I go inside myself, where it’s quiet. See the world as through a little window, a piercing light very far away.
It’s summer, and I see the dead flies collecting on my windowsill, and I’m scared of everything. Scared of the postman, Scared of going near the doors. The curtains stay shut, and the windows stay closed. I’m paranoid, self-isolating, afraid of people. I’ve heard things before, things that weren’t real. Music coming from the fan in my bedroom. A snippet of a song, repeated guitar and drums, getting louder and louder, an irritating, dull little riff Playing again, and again. I’ve thought things that weren’t true. But I swear to God, that is not what is happening to me now. I’m on a good medication now, a good one. And I haven’t felt like that for a good while. This is different.
I keep seeing my ex-boyfriend. I know how it sounds, I know. But I keep seeing him. In the shadowy space under my desk, crouched squat like a frog. The round whites of his dark eyes, peering out at me. I see him in the reflection on my television screen, sitting beside me, I see him behind me in the mirror, out of the corner of my eye. The shadow of his oily black stubble, his sagging, bloated face, just out of my range of vision. Every time I take a breath, uninhibited by the apprehension that so frequently suffocates me, every time I dare to stop thinking about him for a minute, there he is, hunched behind the television, looking right at me. He died last year, Prostate cancer. We were long out of touch at that point, years out of touch, but I assume it wasn’t a good way to go. And yes, before you ask, I have been paranoid about him before. Coming to find me, coming to hurt me. Let me be transparent. I have spent what may as well be a lifetime trying to come to terms with what he did. So when I “experience psychosis” or whatever you want to call it. I have fixated on him, yes. But this isn’t like that, I swear it. Before this started I’d moved on, I hardly thought of him. Beyond occasionally checking up on him on Facebook to make sure he was still far away from me. He was out of my mind.
I’ve been seeing him, everywhere. His blotchy face, his broad, slouching shoulders, his football shirt stretched over his hanging gut. Whenever I start to feel comfortable, Whenever I let my guard down, the moment I start to relax. My ex-boyfriend had a missing tooth in the front of his mouth, and when he was angry, he would whistle through it. Ever since he died, I’ve been hearing that fucking whistle, everywhere. When I’m alone at night watching TV, in the hiss of the kitchen tap, In the back of my fucking car. And I know, I know I have a history of psychosis, I know this isn’t believable, because I’ve been crazy! I mean, I thought people were trying to poison me, I stopped changing my clothes, stopped brushing my hair, I heard music, classical music, coming from my walls. Trust me, I know how this sounds. But I also know, this is real.
Lately it’s gotten worse, Much worse. I am not unused to navigating the world this way. Like a raw nerve, a hit dog, Cringing away from corners, and wide open spaces, loud noises, like a child still afraid of monsters. I have experienced terror, but not like this. I can feel him behind me, all the time. I can hear him breathing, all the time. When I’m out at the shop, visiting my sister, or sitting watching television in the evening, I can feel with every core of my being that he’s right behind me, but I turn around and nothing’s there. I lie in bed at night and feel his cold, damp fingers brush my shoulders. I have constant nightmares, and I wake up with cigarette burns on the souls of my feet. I feel like I’m going crazy, or, more accurately, like this is driving me crazy.
There’s something wrong with my house. I keep finding dead birds in the garden. I’ve found four in a week. One died on the lower-roof, and there’s no way to reach it, so I’ve just had to watch it rot there. All my food goes bad in a couple of days, everything breaks, I came down in the night last week, and every stovetop on my gas stove was turned on full. I think something’s trying to hurt me.
I saw snakes in my bathtub yesterday morning. Large, brightly coloured snakes. I live in rural Britain, we only get adders and grass snakes, nothing like the fat-bodied, black-bellied things slithering around my bath. I left the room, shut the door behind me, and went and hid in my bed, under the covers, for a good while. When I came back, they were gone. I don’t know where they went, but they were gone. I’ve wanted to ask for help for a while, but I’m so scared people will think I’m crazy, I know people will think I’m crazy.
I haven’t really slept for the last few days. I’ve thought about leaving, going to stay with my mother, but I know in my gut this isn’t something I can escape. This unnaturalness is something woven into every part of me. I wonder if I was born with it or if it was something that grew inside me unnoticed. The thing is, I don’t think it’s really him. I think it’s something that’s been following me my whole life, just, in the background, wearing me down till I’m weak enough to swallow whole. I thought I’d be ready when it finally came for me, but it’s here, and I’m not ready. I’m shut in the bathroom, I can feel him behind the door.
I hear music.