Thought You Knew (based on A Gorey Demise)

"N is for Nicki who was pummeled by fists..."

[[ignore this random AN]]

Before I get into this chapter, I want to apologize. I know I've been doing that a lot, but I need to make it clearer what I'm apologizing for, exactly. In this brief moment of relaxation and clarity, I went to reread my autobiography only to notice the patterns within the chapters. My writing was getting sloppier, less polished and frantic. Unfortunately, I'm not sure how well I can fix that in the oncoming chapters. Seeing how things are, it may even get worse as I dig deeper into my memories. If this story slowly loses intelligence and meaning, understand that it is because of my ailment. I really was truly enjoying this. I didn't take it into consideration how much impact it would have on my mental health. I didn't think my past was so traumatizing until I began to recall it. On another note, I want to answer briefly who I was referring to by saying that they're making me write this: The doctors. Don't worry, they're not unkind to me. In my rational mind, I still understand that they only have good intentions, but I fear that my irrational mind will set in and forever control my thought process. The doctors wanted me to tell them about my past, but I couldn't do it to their faces. There was too much pressure, so they agreed to let me write it as if it were a fictional story. I'm grateful for this choice, and it makes it much easier to reveal what has happened to me, but it's proving to get more and more difficult as weeks go on. Thank you to those who stuck around to hear my words. I will now get back into the story.

My grades in school began to incline when I started taking the antipsychotics, unsurprisingly. Not that they were terribly low, but focusing on what was being taught was a skill that was becoming foreign to me. When I gave up on staying on the drugs, they dropped again, but more dramatically than when my problems first arose. They dragged down from the A-B range to the C range, which surprised my parents. My only excuse was that work was simply getting harder, which technically was true. It was getting harder for me to complete, but the level of curriculum stayed the same. Despite Erik trying to keep me from getting distracted, it was inevitable. My thoughts sped through my mind, creating a flurry of randomized nonsense that jumbled up and confused the idea I was learning. The train of thought didn't even follow any reasoning, everything was disconnected and made no sense in context of one and other. For example, I'd be thinking about how it was a hot day outside, then how I live in a desert area, then suddenly I'd imagine a pie. How desert=pie I will never know. My eyes darted back and forth, examining a slight change in the environment before something else would catch my attention. Erik got a bit frustrated with me, but he understood that I couldn't really help it. He's a good friend. It's a shame he was so despised in his days of living.

Do you remember back in the chapter "F is for Frank who was stabbed through the eye..." when I had a psychotic episode during a lesson? I wish I could say it was the only time it happened, or that it was the worst time. To be honest, I almost forgot about the first one I had because it was so minor in comparison to what else my own mind subjected me to. I had a similar episode during school hours that was more bizarre than traumatizing. It always stuck out in my mind, not only because of its later consequences.

The class was being taught something math related by our new replacement teacher, if I recall correctly. I must admit she was a little diverse from the other teachers at my old school. She was younger than most of them, perhaps in her mid-twenties and she had a defining punk-rocker style to her appearance. However, her personality was rotten all the same. Anyway, it was a particularly difficult day for me as I was significantly less focused than usual. I barely heard a word come out of my teacher's mouth, and Erik wasn't around to help me. I began to spot little multicolored lights flash at the corner of my vision. Something about them just mesmerized me. They accumulated as time passed, specking my vision with tiny dots of green, red and blue. The flying little lights began to join together to create one whole ball of baby blue light and it flew closer to me. I stared at it without fear, in fact, I felt totally relaxed. I could trust the light. The light was there to keep me safe. The light resembled my hope. It landed before me on my desk and released a soothing warmth into the air surrounding me. The longer I looked into its core, the more my classroom faded to a white void, but I couldn't bring myself to care. It was beautiful, sparkly, absolutely stunning. My mouth cracked open a bit in awe as I slowly reached out to it. I wasn't sure what my intention was, perhaps to poke it, perhaps to pet it, or maybe to grab it and pull its comforting heat closer to me. My hand reached in and passed through it, and I held it in the center, adoring the tingling feeling that spread up my arm when I made contact with the light. Hours passed, or so it felt, and all I did was stare into the light. It didn't once concern me that the white void around me eventually turned to a dull shade of grey and then to black. My vision started to blur and the tingling feeling got aggressively stronger, catching me by surprise as I attempted to yank my hand out of it. I couldn't. My arm refused to respond to my command. No, every body part rebelled against my word. The pins and needles passed through my shoulders to my opposing arm, then down my torso and travelling from there to my waist and legs soon after. The light flickered and vanished before my eyes, leaving me frozen in total darkness. Hope was dead. I could hear voices, but I always heard voices, so it wasn't unusual. These voices caught my attention, though, because they were voices that I vaguely recognized. My teacher, Nicki Black, was calling out my name. She didn't sound worried or taken aback by my condition, more disinterested and like she just wanted to finish the school day and leave. My classmates were whispering and muttering among themselves. I remained in my absentminded state until a heavy blow to the side of my head snapped me back into reality.