The first thing I did, when I woke up the next morning, was to pick up the phone and dial the number +4781533300. I heard a woman's voice in the other line, saying:
"Suicide hotline. How can I help you?".
"Good morning", I said quietly. "My name is Ingrid....and last night I tried to stab myself to death".
"Please, talk to me with more details".
I talked to her about the whole situation, starting from my two suicide attempts, Alta's mental hospital, Lyrica pills prescription, the club, in which I was playing psychedelic music, my friend who was taking LSD drugs, the psychedelic songs, that I was composing, Eva's suicide and the fact that I wanted to throw my story into the fire, so I wouldn't have to kill myself.
"Which psychiatrist prescribed Lyrica pills to you?", the woman asked.
"Hanna Arendal", I answered.
"Then, I suggest you talk to Mrs Arendal at first or call Alta's clinic again. And if you need any more help, you can call back again here".
Oof! I couldn't take more hospitals. I wanted to be at home. I phoned Hanna and asked her to visit me in the afternoon at my own place in Kirkenes. She asked me a lot of stuff about what made me want to harm myself again. I told her I wanted to get rid of my story and that I tried to burn it, but in the end, I didn't have the nerve to do it. Finally, for the first time I was able to talk about the story itself, why I was writing it and for which reasons I was feeling it was killing me.
"You are this author, aren't you?", Hanna asked.
I shook my head. "I am only an author. An author can never be the hero as well. This is something we've been taught at University....".
"We are not having a Literature discussion", she said. "I'm talking to you in terms of psychotherapy. What's wrong with your books? Why do your heroines die in all of them?".
I sighed and didn't talk for a while. "Difficult question, isn't it?", Hanna asked.
"Not that....", I stuttered. "It's only...Yes, all of my heroines depict....not me, personally....but, in a way, what I've been doing. The fact that I'm an artist, for example. After a while, I feel that what I'm writing is really dull, really boring. All I mean to say is....", I stopped.
Hanna looked at me: "What? Don't you like what you're writing?"
I laughed nervously: "Not at all. I hate my books and that's why I hate my heroines. Maybe....I have to say that....my heroines in a way show my own self....which I hate", I said quietly.
"You do, Ingrid. Just say it. It's the truth".
"Alright", I said decisively. "I hate myself and I depict myself in my books through my heroines, whom I kill in the stories".
"Because you want to harm your own self. And you can't do this in reality".
"Exactly", I said.
"And now the book you're writing shows exactly what you've been doing all these years. An author who's killing her heroines. Why did you want to burn your book?".
"It would be a redemption to me. Salvation of my soul".
"In other words, a catharsis".
"Exactly", I exclaimed. "A catharsis".
"And how exactly was it going to be a catharsis for you?".
"I would kill the Poet....inside me".
Hanna looked at me in a frown: "The Poet?".
"Her real name is Thaleia, however, it is referred only once at the beginning of the book. For the rest of the book I only call her author or Poet. She's my own Poet".
YOU ARE READING
INGRID (ENGLISH VERSION)
Ficción GeneralThis is the story I have been so long writing, in its English version. It is a fictional story and refers to the life and personal details of a supposed 40-year-old Norwegian musician, author and poet-ess. She is supposed to write her own autobiogra...
