BPD
so many voices in my head
which ones are real
which ones are me
maybe all of them are me.
sometimes i forget about some of them
slipping from my mind,
forgotten.
when that happens,
they get angry,
rocking my skull,
turning my brain to thick bloody soup.
i love them all
i can't bear to part with them
but they talk all the time,
so that everything sounds like background noise.
people wonder why i don't
hear them when they speak
it's just because there's an infinite source of noise
in my brain.
it's not so bad,
i actually kind of like it.
it's better than being alone.
in a world of crushing loneliness,
i always have company.
dislocated parts
you can hear
it in the midst of the night,
while your gaze
roams the vast plains on the ceiling
― Erna Grcic, Beneath the Surface
A loud shout fills the four walls, startling her, eyes opening up wide with fear, whatever sleep that was in her evaporating instantly. She watches the man that she has been desperately in love with for the past five years with growing panic. Seeing him in this state, with legs pulled to his chest, mangled up sheets covering the body. Hands pressed to his forehead, thick brown and wavy hair falling over his eyes. He's covered in sweat, panting heavily, and shaking without control. He's falling apart.
What's wrong, another dream?
He doesn't look at her, breath almost whistling as he speaks.
I hear them everywhere, they won't get out of my head, El... they won't get out.
He starts to beat the sides of his head with open palms, one hit after another as if physically trying to free himself from the chaos under the fevered skin. She grabs his hands in panic, barely being able to pull them away, her own hands trembling.
No, stop that. Dan, stop it, please. You're hurting yourself!
Something in her breaks, the voice shaking, but she tries to stay strong for the person that means everything to her in this world. She's what's supporting him, what keeps him anchored to the ground.
But they won't stop! They shout, El... swollen mangled tongues with rusty edges... slicing me open piece by rotten piece.
She flinches from the harsh tone of his voice as if hearing a wounded animal roar out his pain. Her hand lifts up to his arm to soothe his torment, but then she stops midway as the next words fall out of his mouth, hardening each fiber in her muscles.
They scream into my veins, under the skull... always inside the bones, love. Twisting the spine slowly, over and over again like a little useless toy... until it... snaps.
He says, almost emotionless, making the skin against her spine start to crawl - grabbing and rotating the sheets in his hands until his knuckles turn white, red lines marking the skin, threatening to bleed if he keeps on going. Her whole body goes deadly cold, shifting into a block of carved, skin-cutting ice. But she makes herself snap out of it, his pain calling her like oxygen when she's stuck under some strange, heavy glass; setting an ache in the hands to reach him, fueling her and turning every single vein in her system on fire, a chemical reaction, ready to combust.
No... No. It was just a bad dream. Look at me... please. Baby, come on.
She places cool hands on the sides of his face and turns him her way, watching the dark stare catch hers as the bright grey hues in her eyes bore into his. There is panic there; he's terrified and tired. Too tired - something screams in her. Without thinking, she presses her lips against his, doing it with force and fierceness that she wasn't even fully aware of, never expecting to crave someone that much. Putting all of her love and warmth that she had for him in that one long, excruciating kiss, holding him until she feels him gradually relax under her touch, then moves away a just bit, catching her breath, eyes searching for his. It's then when she sees it, darkness slowly subsiding, shadows of stars waking up to life. And his tone finally changes as he speaks to her, that voice so low in the quiet room, in the space meant just for them.
Only a bad dream...
He grabs onto her, pulling her on top of him, stopping every thought that terrified him and focusing only on her, as she does the same. Swallowing each fear that touches her insides, that freezes the blood every time he wakes up screaming in the night. Just nightmares, nothing else - she whispers into his ear, letting hope swirl inside her bloodstream as her nails drag against his bare back slowly. Counting each muscle and fiber, hands memorizing the structure, learning the heat of his skin as if it was the first time that they ever touched. Her heart, seeming to escalate in sound as it beats against his chest feeling a simple truth. She was his remedy, and he; her air. They could not exist without each other, even as the things they had, set everything in flames.
Warm tears start to flow down her face and blend with the feel of the blood under her nails as she grabs onto him tighter. Grabbing on to life itself, something inside of her sensing the darkness that has been coating them both for a long time now, and realizing that it wasn't going to ever let go, its claws set in too deep. She could feel him slipping from her hands, too far away for her to ever reach.
____
Panting heavily, she sits up on the sofa, and wipes the sweat from her forehead with shaking hands. Arms pulling tightly around the knees as she starts to rock back and forth, with a strange kind of rhythm that only lost souls knew how to sway to, the toes of her feet straining as she pushes herself harder into the pillows with each movement. Tomorrow. She thinks and tries to find air in the lungs that suddenly feel so dry and rough against the chest, while her cheeks and neck soak in pained hot tears. Just a nightmare, nothing else. He was gone, and nothing would change that, and all she needed to remember was how to make her muscles move and limbs shift forward. Just so she could once again see his name painted with golden letters, feeling each line and ragged curve covering the cold granite, letting her know he was once real. Only that, Eleonore. You'll make it, I promise. Gloria's words from a few days ago break through her tired thoughts as her body trembles slightly. I know, mum. I know. She whispers to herself in the quiet room, laying down slowly and staring numbly at the ceiling, hands grabbing the blanket that's around her and rolling her hands into fists.
Just a little more, and she will finally face what she has been dreading for so long. No matter the situation or the chaos she was in because of what she has done, this was actually what she feared the most, a simple task of paying respects and saying goodbye to someone that was already gone. Sometimes, it was the hardest thing to do in this strange cold world.
Slowly, she gets up from the sofa and stumbles into the bedroom without bothering herself to turn the lights on. She walks over to the dresser and slides her fingers against the wooden surface, gathering a little dust on the skin but not caring, seeing past the old drawers and layers of clothes inside of it. Imagining the shape of the ring in her mind, feeling the cool of the silver bend, and the shape of the little flower crowning its beauty. It was safest there, far from her hands. Too much pain to touch, too many things to keep locked away.
She sighs and gently backs away, sitting on the bed and reaching out for her phone from the nightstand, without rush lighting it up and scrolling until she finds the exact thing that she needs. Music softly fills the room and she exhales, falling back on the covers, tears softly slipping down her cheeks. Each tune and word, bringing her both an indescribable ache and a sense of relief, the lyrics hugging her skin, warming it up a bit, letting the tattered soul exhale.
There’s a bottle on the dresser by your ring,
and it’s empty, so right now I don’t feel a thing,
I’ll be hurting when I wake up on the floor
but I’ll be over it by noon.
That’s the difference between whiskey and you...
She lays there on her side, tunning everything out but the words and the melody that fills her up like a soothing balm, a layer of thick honey against ragged, broken glass.
...but your forgiveness
well, that’s something I can’t buy
there ain’t a thing that I can do.
That’s the difference between whiskey and you.
She sings the last line softly, staring at the ceiling, as her pillow soaks in the last tears, surprised at how gentle her voice sounds, being full of wonder that some love still lingered in her veins. Not just lost in the past, but beating in the present, no matter how deeply buried in her chest. Tomorrow will just be another day, and no matter how hard it will hit her, it too shall pass. Ending and letting another sunrise in, another gust of wind between her fingers, and pressing air into her lungs.
Even if everything fails, the world will still keep turning on just the same.
She says calmly into the empty room and then scolds herself for being so dramatic, snapping out of her state. It's just life, Eleonore. Stop wallowing over your existence and go to sleep. Shaking her head, she closes her eyes and hopes for the rest to come, putting all of the heavy thoughts to the side, sinking into the song that will stay with her until it's time to go and face all the things that scared her the most. The things that she lost.
______
The song Eleonore plays belongs to Chris Stapleton.
"Whiskey and You"
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z2uPKDXS8BA&ab_channel=CountryMusicChannel%3ABlueRiver
https://theprose.com/post/230936/with-all-my-senses ( the beginning )
Previous chapter :
34. https://theprose.com/post/397121/knots-on-fragile-things
____
knots on fragile things
we are both tangled
by threads,
made of
unsaid words
- Naveen Durgaraju
Charlie
The halls are pretty vacant at this moment of the day, but as always, the calm or chaos of strange hours depends on the sum of certain events. This time, there was peace in the space around him, but not in his mind. The hour is late, or very early. Honestly, it depends on how you will choose to look at it. But doesn’t time seem irrelevant on such occasions? Especially with unfocused thoughts. Yes, things like that tend to make us lose the steady ground in one way or another.
The pen hits against the hard desk surface, over and over again in a nervous manner. Tap, tap, tap, repeated sounds with an erratic rhythm while his eyes stare at the plastic clipboard before him. Not really seeing mister Burton’s test results but trying to focus on it anyway. Since last week the HB levels have lowered by over 20 percent, which could explain why... He almost drops the papers as the sound of his own pen hitting the ground wakes him up. Quickly, he looks for it but hears someone clear their throat.
Are you looking for this?
Joan asks with a smile, slowly handing back the loss. He ruffles his hair distracted, and takes it from her with a slightly guilty expression.
Yeah, thanks. I’m a bit jumpy lately.
Oh, I can see. Plus, distracted on top of it all. Did something happen today?
No, why do you ask?
His tone is slightly strained, and she lifts an eyebrow, amused.
Charlie, you never were a good liar. That’s why patients like you. You tell them how the situation is, without sugarcoating but with patience and with the respect of actually seeing them. And not just their medical files, which we all know, will eventually lend in the statistics section or the half moth-eaten archives downstairs.
She points a finger at him, the corners of her lips lifting again.
Those are good qualities in our line of work. Though let’s face it, keeping your feelings inside in private, mundane life is not your strongest suit.
He sighs and gives up.
Just something on my mind, that’s all. It will loosen up eventually.
You’re an overthinker sometimes, Charlie. One of the lovely quirks on the list of your traits.
Not the first time I’m being called like that, you know.
She shakes her head and gazes at him one more time, and he lets himself smile back at her. She nods, satisfied, and fixes a mischievous strand of light ash blonde hair that freed itself from a neatly tied ponytail - ever the professional.
Oh, I have no doubts about it.
He allows himself another smile, relaxing a bit.
Though didn’t realize there was a whole list involved.
Mmm, there is. But don’t worry, most people have even longer ones. You’re not that bad. Alright, if you ever decide to talk, I’ll be around. Have to run now, anyway. Biurocracy in this place will be the death of me one day, I swear.
Letting out a sigh, she leaves with an armful of thick files tucked under her side, which earlier she placed on the reception desk with a heavy thud - his eyebrows furrow. That was probably the sound that caused him to drop the pen in the first place. Another thing that he hasn’t noticed in his current state of mind. That can’t be good for work - he thinks and puts the clipboard down, memories of how close he held her slowly coming back. He didn’t expect that to happen, but something inside of him said to go with it, letting him know exactly what was needed to do, to stop the tension and soothe her bruised nerves. The strain and pain so visible on her face, tugging roughly on his soul. He never wanted to see her suffer. He just couldn’t. But when he touched her like that, so close, so intimate...
Abruptly, he feels his pulse quicken as the moment is happening again in his mind, sucking him into it completely. As if an explosion in the system that he could not comprehend. Was that even normal? Or was it all just about strong emotions and the spur of the moment notion? He had no answers for it, only of how right it felt, how natural.
His head shakes a few times, shoulders tensing as if it wasn’t the first time he touched her that way, almost as if he did it a million times before. Just crazy. No one... no one has ever made him feel like that, the intensity knocking him over the head with a ton of bricks. What he felt back then was intense and seemed to reach every part of his nervous system, heating the skin, and almost rebuilding his muscles. But he was so focused on the task at hand that he didn’t have a chance, to fully take it in yet. It didn’t fully hit him until she left.
That’s why for the last 20 hours or so, he seemed to resemble some form of a zombie, his medical background and normal responses not at its highest peak. At the present time, on another shift and with a mind that bagged for a break, even more so now, since he was kicking in extra hours for when he was feeling ill. But something told him that even if he went home, it wouldn’t have helped. Without warning, he jumps in his seat, the sound of his phone vibrating, bringing him back to life. Looking at the screen, he furrows his eyebrows as the letters grow into focus.
Don’t feel too good today. Sore throat, will visit tomorrow.
So don’t come over, or I’ll sue in court.
Then just a second later, another one.
I’m serious. If you will, I’ll sing opera arias
and put you into deep, DEEP trauma.
And before he can even master a reaction or a reply, there are two more beeps. His eyebrows lift higher.
Don’t over worry. I’m okay, just won’t be able to talk
for at least 24 hours. Happened before, so relax.
I swear, I’m fine. If I’m a no-show tomorrow, then you can
come over and smother me with your kindness.
A moment of silence and the phone vibrates the last time.
Please?
He exhales slowly, trying to fight the instincts that told him to care and protect above all, his muscles ready to spring into action and come over and see her. Then he reminds himself how overprotective he can be, sometimes. His thumb hovers over the screen, and finally, he gives in, sighing heavily under the breath. Maybe she just needed her space after what happened. Perhaps they both needed it. Letting out a tortured sound, he texts a short reply.
Okay, I will hold back on house visits.
Take care of yourself, Nora.
The black screen lights up almost instantly.
Thank you.
He puts the phone away and looks up at the plain round-shaped clock hanging on the opposite wall. He didn’t even notice when the night turned into the early morning. Maybe when he sleeps in later, his mind will calm down a bit. Slowly, he gets up from the reception desk, stretching out the sore muscles, a long yawn escaping his mouth. Rubbing his eyes, he takes some papers that he will fill out later and goes for one last round on his floor, checking in on the regulars and a few new patients that were brought in today. He walks into one of the rooms and checks in on a 17-year-old that took a basketball game too seriously - well, to be more precise, someone from an opponent team did.
Raffael?
The boy looks up from his phone. Determination and consternation, visibly showing on his young face, with dark brown hair in a state of an artistic mess, pointing in all directions. He comes nearer and smiles at the bright green eyes that gaze at him, kindness and good nature still slipping through, even after all that has been through today. Raffael nods and puts down the phone with his working hand. The other one, lying immobilized on the bed in a cast that covers his arm, starting in the middle of his left hand and ending just below the elbow. He looks closer at his arm and smiles a bit. What used to be a white cast just a few hours ago was now covered in multicolored sketches and signed in names. Plus a few motivating speeches that weren’t necessarily pleasing for any parent’s eye. He tries to keep his face straight as he continues with his responsibilities.
How is your arm doing now? I see the swelling went down a bit. That’s a good sign.
It’s not bad, but the meds are wearing off, so if you hear strange howling sounds in the night, it will probably be me.
Nothing that we aren’t used to in our torture chambers.
He smiles lightly and then grows more serious.
How about the ribs?
He leans in and inspects the bandages on the boy’s left side, checking for any signs that would prove that the inside damages could have been worse than they assumed before. No one at the hospital was all-knowing, and you could never fully predict how the human body will react to things. A low moan escapes Raffael’s throat as he closes his eyes tightly, face scrunching painfully.
Yes, unfortunately, I’m afraid you are going to feel the effects of this day for a few weeks. But don’t worry, you have a strong, healthy body, and you should be evening up the scores with the other team in no time.
The boy groans and rubs his face for a while.
Jack and his fucking life choices.
Charlie lifts an eyebrow and watches his patient, both a bit amused and worried.
Do you want to expand that thought a bit?
The boy shakes his head and sighs.
Sorry, didn’t mean to be so...
That’s fine. We are all just people here. So, about your friend?
Another sigh, and an exhausted expression, that seemed to add at least five years to his still soft features.
Jack thinks he can have it all, especially when it comes to girls. Unfortunately, his new conquest already has a guy... on the other team. Let’s just say I involuntarily ended up in the crossfire.
Oh, well, that explains it, say no more. Alright, Raffael, I will make sure you will get something that will help with the pains and make it easier to sleep later. There will be someone to check up on you in a few hours.
Uhm, are you already leaving?
The boy looks troubled, giving him that stare that suggests that he doesn’t know anyone else here and needs at least one friendly face in the hell hole he got himself into.
I will be back tomorrow, no worries, and there are many other qualified medical stuff to keep you more or less sane. Plus, I wouldn’t put a twelve-hour shift in the terms classified as “already”.
Raffael’s shoulders drop a bit, but he nods in reply. Sensing they are done here, Charlie starts to walk away but then turns around slowly.
I have this feeling that something else is bothering you, am I correct?
Perhaps... yes. But it’s now a big deal. It’s just that...
He cuts off and shakes his head, picking up the phone again and scrolling through it like a robot, making it seem as if he found something extremely important there that needed his undivided attention, apparently not open for any further discussion.
Mmm, does this have anything to do with your father running around in a crazy state between your doctor and any other breathing soul he could find? And making it very clear how he’s not enjoying the service here... and the incompetence surrounding him from everywhere?
Charlie’s words might suggest sarcasm and some heavy tones, but in reality, he is just stating simple facts, his voice light and curious. Trying to take care of problems he thinks might be fixed or at least talked over. Even though he feels how exhausted his body seems and how he longs for some peace and quiet. Yet, he stays those few more minutes more, the natural impulses, making him stay and listen. The boy looks up at him from the phone he didn’t care about, his back slouching and his form getting smaller, making him seem fragile and beaten up by life. Then his fists clench tightly, and the face flinches suddenly, as he is painfully reminded of the broken bones under the cast.
My father has ambitions and goals, much bigger than I do. That’s all. He... can’t seem to understand something can go wrong, against his will and wishes.
Charlie nods and sits on the side of a nearby bed, his exhaustion fading a bit as if he was just at the right place. And listening out patiently to Raffael helped him gather his own thoughts and bring some much-needed relief. Helping other people always felt like his calling, and that has never changed, and probably never would. It was just the way that he was build.
He leans in and crosses his arms, smiling, legs outstretched and tangled loosely together. A half an hour or so won’t spare him much. There was always time to help, even if it was in the smallest of ways.
_______
Earlier the same day. Eleonore’s place.
Good. One less thing to worry about then. She sends the last text and exhales slowly. Dropping the phone to the bed and pulling her knees close to the chest, her chin resting on crossed arms as she flinches a bit, feeling the sore muscles scream in protest from the new position. It’s been a dreadful night, with nightmares and restless sleep. The strained neck, waking her up at the strangest hours, fresh bruises pulsating under the skin. But it didn’t matter. There had been too many bruises in her life for her to fall into pain too deep. It was more frustrating than anything else. And what she hated the most was the fear that came with it. The memory of last night constantly flashing before her eyes, hitting her when she thought the worst was over. She shouldn’t have shown fear to him. All that there was to do was to grit her teeth tighter and wait until he was done. It wasn’t a case of being submissive to the assaulter. She was just aware of the odds and that there was no possibility that she could take him on unless something would distract him. Which was highly unlikely.
Besides, that was the goal in this game; to listen out to what he had to say, nod, and watch him leave. He wasn’t there to abuse her physically, not really. The bruises were just there to make a point and leave the right impression behind. The abuse that came from it, directly aimed at her mental state. She was supposed to give in to the fear and cave in, giving herself away willingly to the enemy on a silver platter. But she wasn’t going to do that just yet. What would that bring her anyway? If she faced them, that would only mean a shorter sentence and the final punishment, one life for the other. Hers. All they wanted to do in the end was to be witnesses to her final demise, a little spectacle to entrain their dark bored souls.
She sighs and slowly walks to the bathroom, squinting her eyes in the harsh light above the mirror. Then she looks closer at her reflection and the skin on the neck. Holding her dark hair up and then shifting them to the back and carefully inspecting the damages, fingers of her other hand slowly pressing into the bruises, shades of green, yellow, and black painting her with mockery. She feels the pain but doesn’t even flinch, just lets the hair fall and straightens her back. Just another day in paradise, isn’t’ it? Only small damages on the flesh, nothing in comparison with all her other problems.
Feeling restless, she ventures to the kitchen and makes herself a cup of coffee, something to distract the mind and warm her cold insides. With her hands around the plain grey cup, she slowly taps against the hot ceramic surface. Repeating the action in a steady rhythm, making her think of trains passing in the night, nails playing some unknown melody as the thoughts remain preoccupied. The steam from the coffee, floating and moving in enchanting waves and patterns, soothing moments within the chaos under her skin. Her mind eventually turns thoughtful, analyzing each part of last night, putting each breath, touch, and feel on an invisible chart. It was her way of handling things, to turn off the emotions and concentrate on the facts for a while, studying what happened and asking herself questions to tame her restless soul. Focusing on the logical side of things before she could allow her emotions to roam around freely. It was always dangerous to do so, as the feelings and emotions had the strength to crash down and leave her bleeding on the floor. Always so dramatic, Eleonore. Why won’t you just admit that you’re scared and tired of it all? No one is going to give you a break from the nightmares, but at least you can admit things to yourself.
A long sigh escapes her lungs as she once again grabs onto the facts and events in her head, scene by scene. Her thoughts unwinding a bit, as all that she thinks about are the dry facts and notions. But then her body jumps unexpectedly, as if something had just hit the ground with a loud thud, her hands covered and dripping in the now cold dark liquid.
Shit, shit, shit.
She quickly wipes the mess away with an old dishcloth and throws it into the sink, her heartbeat rushing like crazy. For a moment, just for a moment, she saw that flash of red again. The same that she experienced when he touched her in the hospital, that warm body close against her back, pressing into her with a strange sense of comfort. Everything around them slowing down for just a few breaths. Like some damn fireworks, in the stillness of the cosmos. Bliss within perfect blazing silence. Her chest moves quickly up and down, lungs expanding and shrinking. Her mouth opens as she whispers without even noticing it.
Sometimes, I feel like we’re a knot... too tangled to be taken apart*.
Shaking her head, she exhales slowly, not even remembering where the words came from, only that she has heard them somewhere, many years back. Suddenly, exhaustion takes over her, numbness coloring her thoughts. Rest, it was all that she could do right now to stay afloat later. As much as she hated to admit it, the upcoming weekend was going to be a draining one, and she needed as much help as possible to survive it. If she could just...
Her arms wrap around her tightly, body shivering as she sits numbly on the sofa, legs moving under her, voice barely audible.
Turn it off.
Like she used to before those helping hands came along. But now, even in her indifferent moments that came, she still was so aware, so awake. Charlie woke up something in her that wouldn’t let her slip into nothingness. With him, she could no longer just pretend to be alive. He was forcing her not to breathe but to make her want it on her own. Slowly, her eyelids get heavy, hand covering the mouth as she tries to hold back a yawn, body sliding down. Just a little peace, and she could push through yet another day. For him, for the people that cared about her, and eventually, maybe even for herself.
_________
* “Sometimes, I feel like we’re a knot, too tangled to be taken apart.” By Kiera Cass.
https://theprose.com/post/230936/with-all-my-senses ( the beginning )
Previous chapter :
33. https://theprose.com/post/387833/resurfacing-threats
if she had waited a bit longer
she would have been handed flowers
if the bus had not arrived early then he would have seen her
if there had been no crowd he would have spotted her stepping onto the bus
if the driver had not stopped at the red light she would have been in a crash
if he had walked back to the bus stop sooner he would have spotted the bus at the light
if she had turned to look behind before the bus made a right turn she might have seen him holding the bouquet
if the driver had not slammed on the brakes as he turned the dog would have been hit
if he had called her earlier she would have asked the driver to stop and gotten off the bus
if she had not sent the text he would have thought she stood him up
if the birds had not landed near his path he would have been (almost) hit by a motorbike
if we had set a time to meet then we would not have been worried about missing the movie
if you’d showed up earlier we would be enjoying the movie in 3-D
if you ask me to see another movie let’s make sure we also know what times the movie is showing
if I buy the tickets in advance we better not miss our movie time
if we make it on time maybe we can also go shopping right after the movie
#TouteAffecteToute ©
09.09.2020
