I Think Therefore I Am

I Think, Therefore I am

Chapter I

         AAAAAAAARRRGGGGGHHHHHHH! Clenched fists, the soul ablaze. Screaming into the nothingness, which she has claimed to be her life. Through tragedy and dismay untold by her outward appearance she is driven to madness. To pity her is futile… but to symphasize with her is credible. Boredom is lifelessness and torture is too much. Our friend is trapped within angst and dismay of her abnormal life. She is. That is why she cries out in anger. With no clear purpose to pursue her God has left her to fend for herself as she tries to find that very being whom she doesn’t know.
         I pace around the room as I watch her this spiritually overwhelmed so close to my own heart. I despise her. She is feeling the pain I never felt. At the same time I want to comfort her and lead her through what scraps of life can be scavenged. It would all only come to more pain that is too well know even by those who have the faintest idea. In This world there is nothing but pain of all sort. Pain accommodates everything and to gain, something of equal value has to be given, always applies.
         We enjoy sacred pleasures of the flesh, taste, touch, sight, hear, smell, and the unknown senses of feeling nature and knowledge. A void is pronounced within us all and we fruitlessly try to fill it. I am not surprised. That is what has compelled this young woman to insanity. She has been subject to relentless fits of hysteria and meditation to figure out why she has the void and how can she fill it. She failed to find that answer.
         She was above all a normal and average girl. There was nothing physically or mentally wrong with her and she had high hopes for a successful future in any field. When she was born…nothing can be said. Almost killing her mother in birth she was 7 ¼ lbs and healthy. As a child she has sparse separated memories of a birthday here and there, teachers, friends, family, experiences of any special meaning, it’s all there. Then there’s what people have told her about herself as a child and other various happenings.
         In kindergarden she was sent to the office for refusingto sleep. In third grade she was hit by her teacher. When she was in fourth grade she choked one of her classmates over being kicked out of a game. The list of her public life goes on but she does well at keeping her personal life a very tight secret. One so harsh secret is the…evil nature of her being. Her masturbation.
         When around seven, she began to realize that when she held the water jet function, on the hand-held faucet in the shower, up to the head of her vaginal area that it tickled. As soon as that she was hooked to this new drug. It became increasingly prominent in her life when she even did that monstrous act at her grandparents. Then she moved up as a pothead would move up to crack. She, at her grandparents, in the room given her, took small miscellaneous items from the drawer, including a small light bulb and a piece of chain.
         She screamed. The doctor’s hand was cold and it was painful. They had to knock her out. Her family is there with her ashamed and worried and she, also ashamed. It was the chain piece and it had gone to far for she lost her grip. They got it out and the ordeal is remembered with an x-ray of a little girl’s favorite toy pony.



Chapter II

         She screams and struggles against the guards who are holding her down. I watch serenely through the plate glass window. She can’t see me. I shutter as they inject the heinous fluid into her and, as they leave, see her die down but still savagely beating the cushioned wall. She goes into a trans like, drug induced sleep.
         I am merely her psychiatrist directed to her by the state but that doesn’t mean I don’t see her as a person. I do truly see her and know what happened and it was nearly indescribable the torture circumstances had inflicted on her. She is the reason I turn at night. These stories she tells me or did, I should say, burn to the very core of what’s left of my soul. I am angry she wasn’t able to go through this because I could have. The majesty of wisdom that would have sprouted is phenomenal if only it were I.          Yes, me in that position, and in her life. I hated the fact that I could not prove I understand since my experience was… limited. Growling with desperation to hang on to my job is enough. I don’t need madmen telling me that, “I don’t get it”. And then again maybe that is true and I don’t understand, to bad she has nothing to teach me.
         After that epidemic in her past she had still trouble to come as if it set off a series of bombs. Her parents soon got divorced and left her torn. She hated her mother to the very core of her soul. And her father could care less about her. All the time she was forced to spend the days with her mother who wanted to get to know her and just be with her child. It was not to be .The poor girl got an ulcer from all the years of mediocrity, stress, and self-enflicted depression. After the surgery she never could come to terms with her mother ever again.
         Soon following this her mother nearly killed her. Flinging a knife at the girl, it barely missed. And still she is forced to live with her. So who do you think is the worst of the two, the enraged girl who hates with the whole of her being or the driven to the brink mother? The mother soon began to accept her daughter less and less and the mother and younger sister viciously would assault her even tackling her to the floor. She was then left to be brought up by her older brother. But the guy that he was didn’t know or realize the need to show compassion and sympathy in her progressing life. She began to revolt against the world and everything in it. She would vigorously cut herself to ease the pain and love the touch of the scars her brave moves left.
         Then as all seemed lost and frantic she saw him. This man she had barely known rushed into her life with reckless abandon. Sure it started just with him at her school to pick her up. Then she would hangout at his apartment. Although, not known to her parents, they would do a bit more. She loved him. Heart-felt and secure love untold. It was the greatest passion she had and would ever feel again. After only less than a week of being acquainted they began having sex. Sweet, hot, new, sex and that was the only uplifting thing in her life.
         This became a continual habit for them. Each night he would meet her at the corner of the street she lived on and they would walk together to an old barn her family had once owned but was now abandoned. He would caress her shoulder and kiss her delicate cheek. Gently he’d lay her down to the bed they had set the first night they were together. There, lamps and the flowers he would bring surrounded them. She’d fold up her shirt and they'd fall into kissing each other before it was even off. Rolled onto the bed throwing her into the air and thrusting her to him contrasting the first night when so scared she barely moved. Noises of all kinds ravaged the young soul. Shivers of love flumed down her spine and tears of peace flowed through. Now she had a home in him and the only problem was no one ever mentioned a condom.
         A few months went by and he left to visit his family. She never noticed her rising stomach until the 5th month. She didn’t need to take a test she new already. She was brought down into a great bout of depression and never looked up. The baby got bigger and bigger and she became smaller and smaller. The family didn’t know about him or the baby and she decided that they never would. She drove out to the biggest intersection in the state. She then eased her way into the turn lane and once the light went red she floored it straight into the center of the highway. She woke up eight days later with ninety stitches and hooked to a ventilator. She shouldn’t have even been alive and as to her request the baby, a boy, wasn’t.
         At the realization of what she had done, she cried continuously. When he came back and found she had killed their child…he ran. He ran from her to a new life far away from anything that had anything to do with her. She desperately wanted him back and bounded in poems and love letters. It would have been enough love to fill the world but not his heart. She became overwhelmed with doubt and panic thinking she would never have joy again and wanted to end everything now. She tried to kill herself by slicing her wrists. As much blood would come out she still wouldn’t die. Hard to believe for someone who’s only 13 but, then again, with the world on the edge and hers falling apart I’m sure someone’s had worse.

Chapter III

         She left the idea of death after many failed attempts and moved to drugs. Anything that would get her mind off of her cesspool of a life would be good at this point. She told me, in the exact words, “I’d go out, smoke anything anyone would give me, and party. I can even remember someone offering to pay me ten bucks for a shot of tequila laced with ecstasy. I took the shot but not the ten, so he'd give me another" It was pitiful, these stories she would tell me. I even began to hope she would just die right there on the bare prison cell seat in front of me.
         Next was almost unbelievable even for me to hear. She found another boy far more reckless than the last and much more psychotic and to tell you the truth I think that turned her on. He’d carry her away to an old beat up house his family was squatting in. Once inside she agreed to anything. He would shout ICP lyrics while pounding his hate into her, the stereo on full blast. No one would ever ask her what she was doing because everyone already knew the sadistic bastard was using her and that she liked it. He would create voodoo rituals and try them out on her. He’d throw her around and tear at her clothes like she was a wild animal not worth his presence. She’d stay with him just so he could hurt her more in any way he felt like.
         What was stunning is that, through all this, another child was conceived. This time she wanted it but knew that when it came she would have to leave or else he might kill it. She ran home to her father knowing he wouldn’t let someone else have her child, at least he was good for that much. Her father saw her running up to the door torn, beaten, bruised, and frantic. Soon following was the maniac wanting his property. Her father beat him down enough for her to call the police but that doesn’t mean he was unharmed. He had a few broken ribs and after all that’s the least to expect after being thrown into a television.
         The cops restrain him and he was left to spend the next fourteen years in prison. Though this might have back lashed any girl she went on with her life and had the baby at a home for girls like her and would leave the baby at her mom’s while going to school. She named it Cain, as a tribute to the fallen brother. She started to fix her life and was doing well at it. She managed to get a job as a clean up girl at a nursing home. But no good thing can last, can it?

To be continued........