How seamless seemed love and then came trouble

That trouble truly began to surface as my symptoms grew more intense. Moments would flower with incompetence. My next suicide attempt was on a morning in November of 2008. Perhaps going to my online journal at the time would be more appropriate.

11-12-2008

I woke early this morning and watched Mr. A. sleep. I hear the others in the room and they get so incarnate especially when I wake up. I hear Larry, my father, speaking out in his old fashion that he gave those hellfire sermons. They were directed at me. Those loud tones that pierced so easy. I hear my childhood moans and feel the burn from him on top of me. Sometimes I wake up and the shadows or phantoms are in my peripheral field of vision.
I can smell my father. I could this morning. That cologne drenched preachers double-handed handshake. "I'm glad you were able to make it." I hear that. I heard that this morning.

I can see him more in reflection lately. If you could see the master bath in our flat you could see why I might be frightened. I take showers with the bathroom door closed. That's like a sanctuary for my father. I believe he is a demon. This concentrated terrorism can only be a discouragement. Just a little over a month ago my sister was diagnosed with a serious illness. I have this duty that I have secretly taken up. I must take honesty out of it's sheath and try to do something about him.

His congregation has to know who is trying to lead them. Last week I could see him behind the camera he filmed my sister and I with, the polaroids of us and other children in still in his chest of drawers under crisply folded underwear, the porn in the brief case he kept his sermons in, the piercing of genital tissue with bloodcurdling three year old boy screamed fanfare. I hear moaning and whimpering a lot lately too.
When I confront him by myself I get no answers but strong, verbose incisions.
"You'll be seen just like your sister. No one will believe you."
"He won't marry a boy who was his daddy's hole to cum in."
"You're nothing but mistakenly spilt seed."

This morning I could smell dust at 3 AM. I passed out a bit earlier and looked at my love cuddled up on his side. He looks so cherubic and I feel so full of filth. I went to the kitchen and began to drink wine. I didn't want to give permission to these demonic manifestation anymore. Why should my personal demonic Cimmerian get pleasure out of my life. I felt so out of control. Then that dust. Attic dust from an old house. The smell of that crumpled gray insulation and sweat, unwashed foreskin. It was in the attic that he took me. I still freeze when I see those drop down attic stairs and that string that hangs. I tried to soften all of my abrupt heightening of senses. I drink and drink. I took my bottle of phenytoin. By the time everything started to slow the world down I was by Mr. A. in bed.

He woke up in a panic. I can't say I remember much but I know that it was the first time I started to hear things when I was with another person. I remember asking him to just tell me he loved me over and over as I fell asleep in his chest after a huge ordeal. I was so upset that my father was taking that from me know. I used to be able to curl up next to my love and then everything was alright. Stress left, everything left. I found solace in him and he was my soft place to land.

11-27-2008

I layed down to go to sleep early around 7 PM. I had a big day ahead. Mr. A has spent a long week back home in Dallas because of his Bubbe had past and for Thanksgiving. I thought it was inappropriate for me to meet his folks for the first time when a funeral is what would bring me to meeting them. Emily Post thinks it's inappropriate and so it is in my book. I woke up around 9PM.
"They're here. They're here to get you. Just like your sister."
It was such a loud declaration I sprung out of bed. I ran to the mirror to see if I could see anything moving about in the reflections. No. But I could taste that salty, sapor saliva that preambles vomiting. I looked out the window and saw police lights through the trees. I began to panic. It looked like they were surrounding the block. I called my love and asked him to research it. I crawled into a closet until he came back with an update. He stated there was nothing as far as recent news in Austin that would affirm the base element for my sheer fright.

I called the police and Mr. A, first one then the other, repeatedly over the next hour. The police offered to come to me. I said "No no. It's not necessary."
"Do you feel the need to harm someone or harm someone else?"
"No. What kind of question is that? I called to see what is going on in my neighborhood. I'll just call my fiance and take my medication."

When I got Mr. A. back on the phone he told me to walk out of our gated community and stay on the phone with him. I made a trek from our front door through the oddly warm November winds. I'm from the midwest so I had three layers on and a coat. I walked with my slippers still on. As I approached the outside and the busy street and it's empty sidewalks I was so confused. I saw them. I saw police cars.

I went home and took my seizure medication and told Mr. A. I loved him so much and that I truly couldn't bear another day without him.

Present-

I still go to bed with that same look and feel every night. The look as forlorn as a sea-captain's wife waiting for the ships to come home. That ship will never return to my shore. It hurts, still, not being his harbor. But there is comfort in knowing that he will find it in a much better place than the one he left. Now is all about taking care of me. And I am okay with that.