I watched myself wake from a bad dream. I had fallen asleep in my wedding dress again. I journaled remembering only one thing: he mouthed, I’ll get her back. I don’t invite him but he comes.
I watched myself walk into the kitchen. I’m going to see Schi today, I told him. Great he said, and kissed me on the forehead. His kisses felt warm and comforting. Schi was the older steadier part of me. I hadn’t gone to see her since I was 12.
I watched myself walk into the office, and then saw my younger self sitting in one of the chairs in the middle of the room, against a column. Fidgeting with my notebooks. As a child I possessed several composition notebooks, filling them with hate for my parents and tormentors at school, and love for every boy I met. I’d get older and darker, but back then what I was put through was dark enough that it urged me to cut, which my mother discovered one night as I said my goodbyes. She sent me straight into that office and along with my therapist Diane who I can see vividly in my mind’s eye I met Schi.
I watched myself sit directly in front of Schi’s desk. Diane had long retired. It’s been a while she said as I sat across from her. You look healthier. You sound different. I’ve been through a lot of changes, I said. I remember when you came to see me for that 2 year period. I was unhinged. I hated you. Yes, I remember Schi said with a laugh. So can you remember anything else from last night’s dream? The weather was bad, there were several car accidents. I was witnessing them in real time. I stood in a parking lot and watched in horror. And there was a building. The accidents were all outside the building. Earlier, I walked in because I had clearance, but it was highly contained. I was one of few in the room, I was visiting my patient. He was absolutely the most dangerous patient I’d ever had. He needed three men around him at all times. And how has it been working with patients in real life?
I watched myself type a note in my work office. That was the day I had realized that when I didn’t take care of myself the line between the patient and I became blurred. As I typed Lacey’s note, I saw my name at the top instead of hers, and continued writing the note about myself. I observed myself within the quarters, needing help, getting into fights, acting like a child to get attention. Doing nothing until I realized I had to do something.
On the way home I watched myself step harder on the gas pedal to increase my speed to 66. Sometimes if I left it there long enough Lilith would appear next to me, directing my actions. Trying to help, from one victimized woman to another.
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Thank you for reading. Some updates:
I am currently planning a trip down south to execute photography for my next zine, Emotional Horrorshow and currently writing my next book, Please Just Let Me Die. Both will be released before the end of the year.
Before the end of the year I plan to participate in a witch market with a table covered in my zines and books (new and older). Details to come.
You can buy my first zine, Devil’s Manifesto, here.
My poetry books, Folk Horror and Rural Horror, are also available here.