just to add more to the pain, until it engulfs you and you become completely numb to emotion.
When the people who used to listen to the turmoil of your life and help you justify the use of the word 'turmoil', are the ones who can be found at the center of it all.
Every person that you meet believes that you always happily accept challenge with a smile- only because your feelings have grown too dark for them to recognize you any longer- because you have become a stranger.
When even those you love more than G-d can put in words, are no longer granted access to the contents of your soul.
When you only truly become aware of your essence when you hear the sound of thunder, and living in a constant state of melancholia is the greatest comfort you could ask for.
When sleep just seems like it will strip you of all emotion whatsoever, and take whatever humanity still remains, obliterating it sadistically.
When the things that used to make you laugh start to make you angry.
When the things that used to give you joy, start to remind you of all that is missing from your life.
Thoughts of the person for whom you'd be willing to sacrifice yourself only make you question what you've done to deserve to exist, and then you realize that if not for existing, you wouldn't have had all these problems, and that is when you allow your emotions to consume you entirely and dictate to you how to live. Except, is that really living at all?
Included with my resume is a blood stained envelope, filled with the trophies of my endeavours
1 severed finger of an ex-girlfriend
1 maimed brain of a controlling asshole of a boss
And my most prized trophie, your dear secretary Diana's eye, for all the pornographic photos of your sandwich man Jimmy she spends her office hours looking at.
And if your tongue refuses to grant me this job, it may just make itself right at home in here with Diana's eye.
Signed with the blood of my twin brother's dog,
All the best,
Well it would be quite foolish of me to include my name now wouldn't it.
Just call me The Collector.
Ps. The only form of payment I require is one body part of my choosing from the victim.
I told him a story about a woman
Tricked into marriage with the enemy
Disowned and shunned by her family.
Abused to the greatest extent possible
Raped and tied to a tree
No break in between beatings
Her children locked in the basement
Out of her sight, out of her grasp
The ringing of their soft voices in her memory alone
Disconnected from their heritage and culture
All because she ran away
Disregarded her father's words
"Stay with your faith, and you will never be alone"
Her only moments of freedom were when she was forced to pray
To a g-d to whom she had nothing to say
When she approached him with a request for divorce
His language once again became coarse
As he lifted a knife to her neck
And mercilessly watched his wife's terrified wreck.
"The day you divorce is the day you die
Before you speak again, keep this in mind"
Trapped she retreated to the corner of the room
Contemplating what she should do
If death was the only way out, then she wanted in
But only once she found safety for her children.
She spoke to her mother in law
Who told her that it was only for their own flaws
That their husbands had to discipline them.
She told her it was a gift beyond what she could fathom.
Trembling she grasped a phone in her hand
And dialed the numbers of her home land
Her father's voice silently filled the air
And she choked as she told him she should have stayed there
At first he was hostile, to him she was dead
But once hearing her despair, he solemnly said:
"May G-d give you the strength to last a bit longer
So your children can be united with their mother"
With that he hung up and she continued to cry
And in her heart she told her children goodbye
As she heard footsteps approaching the door
And she dropped the phone in
the utmost horror.
She squeezed her eyes shut as the door swung open
And stood up to acknowledge the man who'd stormed in.
But to her astonishment, a woman stood by her side
She nodded and looked her fellow sister in the eyes
As a soldier broke down the basement door
And two starving children collapsed onto the floor.
Their mother ran to them and held them tight,
She assured them that everything would be alright.
Time was of the essence so the soldier rushed them out
They climbed into a jeep and drove away from the house.
They all held their breath as they drove undetected
And once they crossed the border, a tent was erected.
The woman stepped out of the jeep holding her childrens' hands
And met the tear stained face of an elderly man.
She wept in her fathers embrace
As he saw for the first time, his grandchildren's face.
The feeling of liberation was the sweetest she ever knew
And she watched with delight as her two children grew
In the home of her parents, adapting her faith
She never thought her life would have so much grace.
I looked at the man sitting across the table,
I told him, "What I just told you is no fable.
What would you say if that woman was me?"
He responded under our wedding canopy
"Behold you are holy to me"
Chapter 1: Distorted Fears
The harder she scratched at her forearm, the quicker the flesh fell away. From outside the containment unit, Dr. Drew Corale and Dr. Mark Roden watched the troubled patient with dismay.
"So you just found her like this?" The look of horror on Dr. Roden's face was a tell-tale sign of everything that was going on inside of him. Nothing like this had ever happened to any of his patients before, especially not this one. He hadn't even seen her in a year or two. His only contact with her at all was all that typical stuff that every Doctor did to seem caring. Things like having his secretary send out birthday cards, and "How are you?" cards.
Dr. Corale shook his head. "Someone called 911. Found her sitting at the edge of a FroYo Parking Lot in the same condition she's in now. The hospital doubts that it's a disease- but protocol says they have to contain her anyway. As a precaution. Test results should be here within the next hour or two."
"Do you think its some kind of disease?" Dr. Roden glanced at Dr. Corale expectantly.
"It definitely isn't a rare disease- or anything contagious on that note." Both doctors spun around. Their eyes locked on a tall, slender, middle-aged woman in a lab coat. She offered her hand and briefly shook with both men.
"Dr. Elana Miles. Psychologist." She didn't wait for a response or for the other two doctors to introduce themselves.
"The girl in that containment room is Phoebe Daeren, age 22. The scratching is not a side effect of a disease- it is a side effect of Phoebe's extreme case of agateophobia." Dr. Miles walked up to the large window of the containment unit.
"Might as well be amychophobia," Drew muttered under his breath and chuckled to himself. Elana narrowed her eyes to study the tall, dark man standing before her.
"I assume that you are a psychologist as well?" She crossed her arms. The man smiled, revealing a mouth of perfect, white teeth. Elana bit down on her lip in envy. She'd probably be needing dentures pretty soon.
"Yes. Yes. Forgive me. Drew Corale?" He proudly held up his hospital card. Dr. Miles nodded in realization. So this was the guy who was trying to steal her hard-earned position as "Director of the psychology department." She scanned him up and down. The guy didn't stand a chance. He seemed to be only 31 and he probably couldn't even tell the difference between psychopaths and sociopaths. Elana swallowed her annoyance and smiled.
"Nice to meet you. I've heard a lot about you." Dr. Corale frowned. "All good I hope?" He dropped his arms to his sides.
"Of course. All good things. All good things." Elana squeezed her eyes shut. Nothing good could come from his association with her patient.
"Um. Excuse me." Mark scratched his head in confusion. "I seem to be a bit lost. I'm only Phoebe's physician - not her psychologist. Did you say amcophobia?" Now Dr. Miles's piercing stares were directed at him. He decided to lighten up his question a bit.
"Are psychologists required to memorize every single phobia in history?" He mentally traced the wrinkles that decorated the face of the woman standing in front of him.
Dr. Miles rolled her eyes. "No. But that is a pretty basic phobia." Dr. Corale piped up. "Fear of scratches or being scratched."
"Oh. And she'd be better off with one phobia than another because?" He glanced back at the young girl sitting behind the glass window. Her long blonde hair fell in front of her delicate, tear stricken face as she ravenously scratched at her arms. She didn't see him. It was interesting. Hospitals got those half mirror half window contractions for the insane patients. It wasn't good for them to know they were being observed. Dr. Roden chuckled. He had only been an ordinary physician for the past 15 years, and now he was dealing with insane people. The fascinating things time could accomplish.
"Control. Control is always key. When it is a phobia that they can keep under control, and physically prevent, it is much easier to treat. And that is why you are lucky she does not also have a phobia of not being in control." She bit down on her tongue as she followed Dr. Roden's fixed gaze to the patient in the confinement unit. She didn't quite understand what his involvement in this case was, yet. After all, he was only a physician. And now he was standing in the contagious disease ward with two psychologists. He wasn't all that bright for a doctor either. Elana shook her head. Poor guy. He seemed pretty young. Probably only had one or two kids if any. She hoped he would be able to remain stable through something like this.
"So a phobia is something that people can control. It doesn't just happen to them?" Dr. Roden kept his eyes fixed on Phoebe. He wasn't really being too polite today. Too many weird things had been going on. And it had all started with one phone call about a patient of his.
"Yes and No. But that isn't really what I meant. What I mean is that someone can more easily control whether or not he or she will get a scratch than whether or not there will be insane people walking down the street." Dr. Miles coughed to get Dr. Roden's attention. He looked back at her with a terrified look in his eyes.
"What's that phobia called again?" Dr. Miles sighed.
"Agateophobia Mark. Phoebe Daeren has agateophobia." Sometimes Elana didn't understand why these guys became doctors. They were really more of bachelors in her opinion. They belonged in gyms and bars, not hospitals. The desperation for money in young people these days. Elana directed her attention back to Dr. Corale. He watched her, lips pursed, deep in thought.
"What?" Dr. Miles threw her hands up and cocked her head.
"I'm just. I need you to help me with something." She shut her eyes in frustration, trying her hardest to refrain from lashing out.
"Yes. How can I help you, Drew?" Elana impatiently tapped her foot on the floor. She was busy. She didn't need to be wasting her time over here with this doctor who would end up just trying to steal her life earnings.
"I'm trying to familiarize myself with our regular cases, and I see that you can probably brief me on this one." He pointed to the gruesome sight that had very recently transformed into a zoo attraction for the three doctors.
"I'm afraid I don't have her file on me right now." Elana sighed a breath of relief. This was her patient, and she did not have time to sit down with Drew and explain it all to him. Dr. Roden had already proved to be hard enough after all, and he knew Phoebe.
"Oh. No worries. I've got it right here." Dr. Corale held up a manila file and waved it for Dr. Miles to see. He knew she was playing games with him. She didn't actually need the patient's file to brief him on her condition. But he had heard that she was a difficult person and that she had some bitter feelings towards him, so he came prepared.
Elana rolled her eyes. Did young people have no respect anymore? She had tried many times to politely hint to Dr. Corale that she was not at that moment interested in talking to him about her patient. She knew he understood it, too. And yet, he kept pushing.
"Alright so tell me what you need to know." Dr. Corale opened the file and pointed to the front page. "This is all I know."
Dr. Miles chuckled. "You only read the first page?" She held her head in her hands. This doctor was beyond ignorant.
"They took out everything except this and her medical history before giving me the file. Something about getting a warrant. From the chief?" Dr. Miles looked up. Now she understood. He was new to the hospital. A transfer.
"They were just messing with you Drew. They knew you were a newbie and they decided to have some fun. If you are a psychologist, you have permission to check patient's files. Warrant! You aren't a detective. You're a doctor." Dr. Miles put her hand out and waited until she felt the file's smooth, familiar surface digging into the palm of her hand. She tucked it into her jacket.
"So what do you want to know Dr. Corale?" Drew skeptically glanced back and forth between the girl in the containment unit and the doctor that was melting him by the minute.
"Everything and Anything would be great." He smiled. Drew found that being witty always lightened up awkward situations. That was a lesson he never forgot to apply to his life. But lately, there wasn't a lot of room for wit around here. There wasn't a lot of room for any part of him around these doctors. They didn't seem to like change. He had told his chief that transferring him wouldn't be smart. Now it would be harder for him to be the psychology department director. It might even take a tad of dishonesty. Dr. Miles sighed and backed up to lean against the window. She motioned towards the young girl.
"Her name is Phoebe Daeren. She's 22. She lives here in Portland. She has agateophobia. You've read all this. You want to know background, causes, effects, how we're going to treat it. I'll start by explaining Phoebe's case of the phobia to you." Dr. Miles inhaled deeply and paused at the sight of Dr. Corale's hand.
"I need to write this down. Hold on a second." He scrambled to retrieve a pen and notepad from his jacket.
"Phoebe is afraid of any insanity. That is other insane people, the possibility that she may become insane, and even jokes of her insanity. We believe this was triggered by quite a few factors. So far, she hasn't been cooperating. That will be the first step of treatment, which I will take on as her assigned psychologist. Something that may have to do with it is her time in med school. Phoebe was actually training to become a psychiatrist. Some people are just too emotionally fragile to deal with a job like that. If Phoebe experiences an agateophobic situation, such as meeting an insane person on the street, or meaninglessly being called "insane" or "mad" or "crazy", she will go into mental breakdown mode. Panic attacks, anxiety, hyperventilation, trouble breathing, and her strange symptom. When Phoebe suffers from her fears, she scratches herself. And I don't mean the kind of scratch you get from your little brother when he's angry. I mean, she peels her skin off, layer by layer."
"So why don't you take her out of there? Pin her down? You're just letting her hurt herself. Man! She's insane." Dr. Corale smacked his pen and paper down on the chair beside him.
"You already know that the containment room is not our usual reaction to this problem. We just aren't allowed to take her back until her test results come back. But stopping her would just trigger her phobia all over again. And who knows what she would do to herself at that point? Its too dangerous to try. No. We just have to wait it out. Eventually, she becomes so engrossed in scratching herself, that she forgets why she is in the first place. And then she stops. Yes. It is only a phase. Waiting it out is the only option." Dr. Miles squeezed her eyes shut. She had to find a way to help this poor girl.
(this is a filler so that I can reach the fifteen word limit)
Questions are the essence, of all I've come to know
Questions are what make me and enable me to grow
Questions have taught me that you can never stop to learn
But questions have also caused me to yearn
I yearn for answers, the ones I can not recieve
I yearn for explanations, not to be deceived
I yearn to understand how this world came to be
If G-d's existed forever, then what's eternity?
Eternity scares me- the thought of forever
Because what is forever- how do things never
Just cease to exist off the face of the earth
How can it be that there's no end to it's birth
If humans all die, then what lies beyond?
Is there death after death or do we keep growing strong?
Must we exist forever and ever
If not on earth, then in the minds of whomever.
And if G-d knows what will be of us all
Then do we have choices really?
Do they cause us to fall?
Or are we just living out what He's planned
Nothing will change who we are in the end.
And if G-d doesn't have needs
Why does He need validation?
That people believe in Him and His nation
G-d created us, but who created Him
How is it that He appeared on a whim?
Or existed forever
How is it He has no beginning or end?
Isn't that what the concept of time will demand?
Questions like these engulf me day and night
Questions consume me with wonder and fright
Questions like these cause my mind to freeze
Try to answer me if you please.
But if you attempt to contemplate the answers
You'll start to go crazy trying to define the word Forever.
Wrists burned slowly as
the cold metal ate into
her raw, broken flesh.
He took advantage
Of her fragile state of mind
Poisoned her with words
Separation is innocence.
Separation is my protection.
Discipline is my gate.
My ignorance is what keeps me strong
And stops me from doing what I am told is wrong.
But with every year I aged
I got closer to the gate
And noticed that it was locked
Only with words and naivety
The key hidden by the fear of adversity.
Because only once I let go of my conscience
And stepped through that fence that was blocking me from
Acting naturally and making mistakes
And learning through all the bad choices I'd make
I understood that separation is not a protection
And ignorance weakens the soul
Because only once we live life to its fullest
Can we truly grow to be strong.