SINKING AND FADING

PROLOGUE

"They don't understand who you are! At some point you'll never be able to live a normal life – telling people will only make it that much worse." He pleaded, his eyes pouring out nothing but concern for me and everything I had just told him - had just confessed to him - but my ego wouldn't allow me be grateful. Instead I could feel a pool of salty water damming my eyes, threatening to leak and spill all over my face along with the guilt that maybe I had already told someone what I was and maybe it was too late for me to take it back and also selfish anger.

This was two years after I had left the hospital - the one my mother had thrown me in after she thought I had gone crazy and was tired of my constant run-ins with the police. One after I had told him in drunken desperation; after I had accidentally blurted what I was out to him and instantly regretted it, and only a couple months before I proclaimed myself...well, you'll see. I cant explain what went through my mind that day or even what's going through it right now. I cant place or words, images, even a mental description to it. I'm so confused I dont know how to explain it to myself so I cant explain it to you even if I tried.

Its like pins and needles in my brain only the needles are blunt and the pins are microorganisms. That doesnt help explain it either, but honestly thats how it feels. For the longest time I thought there was something wrong with me because I was wired differently. If Im being honest I still think theres something wrong with me. My body acts on its own accord. It only does the things it wants for itself. I think I can control it if I tried but funny thing is I have. I spent days at a time trying to deafen the sound of the blood flowing through everyones veins, trying to dim the light that comes with happiness that radiates off everyones skin; brighten the haunting darkness that comes with anger – and thats the less confusing part. I couldnt focus on what I wanted to focus on and I couldnt make sense of anything, no matter how trivial. Often times when my friends were out partying or drinking or just being irresponsible and their age, I was locked up in my bathroom, curled up in a ball by the sink Id previously clogged up with tissue, letting the flooding water pour over my face, blending itself with my tears – and on the occasion blood. But not blood from where youd think itd be, blood from my ringing ears seeping through my fingers and dripping onto the floor alongside the pouring water. My blood slowly leaving me due to sound, maybe excessive or not and – ironically – somehow the sound of running water was my choice of calm.

Serenity was the enemy of tranquility in my world. I know what I said. The quiet was noise too. The eerie noise of too much noiselessness made me wish sometimes I could hear sound. The stillness was my killer and my weapon. I was a monster to myself and everyone around me so I secluded myself and I lived alone even if I knew it wouldnt help me, even when the seclusion was the demon and the destroyer, even if I knew I could trust someone and I was certain that keeping this in my mind, storing all the pain and emotion and energy inside me would hurt me and everyone I loved, I still assumed I could trust no one because that was what assured me that I was normal, even if it only confirmed that I was insane.

I was losing my mind and I was alone and it was my fault. I chose to cut myself off from my surroundings and my life. I chose to be an introvert. I wasnt an introvert by nature.

I went to school. I wasnt a dropout. I chose to go to school but I thought it would help me build resistance to the Haze – I thought the Haze was a disease – but it only made me more by myself because that was when the screaming began. I wasnt just alone when I chose to continue school – even if I did give myself the occasional off day – I was trapped; mostly by my selfishness but also by the silence and the noiseand existence. I felt alone in a world full of people which was very annoying I would say. All my woes and worries clouded my mind and caused me to shrink into my own body. I needed help and I knew it all too well. I was certain, at the back of my mind that I was slowly dying. I didnt want to believe I needed help. I wasnt denying it but I wasnt accepting it either.

I have a power or a weakness or something like that. I call it the haze. Most of the time I allowed it break me and rip my skull apart and during those times, I fought my trichotillomania and strapped my hands to my sides with only sheer will power to help me reduce the risk of self harm. But when it wasn't absolutely defeating me, I could control the Haze but I didnt know how to do it on purpose. It wasnt as if Id never tried, it was just Id never succeeded. I wouldve loved to tell someone...anyone. I wouldve enjoyed getting help from someone who cared about me, but I didnt trust anyone enough to tell them what was wrong with me. I didnt trust people for such a long time even if I knew they had the solution to my problems, even if I knew they could repair all the damage I had done to myself and the haze had done to me. I was hurting myself just by being alive. One minute I was fine and the next minute, I was in the Haze; engulfed in darkness and evil. It was so bad all the torment, but at the same time, I felt powerful. I loved the haze when it took over me. I was stable. I had no problems and I was confident and bold. I was rude and had a bad attitude. I loved being in there but I hated it.

Once I came out, I suffered. I had a perfect recollection of what had happened and I hated my other self. I did alcohol. I hated drinking. It made the haze stronger. Every sound became a billion time louder. Every step I took felt like bricks weighed down my pockets and made my body heavy. I would bleed uncontrollably. I was a regular at the hospital - low blood pressure. The sounds caused me to bleed. I don't know how it worked but the bleeding got worse every time the sounds got too loud and the sounds were always too loud. I thought I could reduce them by reducing my time spent with other people, spending my time at home and reducing human contact, but then I noticed something – all it gets is louder.

At some point I will die. The constant loss of blood will kill me one day. I know it. But for now, it is one year before I told him and two years before the haze really shows. It was the beginning of the worst years of my life.