There Are Monsters In This Bed

I'm not certain where I am. It seems a charmingly bizarre milieu nonetheless - almost ostentatious in its agrarian appeal; wild hares prance amidst the verdant expanse as peacocks roam their domain, illuminated by the breath of spring. Who is it who traverses the grounds of the estate by my side? A man I do not know, but one whom I assume to trust. Together we meander throughout the bullrush-terrain, gazing into the crystalline eyes of the torrents which surge the rockery, to which there seems no finite boundary, perhaps no existential premise at all; only an endless, lyrical fluidity. Time and space are merely ghostly reflections within this realm so departed from universal impediment: its dawning-twilight sun paints the faces of the illusory lovers amongst the rushes as we stroll towards the shade.

In quiet repose I seem dazed. My surroundings begin to swim as though somehow, without conscious use of my vice, I am losing myself again in that exquisite silver haze. Perhaps I have become the water beneath the willow upon the knoll where we now rest - reeling idly, endlessly; until the eternal present collapses, to be born again.

The most bewildering absence of any sentient lapse in memory abjures my insight as to the process of transposition from there to here: instead I have only the dullest awareness that some such shift has inspired a new locale. The walls surrounding are stony spectres - those of a Gothic cathedral, or a stately home it seems. Though in spite of obscurity of judgment a chilling surmise grows, breeds, festers within the dark recesses of my brain - a parasite of recognition. Such austere façades belong to only one place. These are the aesthetics of an obsolete mental institution.

Without the grace of consciousness I am on my back again. In my languid state there is little I can do. I writhe and protest but have no hope of retracting the violation. It has been done. Over and over and over again. I can only weep in vain as the imposing figure ascends, the growing clarity revealing if only in part, the monstrousness of his countenance: his stark, uncertainly gleaming skull, his gargantuan proportions, those oddly dawn perennial limbs whose extremities feed from my flesh like myriad mosquito tongues.

His aspect is quite changed now: suddenly the assailant has been displaced by the caress of a comforter. At first his touch is soothing as he consoles my grief, but all too soon that fresh tenderness begins to decay, as though in reverence to the exploits of his predecessor. Gentle hands transmute to a predatory grasp and the terror of realisation to my fate spawns in my veins once more. Despite my outcries I am utterly powerless again: rendered near paralysed by some inexplicable stupor.

Here lies an alabaster shell tossed upon a tempest whose heaving, plunging impetus smothers its tidal trinket.

The futility of resistance is as crushing as the gravity of his pounding torso against mine. Any plea I desperately express is renounced by advancing motion. He tells me that it is too late. Abhorrent to my impotent bids to evade such profane assault he recites: "I am already inside. It's too late."

Grappling now, impassioned by dread, I wrestle in feeble resolution to dismember the weapon of corruption between me. A vicious wrench and crimson flows fast; but without the slightest expression of his pain. As though unmoved, he observes the oozing stump almost in contempt of my fruitless efforts - a hideous shadowy form with lips as ensanguined as his severed appendage. He laughs.

I scramble, stumble, stand, in advantage of his injury. My love told me to fight back. In his spirit I lunge and dig my thumbs deep into his sockets, close to wrenching as the salivary membrane of his eyes cleave beneath my claws. I gouge them, just as I was told, and I run. I run and run and run.

What an availing escape from that place without end. By now, though my sprint is swift, he has caught my shoulder and dragged me backward again. Tumbling, I shriek in horror: his eyes are once more intact, barely bloody, replaced as though I had never torn them from his skull.

Yet somehow I have broken free from those virile clutches and continue to flee one more time to join the mass exodus of nameless, faceless figures stealing from the gates. A clinical brightness elucidates the doors beyond - even amidst my frenzy I can make out the emblazoned insignias of the hospital exit.

I am ripped in reverse despite my tenacity toward escape, each time with greater distress in accordance with every furthered advancement. Even when I reach the pillar penultimate to my freedom, some indomitable force - an army of disembodied fists - tear me, wailing, away. I can only watch as the doors ahead slide to a close.

The carved expressions of the female prison guards, Oriental in semblance, observe my isolated despair from their sentinels' posts. Finally, I resign to my own incarceration and prepare to suffer the next act of onslaught.

But in a dizzying flurry I am in accelerating motion again. My liberator has come at last! Speeding, even soaring we grace the winding passage, approaching the refuge of open air once and for all. Past the gates I am propelled upon a wheeled device - though strapped like a maniac in restraint I sense the thrill of our flight; the desperate hope of success. Past the pillars, inscribed with emblems which recall the entrance of Auschwitz - some unintelligible Germanic epitaph. Past the Japanese prison guards with their crisp, dark uniforms and identical, stony faces. Delivery is surely ours...

The sirens begin to scream. The chase begins again. Terror, terror; as the wardens advance with inhuman speed. I can only scream as the plague threatens to surround me for its final barricade. The prospect of emancipation gives way to one of doom.

I am utterly trapped by horror; embroiled in a perpetual nightmare. Though we hasten still, our pace seems failing in contrast to theirs. We are helpless.

Imminent. As imminent to freedom as we are to their clutches.

At the moment of contact I wake into torment.

Analyse

I am quite departed from a 'rational' reality and the world I am experiencing is inexplicable. Anything I say will make no sense to anyone for I am experiencing a different level of consciousness which is quite terrifying. Life is a perpetual 'bad trip' in which everything is heightened, but to an excruciating, as oppose to a fascinating degree. Here is my painstaking attempt of extracting some of the thoughts which, in their relentless chaos, are rarely within the means of articulation. Much of my mind cannot be spoken. None of what I have managed to abstractly express will make sense to the greater part of humanity, for those objective outsiders are grounded, and in being grounded are blind to the higher meaning invested in all things. 

Everything has meaning.

Everything has reason.

Everything is precious.

Everything must be perfect, in its optimum state, at all times. Harmony can only exist when every element conforms to these conditions.

There are countless consequences to any given situation; thus every circumstance, minute by minute, requires the most deliberate calculation and analysis in order to ensure that the best possible outcome prevails. The best outcome equals precision of meaning, conservation of value and providence of time. Any time not achieving something is waste - pure and selfish waste; and a void in which the torment of my own thoughts becomes intolerable.

I must be prepared for every possibility of every circumstance. If I am not prepared then everything will fall apart. The perpetual sense of urgency is excruciating - if there is one moment during which I am left without distraction from the cacophony inside my skull then I have no hope. The thoughts are worsening. I cannot counteract my thoughts alone.

Everything must be justified in relation to others.

Every action must be determined with respect to its effect on others.

Spending money on myself is only allowed if ultimately to serve the purpose of others.

Sitting is only allowed if enforced, or in a context where social company would necessitate it.

Calorie consumption is only allowed if compulsory.

Independent calorie consumption can only be justified if minus.

I must present the best version of myself at all times in order to be a positive example to others.

I must appear strong.

I must appear optimistic.

I must appear colourful.

This requires excruciating effort to suppress a torturous level of psychological turmoil; and isolation to preserve the welfare of others.

I must protect others from my despair in order that they can find hope.

The true extent of my internal distress would be intolerable for others, and also leave me more alone than ever.

If anyone were to know how I am inside then they would leave me. 

I must cause as little disturbance as possible.

I must be as least burdensome as possible.

I must not disrupt the existential balance.

I must not be seen in the same outfit more than once.

I must not wear the same combination of jewellery more than once. 

Every colour is symbolic.

Every shape is symbolic.

Every form is symbolic.

Every manifestation must also present a sentimental value - meaninglessness is wasteful.

Certain colours have certain moods which I must harness in order to try to influence my own and therefore the wellbeing of others. 

Everything must be an accurate and harmonious reflection of other things. 

Music must be complimentary to circumstance or mood and music must be all the time because silence is space for thoughts. 

Scent is determined by the various conditions of every circumstance.

Everything has reason and requires calculation. 

Substances are most effective on an empty stomach.

I must be as empty as possible at all times in order to gain the best 'escape'.

A cigarette is best when my system is as empty as possible. This entails rationing, and constant calculation of time, with the longest time, and the most physical activity as possible between each cigarette to gain the greatest 'hit' and escape from feeling 'real'. 

All tobacco scraps must be collected in case of running out of money or time. 

Everything must be saved in case.

I must never smell unpleasant in case others are upset. 

Teeth must be cleaned after every cigarette.

Teeth must be cleaned before eating to prepare the palette.

Teeth must be cleaned after eating to expunge any residual calories.

I must use the toilet immediately before every meal in case of needing it after, in which case I would have to request being accompanied to protect me from my own compulsions. Being accompanied would be a burden and I would be ashamed for needing support. 

I must remove any opportunity of hiding food in hair, pockets or sleeves as opportunity for escape is impossible to abstain from. 

I must make every effort to avoid calories without breaking the rules set by others.

I must hide my distress at the meal table as much as possible.

I am always ashamed. I am guilty for being ill. 

Food equals calories. Calories equals weight. Weight equals more of me, who I cannot tolerate.

Consumption is torture and I am ashamed of myself for finding it so.

My bedroom must be perfect at all times and a sanctuary of safety.

Order equals safety.

Cleanliness equals safety.

Comfort equals safety.

Certainty equals safety.

Symmetry equals safety.

Aestheticism equals safety.

Everything must maintain its optimum state at all times in case of being perceived by others. 

Everything must remain as safe as possible at all times in order to alleviate my own anxiety and therefore protect others from the negative impact of my distress.

Rest is wasteful and selfish. 

Any time spent doing nothing is a waste - there are only so many hours to use.

Every minute must be spent achieving.

Any moment of stillness is a moment that could be spent burning calories.

Any moment of idleness is a moment that could be spent being productive - creating, for others.

Sleep is terrifying. 

Sleep equals lack of productivity.

Sleep equals lack of activity.

Sleep is a place where the thoughts I have dampened with obsession will catch up with me and leave me in terror.

Sleeping more than 4 hours equals a bad day to follow. 

Honesty is crucial. Any falsehood is injustice.

I must never lie. Better to say nothing than to tell a lie.

Every moment must be filled with as much activity as possible in case there is no time, or no money, or no energy at a later point.

Everything must be considered with regards to the 'just in case' principle. 

Everything of value must be cherished and memorialised. 

Every moment must be captured to remind of its occurrence and its possibility.

I must take pieces of life and people with me to remind me of who I am.  

If a thought or a feeling or an event is not captured or expressed then it will be lost. 

Loss equals suffering.

Solitude is unsafe.

Solitude is where I am alone with my thoughts and I am doomed to succumb to the voices.

I must be constantly active.

Sitting down is not allowed, for no-one is telling me to.

I must be constantly stimulated with evidence of human contact to save me from being alone with my mind, which is a very frightening thing.

Solitude is terrifying.

Human contact is terrifying given that I may negatively impact others.

I must protect others at all times. 

It is when I am alone that I become overwhelmed.

Sometimes only mindless, meaningless tasks are achievable in solitude in the context of the torment of 'bad' thoughts.

I can only focus on one task in company.

In solitude the oppressive detail and pressure of rules is overwhelming and I lose myself.

There are many rules and routines that I cannot put to words because they are so constant and racing and many so obscure that they become incomprehensible. Fighting the thoughts for others is exhausting, but maintaining peace by keeping to the rules is exhausting.

Everything must be done in a specific order.

Components must consist of sets of three.

Three is a trinity.

Three is fulfils the rules of aestheticism.

Three is magic.

Routines must be completed in multiples of five.

Multiples of five are symmetrical figures: round and whole - nought is certain, five is exactly halfway between nought and ten, ten is optimum. Symmetry, or balance are crucial. Everything is calculated.

Calories must be consumed in order of calories in case some tragedy prevents completion of the meal - in which case only the lowest substance would have been consumed. 

Bubbles in hot drinks must be consumed before liquid as air is the lighter substance.

I must always choose the best possible version of everything. 

This requires calculation of every value - time, financial worth, symbolism, quality, quantity.

I must always choose the option lowest in calories for myself.

When giving, the best version must be saved for others.

Everything must be completed fully and executed perfectly. If one thing is not entirely complete or perfect then everything will start to slip. 

If I am not exactly prepared at the start of every day then the whole day will be a disaster.

If my day is not exactly prepared, filled and  accomplished then it has been a waste.

I must be constantly distracted from myself because I cannot bear myself. Every action is an effort to escape my intolerable reality.

Everything is overwhelming. 

The excruciating detail of all things is terrifying and I cannot stop noticing everything. 

Being alone is where I become overwhelmed and my head travels to another place where I don't know where I am.

I cannot cope with reality, with myself - my brain escapes somewhere completely detached from the present moment and I am no longer in my body.

I cannot remember what happened before or what is to come and nothing makes sense.

Everything is surreal and I am not sure what is going on or where I am. 

I am constantly disorientated. 

I am living on a time limit and everything must be done all at once.

Nothing I do is ever enough.

There will always be something I could have done more or better.

I must help everyone suffering.

Everyone else and everything else must come before myself. 

The suffering is growing heavier by the day.