Inner Monologue

He sat down across from the doctor and tried not to stare at the pen and paper.  He folded his hands together and began.

“I want to begin with a promise.   I came here for help.  I came to you so you can help me.  In the process of all this, if you for any reason think that I’m a danger to myself or others–you tell me.  And then I want your help and not your dismissal.”

The pen started writing.  “Of course.”

“I know it seems odd  to open up with that, but I’m very out of my comfort zone.  I’m very afraid and I am taking your word.”

“Why are you afraid?”

“For the same reason that I’m afraid of hypnotists.”

“Why is that?” 

“It’s the greatest fear man has ever known–the fear of the unknown.”

“That’s understandable, but why me?  Have you opened up to anyone else you know?”

“No.  That’s the thing with fear.  I’m very…I’m just going to start.  Is that okay?  Can I just start  talking?”

“You do whatever you need to do.”

“I’m depressed.”  There is a long pause.

“Yes, I assumed so.  Go on.”

“I’m very sad.”  Another pause.

“Okay…um…well let’s talk about the why?  Do you have a–“

“I’m preoccupied with death.  So much so that I think about killing myself at least once a day.  Often I think of killing others, but then I’m reminded that I don’t believe there is anything after this life and I find myself overwhelmed with a sad sense of sympathy.  And when the rage subsides I’m left with nothing but my own self-loathing.  And the reasons don’t matter.  How I got here or how I became this way or who I am now.  Not to anyone of sound mind or strong heart.  But I’m not those things.  Not anymore.  And I’m terrified to tell the few positive influences in my life how I truly feel, because I know that they will all feel unwelcome and honestly choose to stay away from me.  But if I keep up the lie, then maybe I can at least pretend in a few moments of my life that when those influences are around that everything is and will be okay.”

“Have you tried to kill yourself?”

“No.  I almost drove off a bridge once, but I was in a highly emotional state and realized it.  And again my fear of nothingness keeps me from ending it all.”

“You don’t believe there’s anything at all after death?”

“No.  I was raised a Christian.  Southern Baptist.  They say once you’re saved, you’re always saved.  That bothered me as I got older.  I realized that no matter what I did I was doomed to live all eternity in a blissful existence devoid of my true identity as an alternative to burning in a pit.  Then as I got older I found that I didn’t believe any of it and that it was all just one of hundereds of thousands of stories we tell ourselves so  that death doesn’t scare us out of living our lives.”

“And your parents?”

“Let’s not.”

“…..Alright…What about your–“

“Let’s not do that either.  Like I said, the reasons don’t matter.  The here and now are what concerns me and this is why I came to you.”

“What is?”

“Often, despite my usual depression, I find myself in a heightened state of hysteria.  Deranged  and paranoid in a way that defies any logical rebuttal my mind may have to conquer it.  And I will see things in the corners of my eyes.  I will hear things.  Often my name.  I stare at my reflection a bit too long and it frightens me.”

“What you’re describing–“

“Yes I know.  It runs in the family.  I’ve lived with the fear for many years now.  What I need to know from you is if there is anything I can do and if what I’ve become–this combination of fire and gasoline–will be a threat or not.”

“A-are you asking me…do you mean to say that you believe you ARE a threat to others?”

“That’s for you to decide.”

“Do you think that you are?”

“I think that I’m very very damaged.  And I know for a fact that I’m crazy in a sense that doesn’t involve laughter.”

“The fact that you can even say that sentence implies that you–“

“Yes, I realize what it suggests, but I’m telling you that in the darkest moments of the late hours of my days I am not myself.  And I do not want to live.”

“Well, still, that just sounds like you’re depressed.”

“And sometimes I don’t want the world to live.”

“That’s normal.  Sometimes I don’t want the world to live.  People are horrid to each other and the world is not a kind place.  There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Are you sure?”

“It’s perfectly natural to be polarized against or for the environment around you–including  yourself and others.”

“And I’m not a threat?”

“You could be.  But honestly, does it matter?  It sounds to me like you understand that you are not well, you are seeking help, and you don’t intentionally want to harm anyone.  In fact, you even  said that you stop yourself based on your own personal beliefs.  If anything I’d say you are depressed and you’ve lost sight of what you want out of life.  I don’t need to know your reasons and I believe every word you are saying.  I just think you need to get it out and move forward with the lies until they either become the truth or you get tired of them and finally confront the truth head on.”

“I can’t confront it.  But time may change things.”

“It will, but seriously you need to consider the idea that you could be wasting time when you could be enjoying it.  All because you’re afraid to tell those around you how you feel.”

“I’ve considered it.  I think the consequences weigh to heavily.”

“Well…in any case, I think you are far from dangerous, but you are keeping a lot locked in without release.  I think you coming to me is a good idea and we should keep doing this until we can work out some of your fears.”

“You can’t work out my fears.  You are my fear.”

“What?”

“You’re not real.  This is just a blog on WordPress that I’m typing dialogue into from my brain where I’m imagining you sitting there, but you don’t have a face.  You are nothing.  Just like me.”

And then he stopped typing and went to bed.

death_of_a_cyborg_by_shorra-d35io35

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