Letter 1: Katie

Dear Abashael,

I honestly can’t say when everything started. The colors, the voices, the music, the dreams. I’m sure it’s all been with me since the beginning, but I only really noticed that it existed when I found out it wasn’t normal. Nobody else knows about it. I’ve seen what happens to anyone who’s different; the ugly ones, the smart ones, the gay ones, the quiet ones, and the loud ones. Anyone who can’t or doesn’t walk the dangerously thin line of acceptability gets hurt. I’ve seen it happen hundreds of times in as many ways, so I keep it to myself. I walk through the crowded halls of my high school serenaded by ancient choirs, while colors that no one else has  ever seen flash around me. I smile and laugh and talk, and people like me. I use social media, hang out in all the right places, and yes, I make fun of the different ones too. Shallow, isn’t it? I know. Truth is, I’m afraid. If anyone saw what I see, I’d be damned in an instant.

My name is Katie. I’m sixteen, of average height, with straight brown hair and green eyes. I’m pretty enough, I suppose, not plain, but no cheerleader either. I dress normally, and talk the same as the others. My Instagram features everything theirs does, just the right amount of materiality and self-deprecating teen angst. I know exactly how and when to have “moods”. I watch the shows, follow the accounts, buy the brands. I’m just like them, but not because I fall for it; it’s because I’ve studied them, and I know every facet of this disguise.

After school I have lacrosse practice, and then it’s back home for a shower and schoolwork. Grab a snack in the kitchen, make light conversation with my mom, get annoyed by my little brother, pet the dog. Maintain the routine of cookie-cutter suburban family life. Head up to my room and mess around on the internet until Mom tells me to go to bed, then sneak a few more minutes until she comes back and tells me she means it, go to sleep now. I roll my eyes, plug in my phone, click off the light, and roll over.

And that’s when it all happens.

I’ve gotten good at getting through my day unfazed by all the madness. It’s made me more aware, and smarter than everyone else, I suppose, but I can turn it off, in a way. Once it’s dark, though, when the lights go out and the door is shut, the world I’ve been repressing all day explodes outward.

Maybe my imagination is overactive, or maybe I have ADHD. Maybe I’m just totally crazy. I don’t know, and I’m scared to find out. All I know is that I see things, hear things, touch and taste and smell things that no one my age has. This world is massive.

Right now it’s 3 AM and I’m just typing, trying to take my mind off of what I’ve been seeing all night. I can see shapes moving in the corner of my vision, but I know well enough not to turn and try to see them. They always disappear. I wonder if anyone else knows what these peripheral creatures are, or where they come from; does anyone else see them at all? They seem lonely, and old. I can give them attention, as long as I don’t focus on them completely; it’s as if I hand them a part of my brain to play with, and for a while they’re happy, like puppies with chew toys. I don’t think anyone has given them any attention in a long time. They’ve never hurt me, as far as I can tell, and I know what it’s like to be trapped in a place you hate.

I can hear Miles Davis playing a concert. It’s a small one, in a crowded club, and if I focus enough, I can smell the perfume and cologne and cigarette smoke. I don’t know what my senses of smell and hearing are doing there, but jazz isn’t so bad. Once, my ears were trapped in Beethoven’s study for almost two days, and I could hear him hammering the piano, swearing and slamming and scribbling. The man never slept, and for those two days, neither did I.

While my ears and nose are occupied by the club, I can see patterns of light playing on the wall when I raise my eyes from the computer screen. Fibonacci spirals tonight, in light green. They move to a beat I can’t hear, out of sync with Mr. Davis’ trumpet playing. If I try to put the two together, it makes me feel nauseous. I can feel rose petals. All over every inch of my body, I’m experiencing their soft, organic texture tonight. Almost all of my senses are occupied, and it’s disconcerting. The peripheral creatures rumble slightly as I pull away from them, twisting and turning in the corner of my eye like tiny black whirlpools. They can feel my stress as I try to focus on just one sense, calming my overloaded mind.

Tonight is a good night. Really, it can get much worse. When I fall asleep, I don’t know where my dreams will take me, and I’ll have no control. I don’t know if anyone has read this blog post, but I’m starting to get tired, and I need to know if I’m crazy. Has anyone else experienced this? Can you help me? I think it’s getting worse. I’ve seen all sorts of weird stuff on this site, and I don’t know if any of it is true, but I can’t think of a better idea. Please reply soon.

Thanks,

Katie.