Mental illness is terrible. I recently emerged from the darkest period of my life and the only reason I am able to write down my memories is because of intensive therapy mandated by the court system. I would not wish the pain and terror I experienced upon anyone, no matter how deserving they might be. You see, my insanity came on slow yet never left, increasing day by day. Pure terror is knowing that your mind is failing you, and you are absolutely powerless to do anything about it.
It all began five years ago, shortly after my sixteenth birthday. I grew up the only child of a single mother. My mother had me at eighteen and raised me with no help from my father. She did a damn good job considering the circumstances. She worked two jobs and received no assistance from anyone. Oddly, my father's sister ended up being the only family we kept in touch with. As I got older this Aunt Sheryl's visits increased, until she came over almost every weekend. She was also a single mother, however, one of her children died at the hands of her abusive and suicidal husband while the other child, a son, was driven insane by witnessing the abuse.
My mother deeply admired Aunt Sheryl because she earned a degree in psychology while living with her abusive husband and raising two children. My Aunt also established her own private psychology practice with the life insurance policies earned from the deaths of her husband and first son. Shortly before my sixteenth birthday Aunt Sheryl began to encourage my mother to go back to school. At eighteen my mother studied nursing at the local community college but her unexpected pregnancy forced her to drop out. Ever since then she worked as a waitress at various restaurants around town. She worked hard and made a decent living but I always knew that she felt unfulfilled as a career waitress. At first my mother refused to even consider the idea. Going back to school meant she worked fewer hours and we all knew that she could not support the both of us if she had tuition payments and worked less hours.
My aunt seemed to anticipate this response and quickly offered to let me live at her place while my mother earned her degree. My mother hesitated for a moment but still refused, saying that she had raised me for almost sixteen years by herself and felt no need to change course while I was still in high school. Now here is where I made the decision that would change the course of my life and begin my descent into hell. I sided with my Aunt. I told my mother that as a sixteen year old I am more than capable of taking care of myself, and living with Aunt Sheryl would give me access to the best high school in the state. My chances of earning a scholarship at such a prestigious high school made this an easy decision.
My Aunt, with a smile I now remember as twisted, said to my mother, "Well it's decided then, he moves in at the end of this month just in time for the start of spring term." My, looking helpless, glanced at me for a moment before agreeing to the plan. The next two weeks were a whirlwind as I packed up my belongings, helped my mom apply to nursing school and moved into my Aunt's house.
My aunt picked me up from my Mom's place on the day of the move and drove back to her place in the next town over. This would be my first time visiting my Aunt's house as well as first time meeting my cousin. This never struck me as odd since my mother didn't own a car and therefore had no way to visit anyone outside the local bus route.
Aunt Sheryl parked the car in front of a beautiful two-story yellow home. The home seemed like something out of a magazine with the meticulous attention to every detail. This attention to detail continued as I walked inside and was shown to my bedroom. I felt out of place in this home but not simply because it was much nicer than where I grew up (I had visited wealthy friend's homes before). The house smelled of bleach and disinfectant which I attributed to my Aunt cleaning up in preparation for my arrival.
The first week of living with my aunt passed uneventfully, though my unease around her increased as the days passed. My attempts at engaging with my Aunt on personal level never felt right. I felt like an audience member watching a play, every time I walked into a room it felt like she snapped into character upon seeing me. It also struck me as odd that I could see no evidence of another person living there. In fact I did not see my cousin for the first two weeks. My aunt told me that my cousin was away at a summer camp for the mentally ill. He lived in the basement of the house, which Aunt Sheryl said was because he deserved his privacy due to being 19 years old. Under no circumstances would I be allowed into the basement until he returned from summer camp. In hindsight these should have been warning signs that something wasn't right, but at sixteen years old I was more focused on the upcoming school year at my new high school. My mother told me to trust my Aunt since she had been through a lot and even advised me to learn what I could from her.
