State Of Mind

Inner Battle

I went to many therapists as a child. They all told me that if I truly put effort into it, I could stop the voices myself and take control. Not destroy them entirely, but show them who their true master is. I could tame them.

I have never put much thought into what they said. I always believed myself to be incurable, for no medicines have ever helped me and no self healing ever mended my wounds.

As I fall deeper into my subconscious, the first thing I see is my mother. I loved her to death, or so I thought. Everyone told me I did. After the accident, everyone told me I loved her a lot.

But there was something else there, a tingling sensation I couldn't place.

"You useless fuck! You never do anything right! I'm sick of it! Absolutely sick of it!"

My face stings, and cold wetness soon soothes the burning ache. Why is she saying all of these nasty things to me? What have I done now?

"God you're sick. This isn't how you're supposed to be Thomas! This is bad!"

Is this about Bryan? Again?

"You're not a faggot Thomas! Do you remember Rachael? I had to smack you for the erection you got from looking at her! What you did with Bryan was unacceptable! Now his parents are calling me for letting my fag son around him!"

Another smack. Harder this time. Out of the corner of my eye I see my brother. Fucker. How would he feel if mom know he was gay too? At least I still like girls too... I should tell her. I should get little golden boy in trouble too. I clench my fists.

"And don't you start that!"
Smack
"I don't wanna see you clenching those hands boy."

She doubles over in pain. My fist is buried deep in her chest. She is gasping for air. Serves her right.

Why... Why would I love her if... How horrible... Oh god...

My head is hurting worse now. I can hardly stand the pain.

I am stumbling down a dark hallway. I hear screaming, metal crashing into metal, and the faint sound of bones being ground into dust. The hallway ends at a door, which is illuminated by what looks like flames. I open the door and nearly throw up. The wave of emotions that crash into me are crippling.

There are embers, dying flames amongst a mass of crushed steel and blood. The tanker is on its side, leaking oil that is thankfully streaming away from the flames. A boy is crawling out of a window.

"Mom? Dad? Dylan?"

I'm hyperventilating now. How am I even alive? There's a sticky warm liquid running down my face and I think it might be blood. I'm not too sure.

It worked.

I look back at the driver's side to see the airbag had been deployed. I touch my chest and feel a bruise where it had hit. I hadn't expected to make it out of that crash alive.

I walk around the car and get a good look at all the damage. Dylan's head is in bits. He got the worst of the crash. Brain matter is scattered across the road. The smell of burning flesh and hair finally register in my nose.  Mother is twisted at awkward angles, her seat belt is cutting into her neck, which is thrown to the side and most definitely broken. Father's leg is broken and wrapped around mother's. Blood streams from cuts where the glass shards are embedded into his skin.

Not one of them moves, not one of them breathes.

Now I begin to shake. When the police come, it isn't hard to act afraid and sick and upset. I am all of those things, but not for the reasons they expect. I am upset, but only because it had to come to this.

They should've been kinder.

They all deserved what they got. Each of them wronged me in their own way.

I feel my stomach churning. God... I was truly awful.

The scene dissipates and changes. I am faced with another empty hallway. I don't want to walk anymore. I want to collapse to my knees and cry and scream and puke. I can't go any further.

But I have to.