Josh parked and walked into the cabin. He was greeted by Henry, the receptionist. Two years ago Josh was diagnosed with a rare disorder where every time he heard or saw an injustice toward a woman, he’d feel an electrical zap run throughout his entire body. Like a taser, the nerve impulse pervaded his whole being, and caused involuntary shaking for 5-10 hours. He found no relief and no doctor could help. In an effort to at least understand his condition he began work with a domestic violence counselor to learn more about oppression against women.
Hi Josh, he hears. You can come inside now.
Josh heard about this special person, a renowned therapist off the grid of the major city he lived in. She was known for her nontraditional approach to healing and he was anxious to start. He had been put on a six month waiting list and today he’d officially become one of her clients.
It’s a pleasure to meet you, he said. She smiled. I’ve heard so much about you in the papers, he stated. Can I be honest with you? I feel as though I’m transforming into a woman I feel what they feel so deeply I can’t walk down the street without seeing or hearing something that affects me. I’m hoping to transmute my pain. I’m hoping, with your help, to become a better person. Then I’m not sure you’re in the right place she said with a laugh. He looked puzzled. You see Josh, survival is not about becoming a better person. Survival (of the self, and of true authenticity within) is about unavailing honesty with yourself first, then others. It’s about building up the strength to do what you need to do, when you need to do it. And it’s about adopting a self-centeredness and outlier-based way of thinking, one that most people don’t believe in. So if you’ll let me, over the next year I will help you achieve the cornerstones of my practice and more. I’m ready, he said, unsteadily and completely unsure of himself.
During their third session, the therapist stood up and recited these words: There are truths you all need to know. There are truths my soul need disclose, and I don’t give a FUCK, she pointed, about what any of you think about them, she said fervently. Okay Josh, it’s your turn! The therapist cheered him on. Josh stood up and repeated. Now, she said, tell me what they are.
I hope you die before she does so that she can be free. So that she can start over and know what it is to be loved.
If you ever grab her again I’ll set your pharmacy on fire with you in it.
You’re so fucked in the head Josh! Before all of this happened I told her if she hadn’t gone upstairs with him she wouldn’t have been sexually assaulted and I pushed this narrative for years. I helped friends take pictures up women’s skirts as they came down the stairs in my lobby. I forcibly coerced women into dates by repeatedly asking why they’re giving me such a hard time about it. I’ve moaned at women from afar.
At night I can hear you fucking her. She doesn’t sleep, and I have the same thoughts every time: During the day you take her self worth and pummel it under your shoes, you restrict, you impose, you persist, you hide under the guise of care and then at night you take her sacred parts, until there is nothing left of her. You’re a disgusting human being.
I hope his wife dies and her husband dies so that the widowed two of them can be together. So she can finally know what healthy and loving looks like.
Josh collapsed to the floor.
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Thank you for reading. Here’s an update on what I’ve been doing elsewhere:
My poetry books, Folk Horror and Rural Horror, are on sale here. Use PERSONALHELL at checkout to receive a 33% discount when you buy both.
Devil’s Manifesto, my zine about the deaths we must die in order to get to the other side of ourselves, is available here.