distorted reflections

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic
I often imagine myself trapped within a glass prism. When the rays bounce off, my world is submerged in gorgeous reflections of colorful light. It’s beautiful from the inside. For those captured moments of illumination, my skin sparkles with desire, as each photon is absorbed through my damaged pores. When the light fades, however, all is stripped away. The icy chill of reality sinks in, and I long to be something that’s of worth. Trust me, the darkness is more consuming. I crave normality, yet I see through a glass, darkly, from my secret prison, into a world that can never be mine.

Submitted: June 24, 2017

A A A | A A A

Submitted: June 24, 2017

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A A A


I often imagine myself trapped within a glass prism. When the rays bounce off, my world is submerged in gorgeous reflections of colorful light. It’s beautiful from the inside. For those captured moments of illumination, my skin sparkles with desire, as each photon is absorbed through my damaged pores. When the light fades, however, all is stripped away. The icy chill of reality sinks in, and I long to be something that’s of worth. Trust me, the darkness is more consuming. I crave normality, yet I see through a glass, darkly, from my secret prison, into a world that can never be mine.

I was diagnosed with schizophrenia at the age of 15. I lived a normal life, up until then I thought. My mother told me that she always suspected that there was something wrong with me, that she just did not know what it was exactly. She finally took the plunge of getting me tested, after my antisocial behavior began to infringe on the borders of abnormal. The rest of our family rejected me thereafter, my cousins calling me a freak. I began injecting when I was 19. It was the one thing I could control in my life. If I purposefully opened myself up to the hallucinations, then perhaps I wouldn’t feel as crazy if it was by my own design. The antipsychotic medication prescribed to me brought about drowsiness and restlessness, often with muscle spasms that woke me up at night. I needed to feel in charge of my own body, so I surrendered to something that numbed reality. There were many things I wished for of my life, when I was younger. I spent hours gazing at my mother’s garden, imagining my own home one day – complete with a white picket fence, and sparrows hopping along the fresh green grass. There was also the thrill of dreaming about my wedding day, and the intimacy of love. I cannot fathom where along my life’s path it was that I drifted off plan. I don’t want to face the exact location of my downward spiral into the realm of impurity, madness, and self-abuse. What terrifies me further is that I cannot trust my own mind. I cannot trust my subconscious, or my memories. They both are stained with insanity.

My thoughts torment me with flashbacks of my youth... how I clenched my left fist, removed the syringe held between my teeth, breathed in, and then drove it into my vein; all done and repeated with skill. I laid back, as the cold deadly fluid spread through my blood. Light rays danced happily around me, and bounced off my skin. That was my daily escape. The voices quietened. All that remained was a sweet high and taste of freedom, which helped me sleep through most nights. After the first few weeks, those feelings started to fade. Darkness set in again. The intensity of pleasure I desperately sought after, became more difficult to satisfy after just one dose, so I would steal money out my mother’s purse, to feed my increasing habit.

Life changed when I met Izzy. My prism was illuminated once more, by his presence. His perfect face is indented in my memory; his sleek fingers, the gold ring on his left hand, as he would pass the needle over to me for my fix. He lured me in with desire and broken promises. I grasped at the false hope of his words, and each night we spent together, I followed the reckless path of my heart instead. I needed him. I needed his love, his time, his companionship in my addiction. I became desperate. My child-like brain rejected all rational thought. I refused to accept the impurity of the truth.

He built up a world of beauty around me, that even I knew he couldn’t live up to. Each time he drew me closer, and whispered that she will never know, I caught her sickening sweet smell on his freshly ironed clothes. I felt the nausea on my tongue, mixed with the taste of her breath. When he sneaked into their home afterwards, I was the one pounding at the glass walls around me, longing for sanity and acceptance, as he made his way back into her arms. He was never there when the screaming voices wrecked at my brain; when adultery was written across my walls, and when I struggled to remove sin’s stains from my skin. I numbed the pain by the only way I knew how; I stumbled until I found my next dose, and collapsed on my bathroom floor. I observed my life through a glass, darkly, from my silent and secret chamber, into a world that could never be mine but also one I no longer wanted to have.

“Your mother is here to see you,” I snapped out of my daydream, startled, and looked up at the woman dressed in white uniform, who interrupted my thoughts. She waltzed off, leaving a trail of musky perfume, and attended to the man with thinning grey hair throwing his puzzle pieces around in a fit. “Sierra?” A shrill voice called out my name. Mother. She looked older since the last time she had visited; her silver locks spread across her tiny head, and new wrinkles danced beside her eyes. Her skin was as white as marble, and shriveled. I kept quiet. I had nothing to say to her that was any different to the previous times. She sat down on the plastic chair before me, and fidgeted with her floral outdated skirt. She looked at me, searchingly. I sighed. “Where’s Izzy?” I asked, curtly. “Izzy, honey?” Mother frowned, and then drifted her eyes to the woman in white, as if beckoning her over. She fixed them on mine again. “Have you been taking your medication? We spoke about this the last time, dear. Izzy is not real.”

Inspired by a High school essay, 3/08/2011 


© Copyright 2017 Crystal Meth. All rights reserved.

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