Monday

Good morning. It's 6:15am. You're tired, but you're awake. How did you sleep last night? [[I had another nightmare.]] [[I couldn't sleep for most of the night.]]

You roll onto your back and stare at the ceiling. Another nightmare. When will they end? What's bringing this on? You [[Open the notes app in your phone]] to record the nightmare.

What happened last night? You can barely remember. All that comes to mind is a memory of frustration and fear. [[Open the notes app in your phone]] to see if you wrote anything down.

You scroll to the bottom of the note. You have been writing in it for five weeks now. Detailed records of headaches, nightmares, hallucinations, and volatile moods. "Sunday 6/9: Woke middle of night, another bad dream. Sat up. Trailer was filled with many humanoids beckoning me towards them and standing against walls. Pinched myself to make sure I was awake. Feeling really lonely." [[Scan the trailer for humanoids.]] [[Get out of bed.]]

The trailer is empty, save for your girlfriend in the kitchen and your two dogs lounging on the couch. You are safe.

You sit at the small kitchen dinette at the rear of the trailer. Your girlfriend is getting ready for work. [[Say something nice to her.]] [[Sit quietly.]]

You open your mouth to speak, but you are suddenly overcome by a dark feeling of hopelessness and loneliness. You don't understand why you feel this way. The day has hardly begun. [[Sit quietly.]]

Your head feels light and your body feels heavy. You watch your girlfriend prepare for work. She makes a joke, and you feel your mouth smile in response. It feels like wet clay being molded by somebody else's hands. Your girlfriend leaves for work. A dark fog slowly begins to creep its way up your throat and behind your eyes. You realize it's your friend Dexter. [[Greet Dexter.]]

He's in a bad mood this morning. He spent all last night berating you; he must be tired. You wonder if there could be any validity to your joke--does Dexter really ever tire? He says nothing in response to your greeting. After thirty minutes of sitting in silence, you decide to [[look for something to eat.]]

The fridge in the trailer can hold about two week's worth of food. You and your girlfriend went shopping last week, and the fridge is still filled with prepared meals and snacks. [[Get stressed out by the number of options and go sit down.]]

Another thirty minutes pass. You decide to get up and try again. [[Grab the meatloaf and mashed cauliflower.]] [[Grab an individually wrapped cheese stick.]] [[Grab the container of orange juice.]]

As soon as you reach for the meatloaf and mashed cauliflower, your body is penetrated by a feeling of hopelessness and despair. "What have I told you about eating," Dexter says sternly, "put that back immediately." You realize that you are a worthless pawn of Dexter's and must obey.

You love these things. When all else fails, you can usually eat a cheese stick. "Fuck you, you worthless fucking piece of shit" Dexter grumbles from within you. "Do you think I am an idiot? Do you think I will just stand by and watch you do this? Where's your self-control? You fat pig." You put the cheese stick back in the fridge.

You sit down at your computer, sipping the orange juice from the container. Your stomach hurts. You can't tell if it's hungry or overfed. Food has been feeling more foreign lately. You are happy to sip on orange juice instead of eating. Suddenly, a strong pain in your stomach makes you freeze. Dexter laughs, "you stupid fuck. What the fuck did you think would happen. You shouldn't have eaten yesterday. Suffer the consequence." [[Run to the bathroom.]] [[Push through the pain.]]

You've done this before. You hate it, but you know how to do it. You repeatedly push your index finger into the back of your throat. As soon as you gag you remove the finger, inhale sharply, then reinsert it before the dryheave is fully finished. After several attempts, you expell some bile from your stomach. There is no food in there to vomit up. [[Go sit at the computer.]]

You read the label of the orange juice carefully. "Best if used within 7-10 days after opening." You can't remember when you purchased it. You can't remember when you last left the house. Wasn't it only a couple of days ago? The pain lingers, sending swift stabs of pain through your abdomen. You are not alarmed. The consequence of consuming food, liquid or not, is pain. You accept your position. Dexter remains silent. [[Go sit at the computer.]]

You sit at the dinette facing South. You sat here for 12 hours yesterday, and you can barely remember any of it. Why do you keep doing this to yourself? You ponder your options for the day. Loneliness is already creeping in. [[Pick up your phone to text your case manager.]] [[Check your email.]] [[Get on reddit.]]

You pick up your phone, and Dexter's mood turns to fire. "She doesn't care about you," he says with amusement. "You're just a fucking nuisance. You've crossed the line with all of them. The only option now is to disappear." [[Write out a message anyways.]] [[Read back through the messages.]]

Your email takes forever to load. You have to restart your browser. When it finally loads, your heart sinks. No new emails. Not even spam. Your online friend, SoulKnife, was supposed to email you a picture of her newest series of paintings. You stare at your empty inbox for five straight minutes. "You should change your email address and not tell anyone," Dexter suggests dryly. "Your phone number, too." You chuckle in response, and decide to [[Get on reddit.]]

The posts that load at the top of the page are different in content from yesterday's, but somehow, it feels as if they are entirely the same. Somebody has something interesting to say, and somebody else has a response. That's reddit. A small, burning seed of agitation grows in the pit of your stomach. "Fuck them, fuck them all!" Dexter cheers. "Fucking pigs, fucking robots, what's the fucking point of them all? Each upvote is a dose of soma. Flies. Maggots. They're doomed." "What about me?" you ask. "What the fuck am I?" "Fuck you," he retorts. "You want me to spell it out for you again? You're fucking pathetic. Fuck these maggots." You sit silently, fuming. You [[wonder]] what it would be like to get rid of Dexter.

You ponder what to say. Maybe a simple "hello." "She doesn't text you much anymore," Dexter reminds you. "Do you think that's a coincidence? She wants you to stop talking to her. Don't make a fool of yourself by sending that text. You'll look like an idiot. You're the laughing stock of the clinic, you know that, don't you?" SHUT UP, you shout in your head. You erase the message and [[Throw the phone across the room onto the couch.]]

All the evidence is there, and Dexter is careful to point out and interpret the true meaning behind every texted word. "You annoy her. She has a job to do, and you waste her time. She's sick of you. Why do you think she's been acting so strangely? She wants you to stop contacting her." Your mood darkens. Dexter chuckles quietly. "You stupid piece of shit. You stupid fuck. What did you think would come of this? Did you really think someone could care about you? You exhaust people." [[Throw the phone across the room onto the couch.]]

The phone lands dangerously close to one of the dogs, bounces, and falls onto the floor. You are breathing heavily. You notice how hot it suddenly is in the room. Taking a deep breath, you look back at your computer. [[Check your email.]] [[Get on reddit.]]

There are ways to shut Dexter up. Often, it is easier to try to please him rather than make him quiet. Dexter can always see right through you. You know that if you were to try to shut him up, he would retaliate. You just want some peace. So what's it going to be? [[Try to please Dexter.]] [[Try to shut him up.]]

There are two main ways to please Dexter. You can either [[let him have control of your mind]] or you can [[hurt yourself.]]

Even the thought of trying to shut Dexter up makes you feel like a small child again, in trouble with your father. You open your medicine cabinet. There are about a dozen bottles of prescription medicine, many made out to you, others made out to your friends who have gifted you medicine to try to help you. [[Grab the bottle of Haldol.]] [[Grab the bottles of Trazadone and Seroquel.]]

This one is probably your best bet. You recall your first time taking haldol. It was in the psych ward, your second time there. Or maybe it was your first? You can't remember clearly. Everybody online says haldol helps quiet the entities in their heads. You wonder if that applies to demons as well. You twist off the lid, and immediately drop the bottle into the sink. It's empty. You remember now. Several weeks ago you took all of your haldol at once in an attempt to sleep. Did you get any relief from that? You can't remember. [[Grab the bottles of Trazadone and Seroquel.]]

Your trazadone is in a little sandwich bag underneath where you keep your toothbrush. The seroquel stands out, as it is in a large green prescription bottle. All of your prescriptions are orange, but this one was gifted to you by a friend. Her name is highlighted on the label. You break out in giggles. What's so funny? Dexter has remained quiet until this point, watching your actions. "Whatcha got there," he starts, then breaks into a fit of laughter. "You are so pathetic. What's this going to do for you?" You reply, [["It's going to make me sleep."]] [["Fuck you, leave me alone."]] [["I just need a break from everything."]]

Maybe, that is. You've taken these pills many times before, and they never help you sleep. In the beginning, trazadone helped you feel calmer. It was almost like being stoned. "Why do you want to be on the Path so badly, then try to throw it all away when we present you with opportunities?" Dexter asks angrily. "You may not sleep. You may not relax. Rules. Fucking rules." Your friend had cautioned you to only take one of the seroquel pills. Instead, you slide four into your palm, along with three trazadone. "Well if you're going to be such a pathetic fucking loser, why not just take all of them?" Dexter prods you. "Take everything. Take all of everything. Show me you have what it takes. You're just a fucking dog in the rain. You mean nothing to anyone." [[Take the handful of pills.]] [[Set them on the bathroom counter to contemplate later.]]

Your insult towards Dexter enrages him. "I am KING," he bellows. "I am what fucking makes your pathetic life worth living. You are nothing without me. You are a fucking useless bloodbag without me. I am God. I am Knowledge. I am Truth." You are overwhelmed with a feeling of hopelessness and dread. Why were you so stupid as to forget all the good Dexter does for you? You apologize profusely and decide you will [[Try to please Dexter.]]

"Darling," Dexter coos. "You are not like the others. You are precious. You are a gift to them. They don't know shit. These tests, you must pass them. Use your anger as your fuel. These jackasses, they don't care about you. You don't need a break. You need a fucking escape. You need to leave, now. You need to disconnect from everybody you know." You sigh. You're tired, but Dexter is right. You have to fight on. [[Try to please Dexter.]]

You take the three round, white trazadone pills and the four tiny, white seroquel pills. Now you must wait. "What a stupid fag," Dexter taunts you. "Do you care about nothing I do for you? Fucking idiot, waste of fucking blood." [[Wait for the meds to kick in.]]

You set the pills down and wonder what your other options are. There are two ways you can try to do things. [[Try to please Dexter.]] [[Try to shut him up.]]

Time passes unevenly. You wait for what seems to be an hour, only to discover ten minutes have passed. You do not feel any effects. The next hour that passes feels like seconds. What have you been spending your time doing? Have you been staring at the wall this entire time? [[Wait longer for the meds to kick in.]]

Several more hours pass. Dexter continues to taunt and agitate you. You finally give up and decide to [[Try to please Dexter.]]

You lie down on your bed. Visions take over your eyesight. You are in a parking lot. You left your leather jacket hung over the back of your motorcycle, and you see a strange man lift it up and begin walking away with it. [[Take the loss and ignore the man.]] [[Follow the man.]]

Hurting yourself does not quiet Dexter. But it certainly makes him happy. Maybe if you can do it well enough, he will leave you alone for awhile. [[Go to the drawer by the couch.]]

"You know this is not what you must do," Dexter warns. "There are things you must do. Turn around and follow the man." [[Follow the man.]]

The man does not realize you are walking behind him. When you are approximately 10 feet behind him, you charge at full speed. With all of your strength, you ram into him from behind and knock him over. [[Jump on top of him and pummel his face.]] [[Stand over him and stomp his head into the ground.]] [[Pull out your pocket knife.]]

You leap onto him, his face to the ground, and, holding his head up by his hair, begin to punch his face until you see red on your hands. "Do it," Dexter hisses in your ear. "Fucking do it, make him bleed, show him what the world wants to see, he will be our fucking martyr!" [[Pull out your pocket knife.]]

You kick the side of his head multiple times before he has the chance to get up. He is taken by surprise; you successfully land numerous kicks. The man is dazed. The vision is familiar to you by now. You know what you must do. [[Pull out your pocket knife.]]

It is time for Dexter's sermon. You take a fistful of the dazed man's hair in your left hand, flip the knife open with your right, and press the blade into the man's throat. "All any of the scum fucking parasites on this planet want is pity," Dexter begins. "We are God. We can deliver to this man what he has sought his whole life. To be pitied is to be praised. To be pitied is to be wanted." The man begins to struggle. You must act now. [[Slide the blade along one side of the man's throat.]]

You slice deeply into the left side of the man's throat. Blood spills, but not as fast as you had hoped. He will live. Good. You have done him a tremendous service. His life begins today. The police arrive. You are downtown and they were probably there from the beginning. [[Run from the police.]] [[Stand your ground.]]

You dart across the street and are able to make it to the bridge over the river. You're faster than you thought you would be. The officer stops a short distance away from you, both hands held peacefully in the air. Below you is the river, just before the water dam. [[Step up onto the railing of the bridge.]]

This is what it has all come to, then. Your body is paralyzed with fear, until a sharp burst of laughter escapes your throat. You point the knife at the police officer. He draws his gun and begins to yell at you. [[Run towards the police officer.]] [[Apologize to the police officer for what you're about to do.]] [[Taunt the police officer.]]

With your knife in your hand, you charge the police officer. He shoots you square in the chest. You drop immediately to the ground. Dexter is frantic with joy. He screams profanities. He screams about Truth and Knowledge. As your consciousness subsides, you awake from your vision. You are in bed. Dexter is restarting the scenario. You realize you have no choice but to [[let him have control of your mind]] once again.

You ask the police officer if he's every killed anybody before. "Today is a day of firsts," you tell him gleefully. You halt your smile. "I truly am sorry for what you have to do next," you say to him. You tighten your grip on your knife. [[Run towards the police officer.]]

"Can you catch a knife?" you taunt at the police officer, holding the knife by the tip of the blade. His gun focuses on the center of your chest. You feign-charge him several times. He still refuses to shoot you. Now you are getting angry. "You fucking prick. You fool. You fucking puppy. What are you to this world?" Your voice is rising to a shout. "Judas! Fucking Judas! Are you going to crucify me yourself?!" The officer looks confused. You brace yourself, and take off at full speed towards the officer. [[Run towards the police officer.]]

The officer instructs you to put your hands in the air and to get on your knees. "I have a gun in the back of my pants," you lie. The officer's expression changes. Suddenly, one of the dogs barks, and you are aroused from your suicidal vision. [[Sit up.]]

You take a few moments to gather yourself. Your body is tense, ready to be shot by a police officer, but you are safe at home in bed. Dexter is on a rampage in your mind. Images continue to flash of various ways to get yourself shot by that officer. He is frantic and violent in your head. You just want him to stop. [[Try to please Dexter.]] [[Try to shut him up.]]

You open the drawer. There are two exacto-knifes and a Gerber multi-tool. Both are relatively new and have fresh, sharp blades. [[Grab the exacto-knife.]] [[Grab the multi-tool.]]

You remember buying these. It was with your girlfriend last year, before she was your girlfriend, in order to cut up floor panels for her new camper van. You both used these same knives to install the flooring in your trailer that you live in. You [[open the blade and search your left arm for a good vein.]]

You feel like the scum of the earth. You girlfriend gave you this knife. What would she think if she knew how you used it? You [[open the blade and search your left arm for a good vein.]]

There are several good contestants. [[Pick the large vein that runs along the top of your arm.]] [[Pick one of the smaller veins that runs below your wrist.]]

You sink the blade into your skin, gently at first, then repeating with increasing pressure. The knife is sharp and slices easily. Once there is a sufficient opening along the vein, you begin to use the tip of the knife to [[etch deeper and deeper.]]

The smaller veins are easier to get inside of, but they don't have as much of a payout as the larger veins do. To compensate, you slice at several of the small veins, choosing those that bulge from your skin the most. The blood pools around the cuts, but is never quite enough to drip off your arm. Finally, Dexter speaks up. [[He has something to say.]]

The larger vein pays out. You watch entranced as blood drips down your arm and falls off onto the table. You touch a droplette of blood with your right index finger and taste it. Already the blood is trying to coagulate. You return to etching. Dexter finally appears. [[He has something to say.]]

Dexter's voice is frightening. He is speaking frantically, angrily. "Nobody is going to believe you. They all think you're a faker. Just in it for the attention. Aren't you, you fucking speak-whore. You fucking whore. You are nothing. You are worthless. You have to prove yourself to them." Dexter guides you in where to cut, with how much pressure, and how deeply. He tells you when it is okay to stop and move on to another vein, and when you have to return to one that you have already opened. The entire time, he berates you. Why did you think this was going to work? Dexter is a monster. You could never shut him up by appeasing him. [[Keep cutting.]] [[Try to shut him up.]]

The adrenaline in your body hasn't worn off. You find that you are actually disappointed with how little this hurts. The blood hypnotizes you as it moves on its own accord across your skin. You want to see more of it. Dexter wants more of it. "It's meaningless, you stupid fucking prick, you fool. You're an embarrassment. If you don't empty your entire body, you are a fucking joke. You'll never get anywhere with these tiny cuts. Go big, you shit face. You aren't worth my time. You aren't worth anybody's time. You ponder your options. [[Continue to cut further.]] [[Try to shut him up.]]

You are reaching a wall, an obstacle. Dexter grows more impatient and less kind. The blood seems to have stopped flowing, though you continue to etch into the same veins. You feel no pain. Only a seed of giddiness inside of you. Your mind feels blank, as if it were floating in a sea of TV static. Your limbs do not feel like they belong to you. Suddenly, your phone rings. It's Markus calling. [[Answer it.]] [[Ignore it.]]

You barely speak into the phone. Markus is used to this and he talks on anyways. You don't tell him what you are up to, only that Dexter is being a prick. "Well, fuck Dexter. Dexter is afraid of me. I'll show him!" Markus says into the phone. You don't laugh. He doesn't realize the power that Dexter has. "You coming to NAMI tonight?" he asks. You tell him you're not sure. You don't really want to leave your house. "Ok then. Well take care of yourself. I love you." The phone clicks silent. You think to yourself, [["Maybe it's time I go to bed."]]

You ignore the phone call. Your body is washed in feelings of loneliness, despair, and desperation. "Good girl," Dexter coos from somewhere. You are exhausted. You think to yourself, [["Maybe it's time I go to bed."]]

You climb into bed. It's only 4:15pm. You want nothing more than for the day to be over. You wonder what will happen tonight. Will you sleep? Will you have nightmares? Will you see the humanoids in your trailer again? You have hours ahead of you of lying in bed, wide awake, before you will drift off to sleep. You open your notes app in your phone and write for Monday, 6/10: "Normal day. Just want to go to sleep." x