The Quickening

      When I was young, I was afraid of everything. I was afraid of the dark. I was afraid of falling asleep, not only because of my reoccurring nightmares, but because I was paranoid something was waiting for me to close my eyes. Something unnameable and indefinable, but something that was surely waiting just out of my eye line. I was afraid of bathroom mirrors because I'd heard about Bloody Mary. I was afraid of monsters coming out of the toilet. 

      At some point, this paranoia culminated in what I was sure was an old woman. I mean ancient. There was a hag, following me. She would watch me run down the stairs (I always ran, if I walked the fear would consume me) from the upstairs hallway, willing me to turn around and see her. She would hide in the alcove by the front door waiting for me to get to the bottom step. I have no idea how she could be both places at once, but she always was. She would hover in the doorway of my bedroom waiting for me to close my eyes. She would watch me in the kitchen, from behind the doors that hid the water heater, biding her time, waiting for my guard to slip. She was everywhere, and I was terrified of her.

     I never saw her, but I felt her eyes on me, hateful and patient, always watching. I never looked when I knew she was there, I couldn't bear to see her. I never told anyone she existed. Speaking of her would only make her more real, give her more power. I could not afford to acknowledge her presence, she was too powerful already. This probably lasted 4 or 5 years, until junior high school gave me real life problems and fears. I still ran down the steps overcome with fear, but now the fear was faceless. At least most of the time.

     The apathy and flatness and negative symptoms all came along when I was 15. I felt numb inside, like an arm that's fallen asleep. They diagnosed me with depression when it was discovered I'd been self harming. They gave me Prozac, which made no difference at all. I took it sporadically after the first few weeks. It didn't touch the numbness. I began drinking and smoking pot occasionally. I had friends. I had boyfriends. I had a counsellor I saw every Friday. I went through the motions wondering what exactly was wrong with me.

     I turned 16 and we moved, from NJ to Pennsylvania. I was looking forward to a fresh start. Maybe a new life would make me feel new things. Make me feel anything. It was quiet and different, there was a lake a short walk from my front door, no street lamps, a sky full of stars at night. I slowly made friends and started to feel a bit of hope. And that's where I'll end this post, on a hopeful note. The rest of the story coming soon.