LIfe After Grace (a depersonalisation disorder story)

1.

Chapter One

No matter how vital experience might be while you lived it, no sooner was it ended and dead than it became as lifeless as the piles of dry dust in a school history book.
-Ellen Glasgow

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“Don’t you talk to me like that,” a lady shouted. Heavy tears slowly dropped from eyes and ran down her face to gather at the crease of her lips, which were held in a shaky grimace. Her hands were in fist and by her sides, to stop them from wrapping around her body, shielding herself. 

 

Why is she crying? Delilah wondered I don’t want her to cry.

“Why, It’s your own fault isn’t it?” A mean voice snapped at the distort woman. The woman cringed, as if she had been physically hit by the harsh comment. Now, her arms did wrap themselves around herself as if to protect herself from her assaulter.

Delilah struggled to try and see the assaulter but was met with only darkness. 

 

You don’t mean that! Stop it! Leave her alone!

“Don’t please… why are you saying this?” The woman sobbed. The black corner of the white room seemed to expand and the darkness creped towards to distraught woman from all directions.

The cruel voice came out the darkness and spoke in a smile. “Why not?”

The woman sunk down till she was in a fetal position.

 “We promised to support each other…please don’t leave me.”  The woman whispered. She started shaking, anxiety kicking in.  The cruel voice just laughed. The sound of echoed and mixed with the sound of footsteps walking away.

STOP! You promised! Stop! STOP!!!

I shot up from my bed in a cold sweat. Tears ran from my eyes and my mouth was open and panting. The vision of my mother on the floor shaking, about to have another anxiety attack, clouded my mind.  Quickly I made a beeline out of room, fumbling in the darkness, toward my mother’s single bedroom. I creak the open door a little and sighed in relief when I saw here sleeping deeply with her teddy bears surrounding her. Her blond hair spilled across her pillow and her pale arm was wrapped around her favourite teddy Wilson. She’s ok. She’s ok…

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20th day since relapse

The gentle sway of a willow’s dropping leaves caused the soft leaves to brush my white wooden seal. A bright melody of a mocking bird rung throughout the quite morning and seemed to settle in the crisp air of my room. The only sound to be heard apart from the bird’s song was the scraping of my pencil against course paper. My woolen pants were soft against my soft skin as I lingered the pen over the page looking for a place that needed some more detail. The drawing in my hand held no real significance, no meaning.  The eyes of the girl I was drawing had no glint to them, no spark. I was if it the smiling face and the eyes belonged to two different people, instead of one. I quite sigh escaped my lips when I heard my mother’s loud rising sounds.  I left the lifeless drawing on the bench where I had been sitting and slipped on the ring I wore every day.

The old wooden floorboard felt cold but smooth against my bear feet as a wondered into the corridor. Frames of random pictures filled the soft cream walls. I traced my hands along the old frames until I reached the kitchen.