Friday 11:15pm: My bedroom
I hugged my knees with my head in my arms. No one knew what was happening behind the closed door of my room. No one knew what was happening behind the closed door of my mind. I couldn’t explain these ‘episodes’ that plagued me so often, these violent attacks on my mind and body. I waited hours into the night, until the early light of dawn stretched through my window, waiting for the next attack.

Saturday 10:30am: My daily jog
Today I ran farther than ever. I ran through the park, over the railroad tracks, and past the city border. I barely saw the twenty-five mile marker on the trail as I barreled on. A few miles later the path ended. My body screamed for rest but I wouldn’t stop, I couldn’t stop. The dryness of my mouth, sharp pains in my calves, and exhaustion from staying up all night threatened to slow me down but I kept on. Intense feelings of hysteria began to arise as my body panicked from the overexertion. There was a five lane road up ahead, but I paid no heed and ran full speed toward it. I suppose one could have called it a semi-intentional suicide attempt, as I plunged into the traffic. The turbulence from the passing cars pushed me around, but I stayed on my feet. After barely getting across, I finally slowed and rested at a vacant bus stop. My body hurt so badly, I was shaking violently: all my muscles locked up. I had no idea where I was or what time it was. The physical and mental pains were so strong; my head was pounding, my legs were throbbing. I immediately began vomiting continuously until there was nothing left to throw up. My tears tasted sweet compared to the lingering bile in my mouth. I sat still on the curb for a few minutes, and then shakily attempted to stand. My stomach lurched as the sky turned red, then black. I woke up lying face-down on the concrete with a long gash down my right leg from the fall.

Sunday 3am: The attack
It was about three in the morning when it began. A slight pang in the back of my right hand woke me up. I sat up quickly and held my hand out in front of me. I watched as it slowly began to twist on its own. First my thumb turned up and seemed to become engulfed by my palm. Then my index finger curled in an unnatural way making me scream in pain. Then my middle finger tangled with the next and knotted with it. I heard a snap as one of the bones in my middle finger was wrenched from its position. My pinkie finger bent to make a perfect ‘c’, and froze in place as if becoming a permanent position. I watched as the bones in the back of my hand shifted to meet the new arrangement. My hand was now gnarled and deformed with part of my thumb disappeared. For a moment I was so amazed and scared at the sight I almost forgot about the pain. But all at once the excruciating sensation of having my fingers rearranged threatened to undermine my whole conscience. I was terrified, terrified of my own hand. I didn’t know what kind of powers inflicted me with this. I rocked and tried to comfort myself, but my mind was still in a sort of stage of shock. Someone or something was controlling me. All I knew was I had to escape- now.

Sunday 9am: The aftermath
The next morning my mom came into my room to see what was taking me so long to get up. She stopped dead in her tracks in the doorway. Her eyes grew wide with horror as her grip tightened on my doorknob. Red. Red everywhere- all over the walls, floor, and ceiling. My mom screamed; seconds later my dad rushed in to see what was wrong. The sight that greeted him was one that told the story of the years of pain a fifteen-year-old girl suffered on her own while he and everyone else lived in oblivion. In what appeared to be blood, the words “leave me alone, go away,” and “no one cares” were scratched out on the walls. All the pictures that had been resting on the dresser, the faces on those had now been impaled with black scissors. A blood-coated knife was protruding vertically from the pillow on the still-made bed and there was a thin trail of blood leading to the bedroom window. I was nowhere in sight -and never seen again.

I’m not normal, so I’m not going to pretend anymore. There is no escaping the monster that is me.