Danger, Danger, Mr. Stranger

#DDMS32 Part 1

#DDMS32 Part 1

Trigger Warning:

This chapter contains graphic depictions of depression and anxiety. Please proceed with guidance and caution.

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XANTIEL

I HAVE a guy waiting for me back home.

Folie's words are drilled into my head. Pagdilat ko, nakita kong pudpod ang mga kuko ko't namumula ang dulo ng mga daliri ko. Ah, fuck. I've been doing it again, huh?

Pagtingala ko, paulit-ulit ko na palang inuukit ang mga salitang iyon sa dingding. It made me remember how my old room back at the Villa Vouganville looked like—in helpless disarray and marked with chaotic madness all over . . . just like my mind.

I have a guy waiting for me back home.

I have a guy waiting for me back home.

I have a guy waiting for me back home.

I etched those gut-wrenching letters on my wall with my very own fingernails. My bloody hands found the torn edge of a wallpaper and pulled it open, revealing the hidden marks I have been covering in my room. Frenzied words that I've been repeatedly writing and scratching during the five years I've been hopelessly searching for Feuille.

Feuille is missing. Feuille is nowhere. Feuille is somewhere. Feuille is waiting. Feuille is missing. Feuille is nowhere. Feuille is somewhere. Feuille is waiting. Feuille is missing. Feuille is nowhere. Feuille is somewhere. Feuille is waiting. Feuille is missing. Feuille is nowhere. Feuille is somewhere. Feuille is waiting. Feuille is missing. Feuille is nowhere. Feuille is somewhere. Feuille is waiting. Feuille is missing. Feuille is nowhere. Feuille is somewhere. Feuille is waiting. Feuille is missing. Feuille is nowhere. Feuille is somewhere. Feuille is waiting.

Just like that, I felt like I was back to the poor young Xantiel who was desparate to fight his own guilt of murdering innocent lives, a lost little lonely boy desparate to forget every painful memory that lives in his fucked up head.

My brain's my own fucking bully. It keeps replaying my most fucked up memories non-stop and on loop. And because I couldn't scratch my own brain, I have resorted to scratching the walls of my room.

When my hyperthymesia is going haywire, my body turns to dermatillomania, a body-focused repetitive behavior. In my case, I have this uncontrollable urge in the form of scraping surfaces with my nails.

If my hands are busy, maybe my brain would shut up.

This has been one of the core reasons why I turned to different kinds of programming and engineering as my profession. I needed my fingers working, picking, and fidgeting as much as possible to keep my brain distracted.

"I have a guy waiting for me back home."

This is why I took in three different lives with separate identites, so my brain never has to rest. Xantiel Vouganville the poly-engineer, Mr. Axletov the inventor, and deuxXxmachina the hacker—all three of them had to exist simultaneously so my anxieties won't get a chance of creeping in.