“It sounds like rocks are stuffed down its throat.”
“So the voice has a gravelly, baritone quality?”
“Like a smoker. Or someone who screams a helluva lot.”
“Does it ever raise its voice at you?”
“Sometimes.”
“Is it getting loud right now?”
“…I’m used to it.”
“Would you feel comfortable sharing what it’s saying to you?”
“Do you really wanna know?”
“It’s my job to know.”
“All right. He says you can’t be trusted. And that you suck dick.”
“Well, wrong on both accounts.”
“That’s not how I feel. He’s separate from me. It’s hard to explain.”
“I understand. The voice in your head is not you. Have you ever told him that?”
“I can’t talk back to him.”
“What would happen if you tried?”
“He’s focused on everybody else right now, I don’t want him turning on me.”
“Does he have a name?”
“I call him Mister X. He’s got x-ray vision. He sees everything.”
“Do you want Mister X to leave you alone?”
“He doesn’t want to leave.”
“Would your life be better without him in it?”
“Of course it would. But it’s not like I can- I can’t just fucking tell him to stop.”
“I can tell that upsets you.”
“Sorry. I don’t usually- I usually try and keep all this in.”
“You’re incredibly resilient, Jane. But this doesn’t need to be your life anymore. You have a shitty roommate living with you. He’s taken over your house and is making a mess of it. With your permission, I’d like to work together to give Mister X a face and a body so that you can finally look him in the eye and tell him there is no longer a place for him inside of you. How does that sound?”
“…Like a dream.”
Jane had been suffering from auditory hallucinations since her early twenties. A working professional, Jane had managed to suppress the voice for years. Lately though, it had turned increasingly hostile. She had been recommended to me by her therapist because the voice, Mister X, was now telling her that a partner at her law firm was conspiring to kill her, and advised that she violently intervene before it was too late.
Jane is not her real name. All of the names have been changed for patient confidentiality.
I’m a psychiatric nurse at a catholic hospital. I work exclusively with psychotic patients. What makes me different from your average mental health professional is that instead of using CBT or pharmaceuticals to treat psychosis, I use avatar therapy.
I brought Jane over to a computer terminal that I’d set up in a vacant operating room. I tried to disguise its former use through floral wallpaper and light-toned furniture. But the wide, spacious feel of the room and its monolithic, splatter-proof floor made its history known.
We sat together at the terminal and I helped her use a graphics program to generate a 3D rendering of Mister X. The software itself is pretty basic, nothing high-tech. The graphics are laughable. But that’s kind of the point.
We gave Mister X a long face. Narrow eyes with deep bags. Bulbous ears. A wide scowl. Exaggerated, cartoonish features. As his face took shape, she told me he actually looked a little like her uncle. Which was not uncommon. Often the tormenting starts in the home.
Once we had a face for the voice, I then worked with Jane to figure out exactly what he sounded like in her head. I spoke into a microphone and adjusted the vocal qualities until the voice coming out of the computer speaker sounded to her like Mister X.
“How are you feeling?”
I was now in a narrow janitor’s closet converted into a work space. Jane was alone in the adjacent therapy room. She couldn’t see me but I was watching her through a live video feed on my laptop screen.
“It still sounds like you.”
“We haven’t started yet. Are you ready?”
“I don’t know… Fuck. Okay, yeah. I’m ready.”
“If it ever gets to be too much-”
“I push this button.”
“That’s right. Okay. From now on, I’ll be talking to you as Mister X.”
Jane didn’t respond. I opened a small notebook. It was full of common phrases that Mister X told her over the years. I adjusted my headset with the microphone. Clicked the button to change my vocal qualities. Engaged the avatar. And then I became Mister X.
“Janey. Listen to me. You’re in danger.”
Jane leaned back from the computer. The avatar on her screen was now moving and talking to her. A long faced man with a gravelly voice. This often took some getting used to.
“Oh my god. That sounds just like him.”
“Janey. Listen to me. You’re in danger.”
It was better if I stayed in character until she felt comfortable responding on her own. The more she believed this was real, the better equipped she would be to face an actual hallucination.
“Okay, shit. This is weird. Just give me a second to…”
She composed herself for a moment. Took a deep breath. Then looked right at the screen.
“I’m not in danger.”
“That’s what they want you to think. They want you to let your guard down. They wanna make you weak.”
“I’m not weak.”
“C’mon Janey. These cocksuckers, they’re softening you up. They wanna hurt you.”
“That’s not true.”
“No? What about Theresa? That bitch is after you.”
“I’ve known Theresa for years. She’s not a threat. I’m okay.”
“You’re not okay, Janey. Don’t let ‘em fool you. If you let your guard down, these cocksuckers-”
“I said I’m okay. I don’t need you in my life anymore.”
“You’re worthless on your own. Pathetic. You know you need me.”
“Suck my dick!”
I smiled. That was the first step of Jane taking control back from her tormentor.
Over the course of our session, Mister X would become less hostile, and eventually concede power to her. That was the method. And it worked. Time and again, my patients reported a remarkable drop in the frequency of visual and auditory hallucinations after our sessions.
My results were so irrefutable that I started to build a bit of a name for myself. An odd little niche within the field of abnormal psychology. Was it any wonder I lived alone?
Jane had just left my office feeling euphoric, and I was riding that high, too. I’m deeply empathetic by nature, so when my patients arrive at a breakthrough- it’s better than sex.
I sat down at my desk with a celebratory Lean Cuisine. No time for a break, not with as many clients as the hospital had thrown on me. There had been a steady uptick of patients since the pandemic. Maybe our bodies were developing immunity, but our minds still festered.
Something about the smell of microwaved ravioli stirred up some personal memories. I glanced at a faded picture on my desk. It was of me and my daughter when she was five. This was before all the trouble began. A moment of clarity and comfort. I missed that time greatly.
Ring-ring-ring.
I answered my work line while trying to swallow down a piping hot ravioli.
“…Hello? Is someone there?”
“Saint Mary’s Psychiatrics, Nora speaking?”
“Nora, hi. My name is Father Edward Beckett. You don’t know me but I’ve been following your work closely for quite some time.”
“Oh. Okay?”
“I imagine you don’t get many calls from priests.”
“You are the first. What can I do for you, Father?”
“Well, as I said, I’ve been really impressed with what you’ve been able to accomplish through your unique approach to therapy. I think what you’ve done for your patients is extraordinary.”
“I appreciate you saying that.”
There was a pause. I waited for him to tell me the real reason he was calling. And he was probably working up the courage to be straight with me.
“Is there anything else, Father?”
“I have someone I’d like to refer to you. A member of my congregation.”
“My patients are typically referred through their physicians or therapists. And to be honest, I’m pretty much maxed out at the moment.”
“Of course, I understand. I’m wondering if you might be willing to make an exception though. For someone in desperate need of help beyond my abilities.”
“…Beyond your abilities?”
“He’s a good man, Nora. But he’s losing himself. There is a dark and sinister force inside of him that is tearing his life apart.”
“Have you provided him with counseling?”
“I’m reaching out to you because I have tried the methods of the church and they have failed. My hope is that yours might be more effective in this particular case.”
I set down my fork. Pushed the tray aside. Did I just hear that correctly?
“I am a man of faith and science. I am not afraid to seek out experts such as yourself who may be able to help in matters that exceed my capabilities as a priest. I believe the work that you are doing is miraculous, Nora. And that God lives in that work just as much as anything else.”
My eyes flicked back to the photo on my desk. I looked at the younger version of myself. A woman about to descend into a deep mad darkness. Who needed the help I now provided.
“…If you think this man is willing to seek treatment outside the church, I can deliver it.”
“Thank you, Nora. I will speak to Michael. He’s a good man. You will see.”
Michael worked as a firefighter. He had a wife and three children. He was devoted to his family, and a beloved figure in the community. The kind of guy who would give you the shirt off his back. Or at least that’s how he was described to me by Father Edward.
In person, I found him to be self-conscious and fidgety. His leg bounced the entirety of our conversation. His eyes roamed the bare walls of the evaluation room as if searching for a way out. His focus came in waves of hyper-intensity and then immense distance. He seemed uncomfortable in his skin. And deeply distrusting of me and the support I was offering him.
“And your wife-”
“Michelle, yeah.”
“Has Michelle noticed any change in your behavior?”
“She says I should be sleeping more.”
“You’re having trouble sleeping?”
“I’m just awake more. Got a lot on my mind these days. Who doesn’t, you know.”
“Have you noticed any recurring thoughts that might be making it difficult to sleep?”
Michael bit at the end of his thumb. A compulsive habit accentuated when he was stressed.
“…Not really, no.”
“Is Michelle expressing any concerns about-”
“I don’t wanna talk about my wife.”
“Okay. Let’s pause for a minute.”
I set my notebook aside. Sat forward in my chair. My voice was warm but assertive.
“Michael, I want you to know that it is not my intention to keep you from your family. In fact, my goal is actually to keep you out of a psychiatric hospital like the one we’re in right now.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. I know you’re just getting to know me, but I’m a very straight-up person. I won’t make promises I can’t keep. And I won’t ever lie to you.”
He looked away. His face twitched. He was hearing or seeing something, or both.
“So you, uh, fix people, huh?”
“Actually, I don’t look at it that way. I’m not trying to fix my patients. I don’t think you or anyone else I see is broken. I think there might be parts of you that are causing a disturbance in your life. And those are the parts that I’d like to work with you to regain control over.”
“You don’t think I’m broken?”
“I have a lot of respect for the people I see. I greatly admire their tenacity and resilience. It’s not easy to navigate a world that you see differently from those around you.”
“I’ve done awful things to people I love.”
“Are you referring to your wife?”
“And my kids. Terrible things…”
“Why do you think you’ve done those things to them?”
“It’s overpowering sometimes…”
“You feel like you aren’t in control of your actions?”
“No, I take full responsibility. It’s on me, even when it isn’t exactly me.”
“Have you noticed you’ve been using the word it a lot in our conversation? Maybe you can help me understand exactly what it means to you.”
Michael looked down at his thumb. And started to bite it again. I noticed then that his knuckles looked raw and bruised. As if he’d been hitting them against a wall.
“Michael, some of my patients, they hear voices. Someone calling their name in their bedroom, mumbling in the dark, telling them to do things. Have you ever experienced anything like that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. At times.”
“Are they generally positive things you’re hearing, or negative?”
“Negative.”
“That’s tough. How long have you been hearing these voices?”
“It’s one voice. For several months now.”
“Is it only the voice you’re hearing, or do you see something as well?”
“The voice comes from its mouth. And the mouth is attached to its face. Like how people talk.”
“Okay.”
I was silent for a moment while he looked at the wall behind me and blinked. His face squinted as if staring into a bright light. I waited until he was ready to continue.
“…If I’m not broken, how’d it get inside me?”
“Can you be a little more specific?”
“The devil- how’d the devil get in me.”
“That’s helpful. Thank you, Michael. So you’ve been seeing the devil for several months now?”
The plain manner of my speech seemed to throw him. But religious figures are extremely common in psychosis so I was unphased by his admission. I kept the ball rolling.
“Do you remember the first time it appeared or spoke to you? And you should know that nothing that you say will shock or disturb me in any way.”
“I remember…”
“Take your time.”
“…We got a call to this apartment building not far from here. Somebody left a burner on, a dishrag caught fire. By the time we got there, flames were erupting from the middle of the structure, working up to higher floors. Some of the guys stayed on the outside to man the hose while I went in to extract the residents. I was clearing the floor when I heard someone calling for me at the end of a hallway. I broke down a couple doors but couldn’t figure out where it was coming from. At some point, I realized I’d looked in every room on the entire floor. And they were all empty. And still, this voice was somewhere, calling for me…”
“Do you want to take a break? Some water?”
Michael didn’t answer. He was pale and sweaty. He sucked at the trickle of blood that came out the end of his thumb. I waited in the silence until he was ready to share his deepest shame.
“I finally found it. At the end of the hallway, like it’d been there the whole time. A man on fire. His skin was melting off. Eyes big and white, like eggs on a frying pan. He had flames all over him but he was standing up completely straight. And he was talking. Calling out to me. Not for help. He was trying to tell me something…”
“Were you able to hear what he said?”
“He was saying, it’s all gonna burn. Everything in my life. It was all gonna burn…”
“Okay. It’s alright. Take a moment to-”
“And while I was standing there like a dumbass, several of the residents on the floor above me were burning alive. Five people- four adults, one child. They died cause I- cause I was listening to this goddamn thing that doesn’t make any sense… So how you feeling ‘bout me now, doc?”
I felt his pain. His guilt. And fear. His desire to have the sting of these searing memories taken from him. I related to all of it. So when I responded to him, I spoke from the heart.
“That is a painful experience. I appreciate you sharing it with me. To answer your question, I think you’ve had to endure a lot of confusion and despair, but I don’t think you’re broken.”
“You don’t know the half of it, lady.”
“Would you be comfortable sharing more?”
Michael laughed despite himself. Surprised by my willingness to go wherever the conversation led, no matter how dark or troubling. I smiled back at him, encouraging him to continue.
“It followed me home.”
“This devil, this man on fire?”
“Every time I’d close my eyes, it’d call out to me. I tried to ignore it. But the more I did, the louder it got. And the more aggressive. Threatening my wife, my kids. It knew exactly what to say to keep my attention. So I started listening. And Michelle, she’d find me in the middle of the night in strange places, sometimes stark naked, raving mad, just listening to the dark.”
“You said it was telling you to do things?”
“Yeah, bizarre shit. Like it wanted me to tear down this chicken coop we had in the backyard. Use the wood to make some kinda altar. I don’t know. I never finished it. Michelle wanted me to see Father Eddie after she caught me taking a sledgehammer to the coop.”
“And you received counseling from your priest?”
“Counseling? No, I wouldn’t call it that.”
“I can’t legally ask you specifics about your religious experiences unless you open that door.”
“You can ask me if I hear voices, but not about church?”
“I know.”
“And I’m the one who’s crazy.”
“I know.”
“All right. Well, Michelle was on me to talk to Father Eddie. She was so afraid cause- well, what really happened that night, she tried to stop me from taking down that chicken coop, and I turned the sledgehammer on her. I was ready to kill her- for what?”
“Did you strike her?”
“…I missed.”
“Okay. And you told this all to Father Edward?”
“He thought it might be demonic, whatever had taken control of me. That didn’t make a lotta sense cause I’d been baptized and taken the sacrament since I was a kid. But he brought in another priest anyway, and both of them, they tried to, uh…”
“An exorcism?”
“I don’t remember much of it. Just waking up and realizing they were holding me down. Terrified of me. There was a utility knife in my hand that I carry around. Not today, don’t worry. They said I was threatening them. And threatening myself.”
I knew most of this already from Father Edward. But it was important for Michael to trust me enough to share this all with me directly. This is one of the things that makes me good at my job. I can lead anyone to water.
“Let’s end there for the day. But first, I want to acknowledge your strength in coming here and sharing some incredibly personal things with me. I won’t promise anything, but I may be able to help you, Michael.”
“…Call me, Mike.”
On my way home, I called my daughter. She didn’t answer. I texted her while at a red light. I told her I was thinking about her and hoped she was doing well. She didn’t respond. I scrolled up on the screen and realized she hadn’t responded in months. My job, as demanding as it was, made the passage of time less agonizing. I was grateful on some level for the way it consumed me.
Later that night, I fell asleep thinking of my conversation with Michael, and how I would approach the next phase. Maybe that’s why I woke up before dawn, hearing the softest voice speaking indiscriminately from the dark corner of my room.
“You said its face looks burnt?”
“Burning. Its skin drips off in clumps. There’s fire ripping over it.”
“Okay. Honestly, this program isn’t the greatest, but let’s see what we can do.”
We were in the therapy room. Its cozy aesthetic did seem to put Michael at ease as we got to work building a simulation of the devil in his head.
I enlarged the avatar’s face across the screen. Stretched its forehead wide and gave it a crooked chin. I left its mouth wide open, as if its jaw were unhinged. No teeth, only a gaping dark circle. I made its eyes large and opaque. Skin gray. A dim glow around its entire frame.
“That’s not really what it looks like.”
“No? The devil doesn’t look like a holy marshmallow man?”
Michael laughed.
“There’s a bit of imagination involved in this. It’s kind of silly at first. How about its voice? What does it sound like to you?”
“Like a shovel against stone.”
“So pretty intense, grating?”
“It fills your head.”
I adjusted the vocal range. And tried it out on him, speaking into the microphone.
“HOW’S THIS?”
Michael jumped back. Then laughed a little, embarrassed.
“That uh- actually, yeah, sounds kinda like it.”
We were ready. I moved into the adjacent room with the reminder that he could end the session at any point by pressing the button on his desk.
I opened my laptop. There was a live feed from a camera behind Michael, looking over his shoulder. And one in front of him. I could toggle between the two angles. I also had a window open that showed what the avatar was doing while I spoke through it. I adjusted my headset, and started to talk to him in my voice.
“How are you feeling?”
“Ridiculous. Like you said.”
“Take it as seriously as you’re comfortable.”
“I’m just supposed to talk to the face on the screen?”
“This is your chance to put your tormentor in its place. Don’t hold back.”
“Oh, I’ve got some words.”
“Good. Ready?”
“Why not.”
I switched the vocal range on my microphone. Engaged the avatar. Looked over my notes of choice phrases. Until the end of our session, I was now the devil.
“YOU’VE BEEN IGNORING ME, MICHAEL.”
Michael didn’t respond. I switched to the front angle. He was biting his thumb. So I tried again.
“DON’T IGNORE ME.”
No response.
“SPEAK TO ME.”
The avatar was moving, my voice coming through. I was reading the script we agreed on. And still, no reaction from Michael whatsoever.
Something was off. I dropped the filter and spoke to him in my own voice.
“Are you hearing me okay-”
“Shut the hell up.”
I toggled between cameras. His face was twisted. I could see he was in distress.
“Do you want this to end, Micahel? Just press the button if-”
“You don’t get to tell me what to do anymore.”
I leaned closer to the monitor. I noticed his eyes weren’t on the screen. He was staring off at the corner of the room. I switched angles. The room was of course empty.
“I’m taking my life back. You understand that, asshole?”
He was speaking to something, but not to me. My patients did occasionally experience their own auditory or visual hallucinations during a session, so this wasn’t altogether strange.
But what I couldn’t immediately explain, the dark streaks that seemed to have materialized on the wall across from Michael, the one that connected our rooms. I stared closely at the live feed. The streaks looked like burn marks.
Unsettled, I watched in silence as Michael continued his rebuke.
“You think you’re stronger than me? You’re nothing but a fuckin’ leach. Go back to hell, you little piece of shit. And leave me and my family the fuck alone-”
Michael’s head suddenly fell to his chest. His shoulders slumped. His eyes were open but his face was lifeless. Drool spilled out of his mouth onto his shirt. He looked catatonic.
I leapt from my chair. About to swing the door open and call for help when-
Michael sat straight up and stared right into the camera. His chin glistened from the drool that continued to spill out of his mouth.
I hovered above the laptop screen, transfixed.
An alarm suddenly flashed across my laptop. I quickly toggled to the other camera where I could see that his thumb was pressing the kill-switch, over and over.
“Okay, Michael, we’re done. I’m coming-”
His head spun around to face me. Somehow he knew which camera angle I was on. When he spoke, his voice had taken on a different quality. Like a shovel against stone.
“NORA.”
I froze. Not only because Michael’s voice changed, but also, the avatar on my screen, the simulated devil we had made together, was tilting its head to look up at me.
When Michael spoke, the mouth of the avatar also moved.
“THEY’RE BURNING, NORA. CAN YOU HEAR THEM SCREAM?”
I took a step back from the screen. Psychosis can at times be infectious. You can catch it like a cold. An emotional contagion. I knew this was possible- was it happening to me now?
“YOUR DAUGHTER IS BURNING. YOU MADE THIS FIRE. THIS IS YOUR FAULT.”
I didn’t tell him I had a daughter.
My eyes left the monitor for a moment. There was a dark streak in the corner, spreading across the wall that connected our rooms. I could feel the temperature rising in the room.
When I looked back at the screen, Michael had somehow caught fire. Bright flames engulfed his entire body, but he did nothing to put them out. He just stayed there, looking at me, burning.
I removed my headset. Threw it on the desk. Turned for the door.
Go to your desk. Call a Code Gray. Activate the nurses and guards. Find an extinguisher. Administer antipsychotics orally, or an injection if he doesn’t comply. You can do this.
I tried to open the door. It was locked from the outside. I shook the handle hard. Still locked.
YOU’RE IGNORING ME, NORA.
The voice sounded different, closer. I slowly turned around. My laptop was gone. In its place, the computer terminal where Michael had been sitting. Somehow, I was in the therapy room. The avatar now looking at me from the computer screen, speaking to me directly.
DON’T IGNORE ME.
I let out a shaky breath. Tried to control my heart rate. My hand instinctively pressed against the wall for balance. It was hot to the touch. Scalding, in fact.
SPEAK TO ME.
“I don’t know what’s happening. If anyone can hear me, please get help.”
The avatar stared back without a response. The flowers on the wallpaper wilted from the heat.
“Michael? Can you hear me? Please find a nurse or security, anyone to-”
The face of the avatar suddenly took on a different form. A face I recognized. Even through the poor graphics, I could tell immediately it was meant to resemble my daughter.
MOM? MOM IS THAT YOU?
I stood there for a long moment. The avatar of my daughter called out to me.
IT’S HOT IN HERE. I CAN’T- I CAN’T BREATHE. WHY DID YOU PUT ME HERE?!
I shut my eyes, certain I was now in the grip of a psychotic break. I tried a grounded method I used on my patients- inhale for a count of four, hold it for four, exhale for four, and repeat.
One. Two. Three. Four. One. Two-
I could hear my daughter’s distorted screams. She was crying out in pain.
LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OUT!
I knew this couldn’t be real, but it sounded so much like her. I opened my eyes for a brief moment. The avatar was on fire- entire computer erupting into flames. I shut them tight.
I had to slow down my nervous system. I was about to try another grounding exercise when- all the screaming and heat from the fire was suddenly vacuumed from the room. I felt an incredible pressure in my chest, as if struck by a giant fist. And then everything was silent and still.
My eyes drifted open. The burn marks were gone. The computer intact. The avatar on the screen stared at me, motionless.
I tried once again to call for help.
“…HELLO? CAN ANYONE HEAR ME?”
My voice was not my own.
My hands instinctively wandered up towards my face. I felt a pointed chin that wobbled in my hand, unhinged from its jaw. A gaping mouth. Engorged eyes. My skin hot and wet, like melted wax. The face of the devil. My face.
I staggered back, fell to the floor. I dug my fingernails into my flesh, trying to scratch it off.
“Nora…”
A voice, someone calling to me- someone grabbing hold of me. I fought back. I needed to get that fucking face off me…
“Stop- Nora! Hey, hey, come back to your body. You’re all right. You’re okay.”
My eyes fluttered open. I was looking up at a nurse from the hospital. A friend, John. He was breathless, a panicked look.
“We gave you a shot of haloperidol. You should be feeling that now.”
I glanced around. I was in the therapy room, I hadn’t imagined that part. There were several nurses and security guards hovering over me.
“…What happened?”
“I’m not sure. Michael called for help. You got your own Code Gray. How ‘bout that?”
I looked over and found Michael in a corner of the room, speaking to another nurse. He glanced over at me, clear-eyed. He held up a hand as a kind of wave, a recognition.
“I feel strange…”
“I bet. You got a shit ton of antipsychotics in your system.”
“No, there’s something wrong- oh god…”
I sat up and threw up all over the floor. John patted my back until it was all out.
“Just the drugs, just the drugs.”
I wasn’t so sure. I called my daughter after I was medically cleared to leave- my face covered in bandages. She didn’t answer. So I called again. And again, until-
“What do you want?”
“Taylor….”
“I’m at work. Why did you just call me six times?”
“Sorry, something happened and I- I just needed to hear your voice.”
“Oh-kay. Well I’m gonna hang up now.”
“Wait, can we just- how are you?”
A long silence. And then click. She hung up on me.
The hospital put me on a two-week leave. I was to be assessed by a psychiatric nurse before seeing patients again. But I had a feeling they’d bring me back no matter what. The psychotic patients would keep coming in like a leaky tap. Who else would be willing to help them.
I could still log into my computer remotely, and had access to my voicemail. Father Edward left me a message. He said that Michael had improved dramatically since our last session. His family and congregation extended their gratitude to me. Father Edward also said he heard that I was now unwell. He offered his thoughts and prayers. And counseling, if I thought that might help in any way. Sometimes even saints need healing, he assured me.
It’s been a week since these events. I’m alone now, in my house. I haven’t left for days. Haven’t even removed the crusted bandages from my face. Texts and calls keep coming in from friends and colleagues. But I’m having some trouble looking away from my computer screen.
I’ve been talking to the avatar. It’s telling me I have work to do. It’s asking me to tear apart my walls and use the wood to build an altar. The more I ignore it, the more severe the threats.
This is psychotic behavior. I know, I know, I know. But it’s all starting to make sense to me.