BLURRYFACE [DEMA DIARIES]

Chapter 1

Can you save my Heavy Dirty Soul?  - from Heavy Dirty Soul, Twenty One Pilots

Clancy could feel his reflection watching him in his periphery. His right cheek burned from the intensity of it. Slowly moving his head, he turned his attention from the floor, his eyes dragging behind. He focused on the long mirror hanging at the back of his door. His reflection followed him dutifully.

Clancy stayed completely still, his eyes peering from below his thick eyebrows. From this distance, his brown irises looked fully black. His eyes flickered with a level of doubt towards the new Clancy. His hand balled tightly into a fist as he felt himself become irritated at this imposter staring at him. He did not recognise these eyes, and he was sure they did not belong to him.

It's just me. He reassured himself, waving his hand and ensuring the other half of him followed. He looked at himself for minutes, completely silent. His eyes traced along the stubble on his head, the scar on his nose that he got from a cycling accident as a young boy. He was unable to look away, eyes locked.

A feeling returned and settled itself in Clancys stomach. The all too familiar feeling of being inadequate, judged by even his reflection. Shame consumed him, fully aware of the space in which he was taking up. He felt the t-shirt resting on his shoulders, the label tickling the bottom of his neck. He could feel how clammy his hands had become, wondering if the person he was watching in the mirror had also become aware of these things. As though mirrors reflected more than just images.

He rubbed his hands along his jeans, finally breaking contact with himself as he put his head down. His breaths were restricted and shallow, unable to fill his lungs enough. His denim was starting to get wet from the sweat on his hands. He could hear the rain pelting against the window. He raised his hands to the back of his head, trying in any way to comfort himself. "I'm supposed to be better." He pleaded with himself. His voice came out in a croak, his eyes shut tight as he covered his ears with his hands. He kept shaking his head, as though trying to shake this on coming crisis.

Then suddenly, a location flashes in his head. He lets go of his tension, his arms dropping to his side as he falls back on to his unmade bed. He catches a glimpse of rolling hills, carpeted with lush green grass, dotted with wildflowers of every color. Towering mountains framing the landscape in the distance. Eagles flew above his head, even though it seemed he was a floating entity in this realm. He could feel the wind on his face, smell the lake from right next to him. It felt so real, he felt he could reach his hand out to feel the long grass to the side of him...

Clancy opens his eyes with a shock, taking a huge gasp as if he had just been drowning. His hands shot to his chest as he tried to find his bearings. His ears ring as he struggles to bring himself back to reality. Why did he keep getting this vision? It's appeared in his head multiple times in the last year. It came on during his darkest times, and he could never quite remember the scenery when it had passed. He couldn't tell if this was a memory of his, or a place he has started using subconsciously as an escape. He takes a deep breath, trying to get his natural rhythm of breath back before moving his head to his right. The smell of newly washed sheets filled his nostril as he pressed his head into the pillow.

He scanned the room slowly, making sure to look at the four corners. The walls were a dull white. He had a bed with the headboard pushed against the wall, situated in the centre of the room, facing the door to his bedroom. A single wooden night stand lays to his right, and beside the door is his chest of drawers. The red carpet felt somewhat boyish to him now, now it was 14 years old. Beggars can't be choosers.

He rests his head back on the pillow, removing his hands from his chest and raising himself in one big movement. He looks at the reflection in the mirror one last time before removing a jacket from the back of the door and covering the mirror with it. Best to avoid reflections for the time being, just until he can figure this out. Again.

For as long as he can remember, he has been dealing with these sort of issues. From when he was a young boy, he was scared of monsters under his bed. Only he wasn't like the other children, he could hear them speak to him, their voices were deep and rough. They spoke in tongues, never making any sense but resonating with the young boy. He could feel them watch him in the middle of the night, eyes watching him from the closet, waiting to catch a glimpse of him. Every time he would open his eyes, they would disappear again. Waiting in the dark for the next opportunity to strike.

As Clancy got older, the monsters turned into hooded figures. Hiding in the dark corners of the room, always watching. Sometimes he caught them in the corners of his eyes, but they were never there when he turned to look directly at them. The all consuming present of an entity caused something to snap inside of Clancy. He found it hard to be the person he once was.
Unable to interact with things he once loved, unable to write songs, struggling to find a beat to put together. He couldn't talk to his friends. The paranoia grew. In Clancy's head, everybody was a hooded figure. Unable to love, trust or enjoy life, Clancy had had enough. He couldn't sleep at night. He was unable to shake the feeling of eyes on him, judging him. Feeling inadequate and unfulfilled, flicking through his thoughts like records in a box. He landed on one, which was the idea that to be fully free, he would have to sacrifice it all.

Alone and afraid in his room, moments away from executing his plan. A dull sound of the cars passing outside his window filled his ears, blurring out any rational thoughts. He stood, staring out the window, drumming his fingers along his thigh. In the distance, on the mountain several miles away from Clancys room, he noticed a small light. A tiny fire. And then suddenly, he felt a spark in his heart.

It filled him with a warmth he hadn't felt in a long time. He fell to his knees, his head hanging lowly as he felt something surge in him again. He found a determination that day to keep pushing through. So, he checked himself into the hospital an hour later.
He found a lot of love in that ward, and looks back at his time there as some of his best. He learnt ways to cope with what he was feeling, how to not be ashamed of things that are out of his control, and how to navigate the things that are. He found his love for music again, for creation and meaning. He wrote letters, to nobody in particular, but to everyone who would bother to read them. His mind became wonderful and open. Hope had returned to the boy. His family had visited him on his harder days, and he sat outside, pen in hand, on his better ones.

After a couple of weeks under full time supervision, he found himself back in his old house. Only this time, the walls didn't feel as familiar. There was no entity in the corners, lurking in the darkness. He had his music again, and that gave him more power than he had ever felt before. He also had medication that was going to help him; that had been helping him, up until a number of weeks ago.

Clancy could feel his old ways returning. Tens of songs lay unfinished on his laptop, clothes had begun to pile up in the corners of his room. His phone had stacks of unread messages, missed calls. He made his way back to his bed, drained from his newest breakdown. He flopped onto the mattress, closed his eyes and let himself sink in to a deep sleep...