Voices

I'm not perfect...

I try to be.  But at the end of the day, I'm just me.  Warts and all.

No.  I don't really have warts.  Ugh... I'm FAR too vain for that.  I spend hours on my hair and make-up until they are both just so.  I dress with care. Exercise like a fiend.  In part, that's because I'm obsessed with my body image.  But when I workout - whether it's running, yoga, pilates, or weights - it's the only time I can silence the voices in my head.  

And I do not like what they have to say lately...

The truth is, it scares me.  It's too similar to the last time.  I literally shudder at the thought.  I've worked too hard to regain control from the voices. And I will not - cannot - relinquish control again...

The first time I barely knew what happened.  I woke in my twin-sized bed. Mom was calling me to get ready for school so I wouldn't miss the bus.  My hair was still in braided pigtails. I dressed quickly in one of those horrible plaid pleated skirts and a white button down shirt.  My feet slipped easily into black patent leather Mary Janes.  As I looked at my reflection in the mirror, I smoothed a hand over an imaginary wrinkle in the shirt.

To my horror, a bloody streak remained where my hand had just been.  My mouth opened in a silent shriek and in a flash, last night's dreams came back to me.  Terrible, violent images assailed me.  My mind froze on the last scene.  Me, a bloody knife in my hand, eyes crazed. 

Where did that knife go?  A searing pain flashed through my head as I struggled to remember what happened next.  Through the haze, I had a distinct recollection of seeing myself stash the knife...under my mattress? 

I barely remembered crossing the room to the bed, kneeling down on the plush carpet.  A muddy footprint - one which definitely had not been there the night before - stuck out from under the pink covers.  Tentatively, with shaking fingers, I brushed aside the lacy blanket to reveal the hilt of a weapon I had only ever seen in my nightmares.  The dagger was literally covered in dried blood.  I dropped it onto the floor and screamed...

The next memories come only in flashes.  My mom running into my room.  The sirens, wailing almost as loud as my own screams.  The flashing blue and red of the police cruisers.  The doctors.  All those fucking doctors.  Even worse, the damn lawyers.

And the whole time, virtually drowning out the sound of everything else, the maniacal laughing in my head, the taunts of voices telling me this was just beginning...