THE MONSTER INSIDE ME (#ONC2024)

CHAPTER ONE: ARABELLA

My name is Arabella, and I'm 24 years old. I've been in a psychiatric asylum for a few months. Life in the psychiatric asylum has been a constant struggle. The daily routines, therapy sessions, and interactions with other patients have become my new reality. It is difficult to adjust to this confined existence, but I am slowly learning to navigate the labyrinth of my mind. The asylum walls are both a sanctuary and a prison, offering moments of respite from the darkness within me but also trapping me in a world where my past actions and inner demons are constantly scrutinized.

You'll wonder why I'm here and what horrible mental condition I'm suffering from.

After years of enduring trauma and emotional torment, I was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) and borderline personality disorder (BPD). These conditions have had a profound impact on my mental well-being, leading to intense emotional instability, self-destructive behaviours, and a distorted sense of self. In the psychiatric asylum, I am receiving therapy, medication, and other interventions to help manage and alleviate the symptoms of these disorders.

But friends, I am not crazy. I am evil; darkness took hold of me, and I have been a dark being ever since. If you let me, I'll tell you my story.

I was a terrified girl, and I had my reasons. My father, Fenton Dagon, was not only the source of my physical confinement but also the architect of my emotional torment. His drug addiction and twisted desires created an atmosphere of fear and despair within our home. I was both repulsed and captivated by the sinister aura that surrounded him, and his presence loomed over me like a dark cloud, suffocating any remnants of joy or innocence in my life. He had me imprisoned in a closet on nights when he brought women and men home. They moaned a lot, and I was terrified.

But it wasn't just the moaning that haunted me; it was the sinister aura that surrounded my father and those people. Their twisted desires and sadistic pleasure in inflicting pain upon one another seeped into every crevice of our home. Night after night, I would cower in that suffocating darkness, the muffled sounds of their depravity penetrating the thin walls of my makeshift prison.

My father never wanted me to attend school. A private teacher educated me at home. Later, I took the tests and completed my high school studies. Despite the unsettling environment at home, I managed to excel academically. However, my isolation from the outside world took a toll on my social skills and ability to connect with others.

I had no relationships with people my age, and I had no friends. And eventually, I didn't mind not having them. I cut myself off from the outside world, which I didn't comprehend and, frankly, didn't care about.

Amidst the chaos of my father's reckless behaviour, my only solace was in my academic achievements. The more time I spent buried in books and studying, the less I noticed my loneliness. While my peers ventured out into the world, encountering new experiences and forging bonds, I remained trapped within the confines of my four walls. The outside world became an unfamiliar place, one that held no significance or allure to me. Instead, I found solace in the routine of shopping for necessities and tirelessly cleaning up the aftermath of my father's wild encounters. I felt like an outsider, disconnected from the world, and unable to form meaningful connections. This isolation and detachment from society only reinforced my belief that I was destined for darkness.

As the years went by, the closet became my refuge, a sanctuary where I could hide from the horrors unfolding just beyond its door. But even in that confined space, I could feel the weight of their malevolence pressing down on me, its icy tendrils snaking their way into my fragile mind. I couldn't escape the darkness that enveloped our lives, and slowly, it began to consume me from within.

The day finally came when I could bear it no longer. I mustered the courage to confront my drug-addicted father and demand an end to the torment that had plagued my existence for far too long. But my pleas fell on deaf ears, and instead of sympathy, I was met with cold, deranged laughter that sent chills down my spine. The weight of his presence felt suffocating, like a heavy fog enveloping my every thought and emotion. At that moment, I realized that I was trapped, not only physically but also mentally and emotionally. The darkness that had seeped into our home had now taken hold of me, transforming me into a twisted reflection of the innocence that was stolen from me.

One day, in the dark, I started hearing voices. They told me I was a coward, and they were going to take me with them to change me into something else. I was shaking. I didn't want to be in the closet, and I didn't want to go with those strangers.

A man took me out of the closet. He was one of my father's drug-addicted friends. I was fifteen years old. He started touching me and called me a little slut.

And I was. I saw myself as a pervert. I felt desire as I heard the pleasurable moans. I let him take away my innocence, feeling a strange mix of shame and twisted satisfaction. As his hands roamed my trembling body, I couldn't help but wonder if this was the only way I could escape the suffocating confines of my life. At that moment, I made a silent vow to myself—to never let anyone see the brokenness inside me, for fear that they too would use it against me.

I became the lover of my father's friends. I gave up on myself because I didn't deserve more. I didn't care when the darkness engulfed me. I became trapped in a cycle of destructive behaviour, seeking solace in the arms of these men, who saw me as nothing more than a plaything. Each encounter intensified the emptiness within me, confirming my belief that I was unworthy of love. With each passing day, the darkness within me grew stronger, consuming any flicker of hope or self-worth that remained. The lack of support and understanding from those around me only reinforced my belief that I was destined for darkness. Society's judgment and condemnation pushed me further down the path of evil, as I saw no alternative or escape from the twisted role I had been forced into.

It was in that moment of utter despair that something within me snapped. A surge of rage, fueled by years of pain and suffering, surged through my veins. The darkness that had plagued me for so long found its way out, and I became a vessel for its malevolent energy. In that instant, I transformed from a terrified girl into something entirely different—something wicked.

So, you see, I am not crazy. I am something far more sinister. And if you dare to listen, I will share with you the story of how darkness took hold of me and how I became the embodiment of evil itself.