Isolated

Dream Journal 01-05-16

Living with anxiety was one thing, I was old enough that I could live without showing the insects gnawing at me from the inside. But dealing with where my anxiety takes me in the build up/avoidance of a panic attack was anther thing . . . I could feel myself growing stronger. The change was so noticeable that even I could notice the way in which my posture changed. I guess this is what life feels like when you are alone but still together. Life actually felt good. I wanted to continue living for the first time since forever. Life was not easy for me but I was able to manage. Claustrophobia, agoraphobia and contact issues were three  of my other ‘problems’. I could live with those, I had done for as long as I could remember – not that I could remember my life before that incident anyway.

I could feel myself growing stronger. The change was so noticeable that even I could notice the way in which my posture changed. I guess this is what life feels like when you are alone but still together. Life actually felt good. I wanted to continue living for the first time since forever. Life was not easy for me but I was able to manage. Claustrophobia, agoraphobia and contact issues were three  of my other ‘problems’. I could live with those, I had done for as long as I could remember – not that I could remember my life before that incident anyway.

I could live with them because I was determined to make something of my life before my faulty biology killed me. I never used to have a desire to live, only a desire to be remembered as something great. Someone who, despite his flaws, stood up each time he got knocked down and made a name for himself. Yeah, as you can see I wasn’t that set on the goal myself. It kept me going and for me, that was enough. I would take any and every chance that was more likely to stave off depression than it was to be the cause of it.

I sit here on this rooftop, trying to piece together how I ended up here. What was it that I had wanted to do so badly that I climbed up this 5 story building barehanded? How did I even get here? Surely I wasn’t strong enough to pull myself all the ay up? All my senses screamed suicide and I swear I just heard someone say jump.

I had a series of indefinite images in my head of some pretty amazing parkour moves that I’d done. They felt recent. The first image showed me shouting at someone, I think it was one of my parents. Next, I could see myself bolting away, using a chandelier as a swing-rope I launched myself into the air and hauled myself up onto one of the many beams which spanned the full length of the floor. The next image was of me at the end of the roof, in a tiny makeshift hatching ground for birds, looking in the corner of the room and seeing a stairway up. Was that How I got here? Must be.

I looked around, trying to get an idea of where I actually was. Why was one of my parents here and not the other? Judging by the cast iron bars n the windows behind me and the massive walls below me I would tend to say I was in a prison. When push came to shove I didn’t have the guts to make anyone die a painful death. It was almost impossible to kill someone because all the methods I had access to would have made them spill blood. I went queasy at the sight of life’s red liquid so I would never have been able to kill someone that way either. I didn’t know poison’s and bombs were too flashy for my liking. I wasn’t going to steal something because doing so was too much effort. I couldn’t place a reason why I might be in prison so I looked around for another clue. The gardens here were really nice, but why was that man in a straight jacket? Was I in an asylum? Surely my ‘problems’ weren’t that bad?

The last things I heard on that night was the sound of armed men shouting orders at men screaming for their lives. I was one of those men screaming. I was dragged back into this wretched hellhole and all of my questions had been answered. Only two remain, nibbling on the back of my mind while I waited for an explanation. I knew I knew the answer t the first one, I just couldn’t believe that I’d been here for three years already without knowledge of my life there. As I peered out at the misery of the setting sun from my rat-cage room and iron-barred window I asked myself again; What happened to the one who made me not feel alone?

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