For me, the humble desire of becoming a writer has always been there. Some characters have grown up by my side, patiently taking shape, and their stories merge with mine at least at some point. I believe writing is a way of giving a voice to the unknown and the untold, to leave it right there for humankind to grasp. That is why I have come to understand that we, the creators, don't fully own every aspect of the universe we bring to existence.
As a designated spokesperson of internal stressors, I know that the latest short story I wrote (findable here), is one of those not easily unscrambled. Therefore, I would like to use this space to have a small talk about it with you. At this point, if you have not read the short story I'm referring to, I would highly encourage you to do it before going further down on the post.
Her first years, Anna was such a sweet girl. As a lover of nature and movement, her parents could barely make her sit still for a few minutes. She used to play outside for hours, self-absorbed, abstracted. Maybe a more heedful family could have foreseen the hovering twist. Not that I'm blaming it on them.
To comprehend Anna, picture a slim, athletic teenager dancing in front of a mirror wall. Watch her stretch, curve and bend in a flowing motion that resemblances the river near her house. Feel the long hours go by and the sunset lights painting the reflects of her body. Regardless, there she stays, immersed in her dark ballet.
After a troubled childhood and thorough examination, the doctors diagnosed Anna with schizophrenia type F20.3/295.9, at the early age of sixteen. As expected, the unwanted spotlight and the lack of understanding took a toll. She quickly grew tired of a family that didn't miss a chance to point out her mental illness with each step she took. On a cold, starry night, she left her house and never came back.
Have you ever known the story of a teenager self-raised on the streets? Without giving further details, Anna went through really harsh times out there. She lost weight, experienced true poverty; she was misled to the use and abuse of undefined substances. After a few months, a voice in her head acquired more strength above the others, to the point of guiding her out of the void. Besides hearing him whisper lullabies at night for her, Anna soon started to see him across the street, or when she looked over her shoulder, more and more frequently. He slowly became a vital part of her days. Was he real? By the time, she didn't know or care. Alek helped her as no one did. Anna and Alek were one, and so they shared a limitless love.
The breakdown: an insight into the short story.
To give some closure to this post, I will now deepen on the algid moments of σχίζειν φρήν.
The warmth of a twirling sunray, guided by the wind on the bedroom curtains, slowly started to wake me up. Without opening my eyes yet, I stretched every muscle and rummaged under the sheets for a way out. The fragrance of fresh-made coffee finally gave me my sight back, along with an awakening hunger.
Sensing the cold parquet beneath my bare feet, I led to the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee. While tasting it, I tried to catch a glimpse of Alek through the window. Could he be working in the garden? Nothing. The remembrance of last night's fight frayed the thin strands of joy I had managed to gather this morning. So, I let the weight of mixed emotions carry me back to bed.
With the pass of years, Anna managed to overcome her homeless status. Before the crisis, she and Alek shared space on a small, cozy house. Keep in mind that, for a long time, Alek went wherever Anna did, his being a presence that, despite his power over her, was still a delusion.
— You don't want me anymore.
— Alek, of course I d...
He interrupted me, bursting in anger and pain. Irritation conferred his voice a harsh tone that hurt my ears.
— You're kicking me out, as you always try to do.
— I promise this is only a temporary solution. You know how much I love you.
— Then why are you kicking me out? You couldn't be more egoistic right now.
I looked down to the whitish pills in my left hand and watched the tears fall over them. I raised the glass of water and swallowed them along with the awful knot in my throat.
Eventually, Anna grew older and matured. In the process, she began to realize that the life she was living would bring more harm than good. Hence the decision she made, against all will or desire, to recommence the treatment. Not without endless tears, she endured the pain of losing Alek's beloved presence.
It's minutes after midnight now. The hazy, blurred vision of a smiling house, our beautiful home, strikes me awake violently. I close my eyes, and my mind forms memories on the remaining blackness. I can see the green droplets of his stunning irises, just as clear as if he was only centimeters away from me. But he is not here. He is never coming back. He is never coming back, so I crawl and curve my body trying to ease the pain. Nothing works.
Out of despair, I scream, I hit the edges of my enclosure. I collide with the creamy color of the walls around me. Since I can't stand the things that the paint brings back from the back of my mind, I begin to scratch it, tear it down until it turns crimson red.
My door opens, and an unknown man approaches me, needle in hand. I don't understand what is happening. Fear roots me to the ground. He sticks the hypodermic to my forearm, and I can't resist, can't find the strength to fight back. I'm too scared to move. As the haloperidol kicks in, delusions start fading; I'm losing him all over again. No more home, no more garden, no more us. I sink.
Anna can no longer stand the way things turned out. Alek is gone, and in consequence, Anna's essence is too diluted for her to hold on. The administration of haloperidol by the mental facility's nurses is the only thing that puts her mind at ease now.
See you on the other side, Alek, my love.