I’m writing this from inside my room. I don’t know who this will reach but I pray that someone can give me advice before it’s too late. She’s coming. Fast.
The first time I saw her, I was only 10. It was after my dad hit me for the first time. I was in my room, hiding, praying that my drunken father would finally go to bed. While I was looking around my room, I began sweating. I don’t know why but it was like every second that passed the room got hotter and hotter until I was burning up. As I threw my blanket off of me, I saw a tall woman, decrepit and decomposing, with long, thick cuts down each forearm, standing at the foot of my bed looking at me. I was so scared but kept from screaming for fear of alerting my dad. As the minutes passed, she didn’t move, didn’t speak, just simply sat there watching me. Then finally after I had calmed down some, trying to process this woman standing there, she vanished. Almost instantly my body temperature returned to normal, and I was able to sleep.
I’ve seen her since, in moments where I’m having panic attacks, breakdowns, ect. And every time leading up to seeing her, my temperature starts to rise, just as it did that night. Though the most recent time was different. She seemed closer. Like she was reaching the most inner parts of my psyche with that look. Then she spoke. With a stifled and scratchy voice, she said, “Don’t worry… It’ll be over soon. This is the last time you’ll see me.” Overwhelmed I broke down. What did she mean? Why was she doing this? I felt as though this was a warning and a promise wrapped with a dreadful bow. She took a step forward and spoke once more. “Soon, you’ll become me.” She said with a shaky breath right before she disappeared. Became her? What does she mean become her? I still don’t understand it.
Recently I’ve been going through a really tough time. I got laid off work, and my girlfriend, who I was planning on proposing to, cheated on me and I haven’t been dealing well. We had the typical “fall in love super-fast and move in after two weeks” trope, as most lesbian relationships do. I haven’t been able to eat, sleep, clean, or anything of the sort in weeks. I feel like I’m going crazy in the confines of my room. And since I’ve begun writing this post, my temperature has been rising. I’m laying naked with my fan on, sweating through my sheets. I know she’s coming. I know she’s coming, and I don’t know what to do or how to stop it. I feel like I’m going to throw up. I don’t have much time left, but I refuse to see her again. I can’t face her again. I can’t stop thinking about the razor blades in my drawer. At least then I wouldn’t see her. Fuck. Fuck I’m going crazy. I need to do something. I need to.