Eerie Memoirs

Entry 2

I feel nausea in my own skin. I feel a sickness growing inside of me. On the outside, I feel completely normal and calm. However, in my head there are voices. They are telling me how wretched and dismal my very existence is. They remind me that I am nothing. They are piercing into my soul.

I cry every day. Very few days have gone by in the past decade that I have not cried. There have been so many inflictions. There has been so much pain. I just want to retire into a perennial sleep.

I feel haunted – my mind is wasted, my body is tired. Like, an old forest, I feel withered, dead from the inside. Like dark creatures live within a dead forest, malevolence and barbarism thrive within me. It’s scary how beautiful this doomed jungle is; it’s my soul, I’m telling you. It’s my very soul that is filled with darkness that torments my existence each day. It torments me enough to want to die, yet not enough to murder me. There is so much quiet here, I can hear my heartbeats like a drum. There is no air here, yet I still feel poisoned as I breathe in the everlasting depravity within this murkiness.

Every so often a bit of sunlight might pierce the withered canopy, but this ray of hope brings so much more hopelessness to my entire existence. That little spark of optimism, the very anticipation of getting out of this labyrinth of madness, is a farce. Hope is a farce.

I want it to end. This hope is not letting me take my own life. This love around me is not letting me strangle myself to death. I don’t know why but ever so often in this forest of despondency and agony, grows a little flower of happiness and hope.

I wonder how much more I must suffer to close this vile canopy to the outside world. I want this desiccated forest to consume me from within. I want that agony to come out of me as I die, and envelope my soul as I strangle myself, finding peace in every moment of breathlessness. I wish to die.

Photo courtesy - @geetshah26 (click to view his work) 

Eerie Memoirs

Entry 1 

Don't you just hate memories! They have no physical form yet they make you feel like your entire existence is unreal. In just one moment. They blur the lines of time, years and years seem meaningless. All you see is a corporal image of you floating in space and wondering how things changed and how the hell did you get where you are. You're trapped in the same nightmare you keep waking up into.

Have you ever felt the beauty of the day transform into terror? As I pass through the gardens, I feel the ghouls gathering around me. I feel that my demons have taken physical form. I am running. I don’t want them.

I am running for what seems like hours, and suddenly, I can feel an apparition gaining on me. In the endless tunnels, I see no light. “Wouldn’t you give me a chance,” it said. “Wouldn’t you rather embrace my darkness, than revel in the false friendships of those around you?” I think, it was a dream. Nevertheless, it was very real.

I woke up screaming. As I bolted every door and window in the house, I heard the doorbell ring. I opened one door, and saw my old friend. But, all I could do was stare at him. Gradually, I reached for the doorknob and let him in. As I leapt at him, wanting to fall into his arms, he changed form. I knew it. In my heart I knew it wasn’t him. Then why did I open that door? The very feeling of wanting to spend a split second with him was so momentous, that I couldn’t resist the urge to let my demons in.

I can’t remember what happened next. I remember screaming, and shouting. I feel the frenzy even as I sleep. Those demons, they live within me. Every night I as I sleep, I feel the their conscionable presence. They haunt me. They torment me. But, time and again they remind me of how life is exactly like them - deceptive, beautiful and doomed.

I find beauty in life. When every moment ends, the next begins. In that moment, we are as alive and young as we can ever be. Beauty, I believe, seems beautiful because of how much it is destined to doom. Beauty, in its every form is appreciated, because it will never last. The rose wilts, the youth ages, and landscapes crumble into dust. And that is why honesty is so important. To live each dying moment in honesty, in full strength and resolve of pursuing your life dreams. We are destined to die the very moment we are born. Then why is there so much struggle for money, wealth, glamour, power? Why is it so coveted?

Because it is so beautiful. So powerful. Because it does not last. ‘Everlasting’ is an illusion. It’s a farce. When my demons hurt me, they bring me back to the reality. They make me realize that Life is the illusion, and death, the reality, the finality.

In all these musings, I feel like I have forgotten the world. I can’t recognise my family and friends. I feel the parasomnia. And tonight I am screaming again ; tonight I yell because I want them to stay. I want my demons to stay within me, for they make me more human, more vulnerable and enable me to experience feelings with the depth and piercing certainty of every fiber of my being.

In all my oblivion, I remember my friend. I remember his smiling face, the glint in his eyes, his reassuring touch. I remember everything about him. Like he exists in the alternate form of my reality, he exists in my illusion.

He stands guard on the borders of my phantasma and mortality, ensuring that I don’t lose myself within either worlds, that I stay there, with him, by his side. He makes me feel wonderful, and strong and beautiful. He makes my world a fairytale. It’s all so good that I never know whether it is a dream or not. My demons can’t touch him. In all my oblivion, I remember him.

Love is the most abstract reality we have. Love is the most achingly beautiful thing in this world. I wonder that is why my demons don’t let go of me. May be they want a part of it. They want to experience love, and they want me to experience love with the same intensity that I experience misery. There’s nothing more exciting about being alive than having every fiber of your being soaked in emotions. I love my demons.

The very meaning of life is our very existence, in the way we are designed. Our senses, our thoughts, each of these are a key component of our consciousness. Sometimes you listen to a song on loop, because you can't figure out exactly how you feel about it. What is it about rainfall that uplifts you? What is it about love - it's energy wraps all around you. You can physically feel it shielding you from sorrows. We are born with all that we need to truly live life, in all its ways. Yet we squander for materialistic things, and that, my friend, is the tragedy. I love the very sense of doom that the human life is destined to; it is so poetic. Don’t mangle this poetry with preordained definitions of life. Discover your existence. Substantiate your life. Embrace your demons.

Spiritual Anarchy

All these years, life has been changing. A lot. Everyday. And, I feel that substance – the shift from one day to the next. It’s like a boulder added to the heap every new time.  I don’t even blink. I hear voices and cry. I am trapped inside my head. It’s dark and cold here. Sometimes, I see the light. I feel its God coming to my rescue. I am not sure. Most of my days, I have found solace in religion. I have found peace in temples, but not in the heart within.

Have you ever been in an accident? It’s like when you fully recover from a calamity, but still feel the rush of the aftermath – that’s how I feel. You know, even silence is something you can hear. It’s even deafening, at times. Have you ever seen someone writhe in pain, screaming noiselessly? It’s the greatest outcry for help from within. It’s the heart crying.

I don’t know why I feel this way. I don’t know why I write these things. I feel like I am in frenzy all the time, trying to fight everything all at once. In my head, I’ve given up. I want to physically hurt myself sometimes, to see if bodily pain is greater than the heartache that I bear. I don’t want to die, but I often feel like I want to take my own life.

I’m free-falling into the recesses of my past. I am floating somewhere, mid-air. There is an odd sense of peace as I plunge into the darkness. I feel like I belong here. This is my chaos. This was where I was always meant to be.

Alter Egos

I remember Jeremy. He was sweet, and harmless. When he said hello, it was like somebody had died. He seemed so constipated. Then I heard he stabbed that Parker kid with a butcher knife. There was no way in hell he could’ve pulled off a murder. He couldn’t even defend himself from little Jenny on her bike. The boy had no muscle.

But then, he’d done it. He’d stabbed Parker nine times. It’s been over a year that I look after Jeremy at the LK General Hospital. I’ve been meeting him for over sixteen months now. He still has no memory of that night. Then, there are times I encounter his alter-ego, Clive. He says he did it. Initially, I found it hard to believe that this could be true. But, I know when someone is telling the truth, and I saw the fear in this little boy’s eyes.

During my meetings with Jeremy, I saw different facets of his character. I met Marvin, who is the first, and the main personality living within Jeremy. He is twenty eight years old, has blue eyes and brown hair. The second personality is William, twenty one years old, British. These two are the minds that control the remaining personalities that exist within Jeremy. Clive is the mercenary who controls the frustration and hate. There was the poor criminal, Sean, who was always a victim; and, lastly, a four-year-old boy called Joey.

In the mind of Marvin, he had been raped by his step-father. He told me during our meet that he was eight or nine when it happened and he distinctly remembers the day like a movie playing in his head. What would a child do at such a helpless, tender age? He’s too young to report the incident to the police, and might be neglected by his mother. May be this was why Marvin had always been the suicidal one.


To gain a deeper understanding of Jeremy’s personalities, I met with his parents, foster care supervisor and school friends. When I visited the foster care, I noticed that boys were being bullied by young men and administrators. When I met Jeremy’s father, I knew he was the one Marvin was afraid of. He seemed like a person capable of molesting his son. He also seemed like the one who would indulge in domestic violence. I saw gashes and wounds on Jeremy’s mother’s arms and neck. When I asked her about it, she gave me that apathetic look. Well, at least I knew where Marvin and Clive came from. Jeremy was afraid, but he also wanted to act on his fear.

Jeremy was good at the arts, explained his teachers. But he was bullied for the same. The boy who Jeremy murdered, Parker, was a senior. He locked up Jeremy in the girls’ locker room and oppressed him for hours. To make this worse, he video-taped it and made it viral across the school. Imagine the anger within Clive. The crime scene had photos of Jeremy passed out in a pool of blood next to Parker’s dead body. The feeling of anger within Clive was so intense that it physically drained Jeremy.

Each personality had its own need to come out and live in the outer world.  For instance, in a dangerous situation when there is need for defence, Clive would come out and fulfil his duty. Another example is just before Jeremy was found at the crime scene of Parker’s murder. Two days ago, Sean had set out to find a new job, and over the weekend Marvin had been reading a book about Great Leaders. All these personalities had their area of expertise, and when Jeremy was in a peaceful situation; William took charge and decided who would do what. For most of the time, this arrangement worked out without a glitch.

None of these personalities shared memory with one another. Only William could see what the others were doing. Imagine every time you wake up you didn’t even know where you were, or what you were doing. I could only imagine Jeremy waking up in a street with torn clothes and wounds all over his body, absolutely clueless as to what has been going on. Of all the papers I found in Jeremy’s file, there was a detailed rap sheet of various crimes that the same criminal wouldn’t commit. He was accused of rape, shop-lifting, and gang violence. It was almost as if each personality had a violent streak to them.

Sean and Joey were more dormant. I figured they were more empathetic towards Jeremy’s life, and the few memories he hopelessly held on to. He may have had a few good memories, which could’ve been instrumental in soothing his aggravation. I wish I knew him better to help him. Jeremy’s story breaks my heart. He was found dead in his cabin few days ago. I just presumed it could’ve been Marvin or William. Weak minds like Jeremy’s can’t handle stress well. They can’t help themselves the way we do. May be Jeremy was a victim all his life, but wanted to break out of it. In his mind, Jeremy could have created alternate visions of his reaction to the oppression he was subjected to. Mysteries that are hidden in the subconscious mind of people and are not so easy to identify.

This kind of mental state is a hint at the depths and power of the subconscious mind. As humans we are the most developed form of species on this planet. We must have a wide perspective to understand the power of the mind. May be more testing into this disease might someday bring about methods to hone the central function of our body – the brain.

The brain is wider than the sky. We all have very powerful minds and, we don’t realise how our subconscious mind governs our daily life, slowly moving it towards the lifestyle we truly desire. The paradox of reality is that no image is as compelling as the one which exists only in the mind’s eye.

You can be whatever you want to be. It’s just a matter of how strongly you believe in it.