The nine nightmares of my own hell

Sometimes our guilt manifests in nine different stages, welcome to my hell

If you had asked me this morning what insanity was, I would of told you it was sitting in my closet, cross leggeded, eyes bulging literally trying to escape its own confinds of the mind, sweat flowing down my forehead gushing over my eyebrows down into my double barreled shotgun that nestled neatly and ever so calmly two shells, waiting to tear through the splintering confinds of my own brain while my heart races over a hundred miles a hour trying to ride the cocaine high in sync and not get ahead of itself and shut down its own organ. All the while my paranoia shatters through wall after wall of rational thinking.
I guess to the outside world this was insanity. To me it was my average Tuesday you could say. I always seemed to have found myself in this peculiar perdicument eventually. I guess I have only myself to blame. I mean what else does one expect when they breathe in and snort every ounce of mind blowing snow perceiving drug they can get their hands on? Certainly not cuddled on the couch watching some Netflix mind numbing series thinking life is just a beautiful breeze. No! What it gets you is being paranoid as f**k while being scared shirtless that something is trying to kill you so you hurdle into a corner of your closet with shotgun in tow waiting to blow the b******s head off. F*****g Tuesdays man. But this Tuesday would be the worst yet.
It's been 3 hours since my insanity ridden episode. I've actually managed to shower, God knows how I did that when I couldn't even get my brain to process how to tell myself I was a deranged drug addict just a few hours ago. The water certainly helped reduce the sweat and bring me down to a somewhat close comforting level of being for the moment. I still have the shakes unfortunately, guess I'm still rattled from my newest cosmic paranoia fueled nightmare. Eventually it stops but it's like a high you gotta ride the shakes out till the end.
I can't stand to be sober, it's when every emotion kicks back into gear and you find yourself back in that room with the voices driving you goddamn nuts. Cocaine, like alcohol, was just another way for one to escape their own brain. I'd been trying to escape mine for years. I actually got pretty damn good at it too. Although you wouldn't say so physically. I hadn't slept in weeks, barely a hour there and an hour here. The bags under my eyes were thick like permanent eyeliner I suppose that hung and smudged under the eye after a wild night out. The nightmares that lingered deep in my subconscious mind would drive anyone to the depths of insanity. My skin was pale grey as if some form of vampiric entity was slowly draining me day after day for their own gain, enjoying the slow painful torture of sucking their preys soul out.
My weight had not flourished one bit. It was like a pavement that had been unkepted and untreated that eroded quick over time, deteriorating and breaking away well it was similar to me. My weight had decreased rapidly and the worst part I didn't even care. My grey pale skin barely hung and stuck to my fragile bones it was wrapped around, my veins were like wire that acted and looked like it strapped my skin down so as to stop my skin from flying off the bones. I hadn't checked my weight in a while. Everytime I did I wasn't satisfied at the number that appeared. I've had a very nasty and bad relationship of anorexia for years now, on and off but the last few years it was permanently on. The drugs and alcohol certainly didn't help matters in fact it only sped them up faster.  Last time I checked, I was a solid 35 kgs.
Physically I was a walking embodiment of a drug addict that had long since lost his mind, body and soul.
I throwed on a baggy long sleeved grey top that hung to my collar bone like a wet t-shirt that hide my ribs away and my arms. Basically just hide my entire upper body with only my fingers sticking out. I paired it off with my ripped jeans. I suppose at one stage it was skinny but even my skinny jeans now looked baggy. F*****g anorexia I thought. Even robs me of what little fashion sense I once had. But f**k it. I had bigger and serious worries to worry about.
I can feel the bugs start to crawl underneath my skin, I see their bodies move underneath the pale grey sheet that is my skin making me start to panic. They're back I thought to myself. Goddamn not even 3 hours and the symptoms are back. I start scratching in panic up and down my arm sending waves of pain soaring through my man suit I am trapped in. Get a grip I tell myself. Not that that lack of reassurance ever helped if anything it made worse. I can hear my mind start to rattle as the chains of a 3 hour sobriety start to break within my brain. It's starting to malfunction.
My legs all of a sudden feel extremely heavy and weak as if I had dropped a ton of cement on my shoulders being unable to hold it up. I reach out and grip the bathroom sink as hard and as tight as I can. It doesn't help much when you barely have any muscle or power to hold on. My breathing becomes erratic as my heart starts racing, picking up its pace faster than I can grasp. The bugs continue to scuttle under my flesh and I'm scratching at them in desperation to get them out. I have to get it together I tell myself.
My eyelids start to drop and my vision becomes blurred once more. Everything becomes a hazy fog. Christ don't black out I tell myself. Just need to shoot up and f*****g fast. I keep to the walls as I make my way to my bedroom. My side cupboard is where I have more of my stash. But the distance from here to there, will I make it? I push with every ounce of strength I can muster within my fragile body to make it my life mission to get to my drawer beside my bed. Goddamn human machine is letting me down I think to myself.
I stumble and drag my barely conscious body as fast as I can. I should have been ahead of the curve but when you shut down your brain as much as possible every second you get a chance then you start to forget to do the fundamentals let alone manage your drug intake. After grabbing onto the walls and every piece of furniture from the bathroom to the room I finally make it to my drawer and I feel a relief jolt through my body. I made it I tell myself. I shakily open the drawer and begin shuffling through papers that have absolutely no meaning to me now. Receipts, bills and God knows what else fly over my hands as I scurry to find that bag of relief hidden in the corners of my side drawer. My boney fingers slide over a bag and the feeling is all so familiar. I wrap my fingers around the bag and pull it out of its dark confident.
It's like holding a burning melting piece of coal in one's mouth and finally after being on the brink of death you allowed to spit it out and have a ice cold glass of water. That is exactly what finding this godforsaken bag of Coke was for me, a massive relief to relieve myself of the burning torture I endure every second when I'm not strung the f**k out.
I rip open the seal of the small plastic bag and scatter the powder over my phone screen. It's been ringing and going beserk all morning but I couldn't have given a rats a*s about it. People probably thought I was dead and rightly so. It's been 3 days with no contact of the outside world. I guess being a writer that's just part of the job; total isolation.
I shuffle through my wallet and yank out a old bank card and start cutting the powder into fine thick juicy lines. It's like cutting money up and then throwing it down a puke infested toilet. Except it's Coke and it goes up my nostrils. My breathing is erratic and my heart has gone into full blown panic mode. Christ I need to do this finished before I find myself on the floor dying of a heart attack on the cold tiles below. Shakenly I hunker down bringing the straw to my nose.
I let rip. The powder shoots up into the straw as I inhale the deepest breathe I can getting every last micro inch of Cocaine flowing into my blood stream. One down. Two down. F*****g hell, the shakes are still there and rapidly out of hand. I take my third till I've literally snorted every single drop of Coke that laid on my phone screen. So much for keeping the intake handled. I see a few drops here and there of Coke I wasn't able to sniff. Gummy it I tell myself. I lick my index finger and hook the pieces of Coke to my skin and shove it into my mouth swallowing the remnants of Coke.
I can already feel the drugs begin to take hold. Jesus christ I tell myself and finally crash against the side of my bed with a thundering roar. I can hear the beats of my accelerated heart slowly receed back to normal as my vision clears and I'm able to see my hands once again in front of me. My breathing calms down and suddenly my sensors kick back into gear. I'm able to focus and take details in around me. My mind is overworking but in the good way where I'm able to do multiple things at once. But one thing happens above all else, the crawlers have stopped. Thank motherfucking f**k for that. The s**t seriously drives me insane.
I take a breather and throw my arm up onto the side cupboard dragging my hand across the wooden counter top till I feel my phone in my hand. It buzzes at the touch, f*****g touch screens. I yank my arm down and unlock my phone. I see countless messages flood my screen, missed calls and voicemails. I ignore the voicemails, hell I haven't even set up a voicemail message since I acquired this phone. Just too much of a hassle I suppose.
I see messages from my brother and sisters, just the same old bullshit messages one would come across when being off the radar for days. "Are you ok?", "Are you alive?, I'm worried!" "call me please" etc etc. Blah blah blah. Nestled inbetween these pointless questions of messages I see a message from my publishing agent. Christ I forgot about her. Been on such a long deadline to write my first draft which I still haven't gotten round to at all, I completely forgot about her after the first drug binge.
Natalie Barnes, my publisher, was so used to my antics. She was such a Saint in my defense. She knew I was a hopeless addict but never threw me under the bus since I first partnered up with her. She certainly couldn't anyway since I brought in tons of money into the business and most definitely her pocket. But still, she always had my back and had the upmost faith in my work.
I read the message. She wants me to come into Town and talk to her about my deadline that I now realise I've crossed ages ago being lost in my drug binge. F**k sakes, it's gonna be a long drive being stung out not to mention the undesirable hallucinations I'll most likely encounter on the way there. Last time I had f*****g bat's circling me around the vehicle, barely dodged a major accident because of the fuckers.
I throw myself off the floor and hover over to the front door grabbing my keys on the way out on another adventure in my outer bodied state.

The breeze shuffles in at an alarming rate as I speed like a Rabid crazed bat out of hell down the highway. It's at least keeping the copeus amounts of sweat at a bare minimum. I can feel my hands tighten around the leather strapped steering wheel holding on for dear life as if stopping myself from crashing into the gates of hell. My paranoia kicked in about two minutes once I pounced into the car. It's been going haywire ever since.
I gaze up into my review mirror and lock eyes on a black surbuban that is quite literally right on my arse. M***********s I say to myself. They've found me. My heart kicks into what feels like fifth gear going over 120 miles an hour. Jesus get a grip. I have to get a grip otherwise these guys are gonna do me in. How the f**k did they find me?? I press down on the accelerator and I feel myself take off, trying to put as much distance between me and the assassins that have been trying to get me.
As I sped up I could see the black surbuban increase with absolute brutal velocity. Christ I can't shake them. I reach my fingers around the emergency break. F**k it I think, at least I'll be taking them with me. A split second from throwing the hand break up I see the black surbuban vear off into the left lane and pass me faster than I can contemplate what's happening. I see in the driver's seat a blonde woman with sunglasses on. She seems absolutely oblivious to her surroundings as her eyes remain totally focused and locked on the road in front of her.
"f**k" I say to myself. Nothing else comes to mind as I place both hands firmly back on the steering back trying to get a grip of the car as well as my paranoid mind. Just gotta deal I tell myself. The feeling crawls back up my forearm. I look down and see dozens of what appear to be cockroaches scuttering all over my arm and body.
"Jesus Christ!!" I shout into the emptiness of the vehicle as I start wacking away at the insects throwing them off me and stamping my foot down on them as they hit the floor. The car starts to swerve from left to right as my attention is completely fixed on my bug infestation. I grip the steering wheel with one hand and continue stamping and slapping the rodents all around me. I gaze up from the body and blink to get a better view of the highway which I noticed I'm veering totally off of. I pull back as straight as I can and lower my speed.
I stare at the road ahead for a few second before darting my eyes down and noticed.. Everything was gone. All the rodents that were scuttering everywhere and the dead rodents, all gone. F**k sakes. Hallucinations I tell myself. How the f**k are they so real? It's really scary not being able to tell reality from fiction nowadays. I hate this side effect to my self medication. I'm no stranger to my mind betraying on countless occasions but when my mind starts plotting ways to get me to die, well that's when I guess I'm supposed to be worried.
The remainder of the ride feels like eternity. At once stage I thought I was on the highway to hell but eventually the exit into town comes up and a few minutes later I'm out of the car staring at my publishers building. The air feels fresher out here. I'm able to breathe and take in my surroundings. Not the best surroundings to be honest, mostly just grey buildings. I slide my wallet out my back pocket and investigate to see if I have my stash neatly stored away inbetween the note department and a small opening behind all my useless account cards. I feel the brush of plastic against my skin. Bingo.
With my reassurance all in order I lock my car and walk into the entrance of the building.
"Afternoon Miss, I have a meeting with Natalie Barnes on floor 13?" I say to the receptionist at the front desk. She's new though, a fresh face I haven't stumbled across yet at the company. She was certainly no let down in terms of looks though. Quite the attractive model type. The more I looked at her the more the question popped into my head, "Why a receptionist?" but who am I to question a persons ideal work of choice.
The young woman turned her attention from her desktop screen to me. Goddamn she must be thinking the worst of me as I see her eyes dead set on my face. She looks up and down quickly before responding. "Ms. Barnes is expecting you Sir. Elevator is round the corner to your right".
I give her a smile, least I could do I imagine since my apparence looks like absolute dog s**t. But again who else can only look this s**t, only a writer. "Thank you" I say almost stuttering over my words. She smiles at me before glancing back at her screen on the computer.
I walk away, disappearing into the enormous background of the building before I turn the corner out of view. It's hotter in this building. It's like walking into a backalley Chinese sauna. No air-conditioning yet. Goddamn thing has been broken for as long as I can remember. Maintenance isn't their top priority certainly. I look at the wall as I make my way to the elevator. I f*****g hate the color they used on it. Always have. Orange and white. I couldn't think of any other mixture of colours that was more revolting than that. My opinion just stick to black, if mixed only black and white. No other color does it for me. Once someone said I stick to the color of my heart which in this pointless case was black. Unable to care. Unable to love. Definitely can't disagree because once you live on this rock long enough feeling s**t like love just tears you apart and destroys you. Maybe I left pieces of my heart in too many people that there is barely enough to stay alive anymore.
I finally reach the elevator which seemed like forever but in reality just a few seconds really. It's like staring at a prison door, just steel and grey. F**k enough with the metaphors I tell myself and click the button that goes up. I hear the roar of the elevator from behind the door start its decent to me. F**k Natalie is gonna rip my head off in the state I look. What if she asks me for my first draft? I haven't even written my first page.
I remember starting it months ago but didn't get past the first paragraph which was essentially absolute garbage. It was just bad writing at its best. Now I don't know if I have writers block or if I just given up on trying to make a comeback as my last two books bombed so bad. Natalie sure liked them but then again maybe she just said that to not hurt my feelings and hoped in utter denial that it would bring back at least half the royalties in sales, fact is it brought barely a quarter back. Definitely not a good track record for me at this stage.
The doors clicking open alert me back to my current state out of my day dreaming thinking. I sigh and look up into the empty elevator. It was still s**t as I remember. The window glass hadn't been cleaned that well. I could see someone tried but it was obvious only half their heart was in it considering the state of the mirrors. I hated the mirrors. My reflection was the last thing I wanted to look at especially today in my chaotic state.
Just f*****g ignore it I tell myself. I lower my head and slide in before the steel doors slice me in half. I remember seeing a movie with a gruesome scene like that. For the life of me I couldn't remember the name of it right now but it stuck with me since then. Definitely cringed at it. I refuse to look up as the doors close. My stomach churns at the slight jolt of the elevator that signals its going up.
The voices are louder now in complete silence. I've gotten quite acustome to them at this stage in the game of my life. They still haven't learned to speak in a orderly fashion but still talk over one another. It's annoying but like I said I'm used to it. I make out her voice in between the chaotic ramblings of the other voices. Ashley. My heart sinks at the thought of her name etched out in front of me. It always does that when she pops into my mind.
I grab onto the railing next to me and squeeze hard as I can while breathing in heavily. Gotta get it together. Come on its just for a little while. I want to take a quick pathetic line on my hand before the doors open to normalize myself but thinking about it, it would be disrespectful to be in that state seeing Natalie any minute now.
As I'm deep in thought the elevator jerks Wildly and harsh almost driving me off balance as I grab the railing now with both hands. "F**k!!" I shout into the empty compartment. I stare at the buttons and screen level as the numbers start changing In random sync. What the hell I think to myself. Suddenly it jolts down and i fall back hitting my head on the floor as my body collapses. I struggle to maintain my balance as I sway from left to right harshly trying in desperation to get to the buttons of the elevator and push Stop. My heart, for the first time in ages starts eccelerating not from being high, paranoid or from withdrawals, but from pure fear of something bad happening.
I finally make it half way to my knees when suddenly the elevator abruptly stops and I'm flung back against the glass mirror with a shattering crack echoing around me. My vision becomes blurry and unfocused as I'm unable to see things singular but in double. I blink a handful of times getting my senses back after a Rollercoaster ride from hell. I take a deep breathe as I slam my hands against the floor pushing my dead weight off the steel platted ground.
"The f**k was that?" I whisper to myself. Everything has gone dead silent. It's like silence when one dies. Not a ringing, nor any sounds of any microscopic sound emulate anywhere. I stagger towards the elevator doors when I hear the elevator doors open with a roaring thud.
The darkness of the floor that lies beyond the elevator is illuminated by the lights of the elevator inside. I instantly feel unsafe as if I suddenly feel like I'm stuck in a different plain of existence or in this case a different building. My eyes struggle to make out anything in the near darkness. They battle to adjust to this unknown floor I've found myself on. Suddenly lights flicker and then they stay on.
No. No no no no!!! This can't be I tell myself. I'm just hallucinating. I've taken too much and now this is just another bad trip. My rational side of my mind kicks into gear. This is real. You've never had a high like this. The elevator overriding and taking on a life of its own. My heart is panicking. Pure f*****g panic. I can't be here.
This cannot be real. What the f**k is happening to me??? My breathing is deep and it hurts my lungs with every try of breathing in more oxygen around me. My head feels like it's splitting in two. More like into f*****g millions of pieces.
I start to walk towards the entrance of the elevator, slowly and with total fear. I hadn't felt this fear in years. This fear would turn the biggest man into a tiny child in a heartbeat. My eyes I'm sure looked like I was a crazed and delusional person right know struck with fear and hopelessness.
I step into a room, a hospital room. I've been here before years ago. I glance to the far right hand corner of the room. Two ladies what appear to be nurses sit behind the desk counter. The seem unfazed by my presence totally. I swallow hard but I feel a lump form in my throat. F*****g hell I say just keep it together. As I take my eyes off the nurses I hear sobbing coming from a room adjacent to the nurse station.
It's familiar sobbing and crying. I walk slowly and with as much caution as possible to where the crying is coming from. What am I doing I ask myself but unable to stop myself from inching closer to the door of the room. Suddenly I smell the intoxicating smell of death. It's a very familiar smell with me. It makes neasus to my stomach but I bite hard and proceed on.
The room lights up and I'm standing at the entrance to the hospital room. It's filled with six beds, all empty except for one. I lock my fear filled eyes on the bed that occupies its patient. I notice the woman is fragile, elderly and I feel her pain shoot through my body like an electric shock. My mouth suddenly starts quivering at the sight. I'm shaking as if I'm stuck in a ice cold blizzard unable to move as the cold temperature rushes through my body absorbing all my heat from within. I feel my eyes start to burn and swell up with tears.
"No..." I whisper. "Please no" I whisper again. I can tell my throat and my words are croaked. "Grandma?" I ask. I know it's her. My grandmother. I want to move away and bolt as fast as possible. But my legs refuse to budge.
My grandmother lies in her bed, eyes closed as if in some sort of peaceful eternal sleep. Nonetheless I see her pain in her face, in her body. I remember. Her ruptured ulcer. That's why my grandmother is here. But how can this be? This has to be a bad trip. I haven't slept in days and I'm just hallucinating somehow. I'm knocked out of my thoughts by her voice.
"Phillip?" I hear grandmother say.
I can't stop it. The tears start falling down my face. I feel my body start to break. I start to move forward towards her. I'm shaking uncontrollably and I feel my breathing get faster and faster. Goddammit, I'm either dead or in a serious bad case of having a overdose and crossing over into my own personal hell.
My tears are still flowing and I find myself next to my grandma, feeling like a 10 year old child in front of her. There was always times that came to me like thieves in the nights when I wish I could go back as far as I can with what I know now and change so much of my past and the trauma.
My guilt is busy eating at me from within standing in front of my grandmother. Guilt is a strange thing, it makes one feel the most alive but also the thing that makes a person wants to die so desperately. Because as anyone knows guilt is the worst thing to live with and it's worse when death is in the mix of it. I feel my guilt like maggots or tape worms that are busy eating my organs and it's making me want to just drop and grab my stomach and break down but somehow I stand and stare at my grandmother with tear soaked eyes.
"Hi Grandma". I've always thought of what I would say in this situation if I ever could find myself in it someday but at this present nightmare I was trapped in I couldn't think of a single thing. I didn't have to though.
"You look older. You look tired", my grandmother says almost as if she expected to see me as a older version of myself. It's normal and it's unnerving. I also feel shame flood me. But how does one prepare for such a unrealistic scenario such as this? They don't I guess. But at this stage I cannot distinguish reality from fiction.
I look at her for another moment before darting my eyes away from my grandmother unable to look at her. I gaze down at my shoes and I find myself collapsing into the chair behind me. I sink into it rather quickly almost like I feel into sludge of some kind. I feel myself sinking into it but I grip my hands on the armchair handle and try my best to regain my sanity. My eyes fly back up and lock on my grandmother. I nod in silence.
My grandmother looks at me and I see her eyes swell. She's in pain, both from her ulcer and by seeing me in this hellish horrible state. She reaches her hand to me. It's a hard action for her from what I can see. It is painful for her as I hear her breathing become a chore with more energy she put into moving her hand toward me. I reach out and meet her frail old fingers half way. I don't squeeze but instead hold it gently and softly, fearful I could do harm to her if I tried squeezing hard.
"Why did you go down this path?"
The question really kicks me to my core. It rattles me without any doubt. I've stumbled upon this question throughout my life. It always appears and speaks in the most random and strangest of times. I could never answer it, at least not fully. It's difficult because it's not a simple question so in turn not a easy simple answer. The various psychiatrists I've encountered throughout my different walks of life have a similar shared answer, stems from childhood and my traumas. Granted I do give them that it is most definitely a option and likely answer in the broad spectrum of things but it's like a maze. Too many different mental routes that lead to the core which is me presently.
"I'm sorry Grandma. I'm so-" but I can't find the words to finish my sentance. It's actually not lost but rather if I had to say another word I'd literally break apart at least that's how I felt for certain. I take a few quick breathes and mutter gibberish to myself to get myself on track again. "I remember the last time we spoke to one another. You tried so desperately to tell me something. I never gave you a chance to tell me because you were here next time I saw you. Except you were in a coma. What was it Grandma? It's haunted me for years not knowing".
The smell of death suddenly becomes intoxicating and I feel my stomach on the verge of spilling all the vile remnants couped up within me. It's blocking my nose from being unable to smell anything else, it's slithering down my throat making me gag even more. I pull my free hand up and black my mouth from ingesting the toxic putrid smell more but it's not helping.
As I'm literally stopping myself from puking my guts out I feel my other hand being squeezed hard and it's shooting through my nerves and viens sending me into a soft scream like agony. I shoot my eyes to my grandmother who is now staring directly at me. Something is different. In her eyes. Something else has taken its place within her soul. This isn't my grandmother. She has a very sadistic smile on her face now. Not like any smile I remember her having. It makes my heart go ice cold. I try to no avail to yank my hand free from her clutches but as I said it was in vain.
"You are a poison. Everyone dies around you. You are poison to anyone you love and you kill them" she gurgles at me. Black bile spits out of her mouth as the words battle to come out somewhat coherent in between the bile that only could come from some unnatural evil.
I start whimpering as I am on my knees pushing my feet into the floor to try get momentum to have distance from this entity wearing my grandmother's face. "let me go!!" I scream.
In the far background of the noise emitting all around me I hear scurried footsteps, probably guards I think to myself not really able to distinguish between what footsteps they sound like. Not that I have the time to do that as I am almost literally tearing my arm from its socket to get away from this nightmare. The steel bar barrier that keeps a patient in a hospital bed gives way and slams down allowing my grandmother to roll over and spill over me.
I let out a yell of terror as I lift my knees up to stop my grandmother half way from reaching my face trying to claw at me. She was always a bloody force with those nails I remember from childhood. Weapons that did alot of damage should she resolve to them. I grab her arms and start digging my fingers into her skin trying to halt her efforts to over power me. I feel my fingers almost sink into her skin like one trying to rip a plastic bag open with thier fingers to get something out. Black blood like goo oozes out and gushes over my arms and my top drenching me in the suffocating smell like something is rotten.

Author's Note

Still in progress, next part coming soon. Enjoy