Prologue

White

This place is dominated by white. From the walls, to the ceiling, the floor the jacket and everything else. I hated it. To top it all off, the whole facility was lit with so many flourescent lights I couldn't look at them head on. So bright its terrifying. There was a defintite emphasis on sterility; the place was practically bathed in bleach. It was so pristine, it made me shudder. In fact, when I was first shut up in this place, I'd had no doubt I would be driven to madness in only a matter of hours.

The room I was in is devoid of any objects, any scent, or any colour with really nothing to recall, yet so familiar. Still, it made me miss my designated room, with its bed soaked with the powerful smell of disinfectants - more than enough to give me a headache. But anything was better than this solitary confinement.

Its obvious no room they had given me here would be anything like the dark room I liked back home, something I can barely even remember. Dark, slightly cold and disorderly. Yet comfortable. I vaguely remember the scent of mother's detergent. Bare grey walls, save for a window I kept hidden behind the blinds I never opened. A desk set off to the side cluttered with sketches and pencils and poetry,  make up somewhat haphazardly arranged on a table near the mirror. I barely recall the reflection in the mirror, a pale face, black hair and eyes.

I haven't seen my own reflection in a long time. Sometimes I fear I'll forget everything one day, so I hold on tightly to my memories, good and bad. The facility is frightening to me. But I don't like to show my fear.

They pretend to help me. They say they want to help me. Make the fear go away. But all they ever do is make it worse. I don't like it here.

Why did you send me here mother?

Why did you do this to me?

Why did you leave me all alone?

Why did you leave me trapped in this room, with my arms strapped against my chest?

Why?

I look at the note on the counter.

Damien,

I'm going to be out this evening. I'm sure you'll be able to take care of yourself like always. Be good and, please, don't forget to eat!

Love, 

Mum

She's gone again tonight. Can't really be helped though. I don't actually mind. I like being alone. To just roam around in the dark with no one to disturb my thoughts.

I had just come downstairs. I was in my room sketching while listening to The Birthday Massacre. I suppose Mother didn't want to bother me, and instead scribbled down this note and left for work.

She works very hard to support us. All these night shifts. She has no partner. No one to help her carry the load. But it doesn't matter. Wherever my father is he can stay there. I have no need for him. 

I make another cup of coffee. My third today. Even as I repeat Chibi's voice singing lyrics in my head, my thoughts are still on my mother. I absently wondered  what life would be like if we did spend more time together. Sure she was my mother, but only by bare definition. I didn't know her. Not really. And the same went for her.

She loved me as her son. But she didn't understand me. She didn't get why I was so keen on covering myself up no matter how hot the weather was. She didn't understand why I wore black everyday. She didn't know why I was so interested in music. She didn't understand why I was so content having not a single friend in all my life. She didn't understand why I was so interested in the mournful, distorted and disturbing sketches that I'd never let her eyes linger on for long.

Instead of trying to figure me out though, she settled for simply brushing off her insecurity and telling herself that I was "okay" or that I was "just a little different."

I considered myself perfectly sane, but instead of trying to ignore the fact that she thought I wasn't, sometimes I wondered why she wouldn't simply try to figure out why. Perhaps then we could have the bond of a traditional mother and son. Not that I would know anything about it. Or even cared really. There was nothing traditional about me. I didn't understand "normal." Its not like I had anything to base it off of.

Maybe if I had, I wouldn't be here.

I'm very lonely.

Here I feel powerless. They won't even let me take my own medication. Do they think I'll take them wrong? That I'll overdose? Or are they just concerned about getting rid of her?

They've given her a name. Diana. That's what the pills are for. Suppressing her. That's why I'm here. Because Mother was scared. I'm sorry Mother. I'm sorry your little boy turned out to be a monster.

No.

Its not me.

Its her.

She sent me here because of her.

I hate her.

She did this to me.

I can feel my body convulsing and let out an ungodly sound.

"I hate you!" I scream.

I scream it over and over until they come into the room and try to "calm me down" and give me another dose. Stick me with another needle. I'll just wake up and start screaming again later. But they don't care. They just want her to stay inside. So they have something to tell Mother when or if she calls. It doesn't matter. I wouldn't get to talk to her even if she did.

I don't care. I'll sob and fight and thrash about until the drug takes affect and my mind goes numb. And when it wears off, it'll all start again. Over and over, until they decide that I can be "safe" again.

I wish I was anywhere but here.