In the Beginning

In the Beginning…
Like many changes in our lives, I did not notice what was happening to me until it was too late. But to be honest; it is possible that by the time my metamorphosis began, it was already too late for me. In time I must admit what I have become, but not now. You wouldn’t believe me. Not yet, but you will.  I can tell you that I knew something was beginning when they started whispering to me.
For as long as I can remember I have talked to myself. My parents first thought it was simply my childhood imagination conjuring up an imaginary friend for myself whenever I was alone. But after a few surreptitiously overheard conversations they realised that they were wrong. You see, I wasn’t talking to anyone; I was simply speaking my thoughts out loud. I wasn’t having discussions back and forth or giving my toys voices for them to play parts. I was just talking, verbalising my thoughts. It was harmless enough (according to my GP) so my parents eventually just stopped noticing it. Although, by the time I was eight, they were so caught up in hating each other and getting divorced that they stopped noticing me altogether.
And that is how it continued. I didn’t even notice it myself really; talking was a way for filling the silence if I was alone and sometimes hearing my thoughts out loud even helped me in making decisions about things.  I didn’t even realise it was odd until my neighbour heard me and laughed. I don’t like people laughing at me. But that doesn’t really matter now I suppose, he soon got what he deserved. No, I didn’t think anything was wrong until I asked myself a question as I was walking upstairs and someone answered me. The terror that enveloped me was overwhelming. My initial thought screaming through my head was that there was an intruder in my house. Yes, this may seem silly now; what kind of intruder would break into a house and then speak to the occupant? But what else was I supposed to think?

So there I was frozen in fear on the stairs, unsure of what to do and listening for the sound of footsteps running towards me to either kill or injure me. But then the voice spoke again; a deep male voice with an accent I couldn’t place. It began speaking about love and hope; telling me about a woman so beautiful just looking at her caused men to fall at their knees and women to weep. But she was ill. Desperately ill, and this voice didn’t want her to die. It was while I was listening to this, still stood on the stairs, that I started to notice an echo in the voice. Listening harder the echo became more and more pronounced until I realised that there was a second voice speaking, also male. But this second voice was talking about a journey he was about to take. It wasn’t until the fifth voice joined the cacophony of sound that I lost control of myself. I started to scream. That is where my mother found me when she came home from work; on my knees, clinging to the bannister, screaming.

And then there was nothing for a while. From what I can gather the paramedics had to sedate me very heavily before they could get me into the ambulance so I don’t remember leaving the house or arriving at the hospital. I have a hazy memory of a room with white walls but as soon as someone I couldn’t see in this empty room was telling me about their dead grandmother I must have started to scream again because everything went blank.
Until I was reborn.
Or at least that is what it felt like. My eyes snapped open and took my first breath in my new world. For a moment I didn’t dare move my head in case it agitated the voices again. But then I heard my mother’s very real voice at the side of my bed so I looked around, moving my head very slowly. She looked really tired, with dark rings around her eyes, but she smiled at me and that made me feel better. I had always felt very guilty in my mother’s presence, not because I had done something specific but I just had a general feeling that I was letting her down. I tried very hard to do things that would please her but I was never quite up to scratch and it seemed that each attempt only made things worse. But she was smiling at me now and holding my hand and for the moment that seemed OK.
In the following days doctors came and went. They all seemed to look the same and spent a lot of time talking to mother but I wasn’t really listening. I heard words like “schizophrenia” and “antipsychotic medication” but I knew that none of that was true. I hadn’t heard the voices for a while but that doesn’t mean that they weren’t there, they were waiting for me and when they did I would be ready.
I wasn’t allowed home for quite a while and by the time I was, I had started to believe that I would never go home. The nurses had told me that I would be going home that afternoon but I didn’t believe them. I knew that they didn’t like me and to be honest the feeling was mutual. Especially with the nurse who worked the night shift. I knew that she thought that I was mad and would try and withhold my medication and do other things to upset me so that then she could put me back into the cell I had first woken up in. But I was onto her and I knew that she would get what was coming to her soon.
But it turned out that this time they were telling the truth and that afternoon mother came to collect me. She was smiling, looking happy and rested as we drove home. I wouldn’t let her put the radio on, the people talking reminded me too much of the incident on the stairs but she accepted that without a word. When we got home mum took me into the living room and my father was there. They had decorated with banners and balloons that said “Welcome Home” and my mother had baked a cake. We spent the evening together which was surprising considering my parents still hated each other. But I really enjoyed it.
Everything was fine for a while. Mother took some time off work (which I have never known her to do before) and we just spent time doing normal mother daughter things like shopping together and watching movies. She was very strict with me though and supervised me when I took my medication. But after a few weeks she would give me a little more independence and after about two months I was up to going out by myself and even meeting my friend. And to be honest it wasn’t a conscious decision to stop taking my medication. I think I just forgot one day and gradually the boxes were left in the bathroom cabinet untouched. Mother still checked with me each night that I had taken them but I knew that I wasn’t lying to her because after all I didn’t need them anymore.

The voices came back so gradually that I didn’t even really notice them at first. I guess you could say that I was expecting them. I decided to properly listen to what some of them were saying. It seemed to be a random mix of male and female voices and they would often talk about family members or themselves. None of them lasted long on their own but the voices themselves never went away. And they never got any louder either. It was just a quiet constant whispering, like ghosts.
Along with the voices, other changes began to appear. I ignored them at first and so did my mother but I know that she saw. I think that she was just trying to convince herself that she didn’t. It started when my normally brown hair turned blonde. My hair had been lighter before, especially in the summer when the sun bleaches it. But this was different. It was as though someone had dyed it a beautiful golden blonde. Mother was surprised when she saw it but said that it suited me so I didn’t mention that I hadn’t done it myself. But then my back started itching. I looked in the mirror and I could see do distinct patches of skin around my shoulder blades that looked irritated and somehow, stretched. Like there was something under my skin that was trying to get out. I wasn’t scared. I think I already knew what it was.
I had my epiphany a few days later.  My mother had dragged me to a dinner party that her friends were having, “It will do you good to get out of the house more” she told me. I didn’t have a ready argument as to why I couldn’t go so reluctantly, I agreed. I knew that everyone was looking at me as we walked in, and I could sense the sly patronising tone that the women used as they were talking to my mother “…so wonderful to see you and your daughter out having fun, especially after what  you have both been through”. I wasn’t going to let it get to me though and I fixed a huge, toothy smile on my face. I didn’t even notice when my mother saw her friends looking at me and blanched slightly before laughing a high, brittle laugh and trying to get them to change the subject. We sat around the table when dinner was announced and the hostess brought around the first course; soup. I picked up my spoon to begin eating when mother touched me on the wrist and gently shook her head when I looked at her. Then the host stood up at the head of the table; a large man with a sweaty, jowly face and started to say grace. I sat there with my head bowed, not really listening until I caught the last few sentences, “…food you have provided, may the Lord protect us and show us mercy. Amen”. At that moment the voices became louder, crowding around me and filling my head with their stories and requests. I realised that they were prayers. People were praying and asking for hope and I was the one who was listening. My whole body went limp as I tried to work out what all of this meant; I didn’t even notice that everyone had turned to look at me as my spoon had clattered into my bowl. I didn’t even notice that my mother had started shaking me, asking me if I was alright, asking what was wrong. Nothing mattered in that moment because I suddenly understood. I was God’s Angel. I stood up so suddenly that my chair fell straight backwards onto the floor and fled from the room. I stopped long enough to look at myself in a mirror in the hall and I wasn’t surprised to see a golden light surrounding my head; it was halo. I ran out of the house and down the street; again, not noticing my mother following me, begging me to come back and explain what was wrong.
I ran and ran, my white dress fluttering in the breeze and the light of my halo gently lighting the street.  I knew what I had to do; I had to help people. Answer their desperate prayers. So I spent that night wandering the streets. I saw homeless men, drunk and filthy but their eyes betraying their dreams. I sat down with them, as one of them and spoke. I could see they didn’t believe me at first but then my light shone upon them and I saw that they believed. I helped young girls standing around on street corners in hot-pants and belly-tops despite the cold weather. I brought them the truth and I sensed that they thanked me.
However, not all that needed to be done was going to be easy. You see, we are not only benevolent but also avenging. I had to see my neighbour and explain that it was God’s will that he be punished for mocking others, especially his chosen ones. I did my duty with no pleasure but a satisfaction at doing the right thing.
This happened last night. It is now early in the morning and I have decided to ascend to my rightful place. I am writing this from the top of a car park, which is the highest building in the town. I actually saw my mother running past at one point, but I hid so that she couldn’t see me. She wouldn’t understand. I am going to stand at the edge of this building so that everyone will see me when I leave this world and go to God, just as an angel should. There is no danger. After all, I now have my wings.