A shrill ringing cut through the air, forcing the Other to relinquish his (it’s) control.
Out of time.
A lucky escape.
What the fuck am I doing?
I stepped back, removing my hands from his throat like I’d just been burnt.
As with a rising sense of horror and panic, I found myself existing again.
There were people all around us, how could they not have seen, not have understood?
Without a word, the Other’s intended victim walked away.
did he not see the danger in me?
This time it was not a game.
I wasn’t there.
And they meant to kill.
As the world carried on oblivious, I remained routed to the spot, as I fought to contain the waves of emotion that threatened to overwhelm me.
As the students around me wandered off to their respective classes, as I should have been too, I knew I had mere moments to make a choice, one that would undoubtedly alter the course of my life.
My first thought was that I should tell someone about this. I had no idea if the Other would return for round two.
That first thought was dismissed almost before it had even finished forming.
conscience subdued by self preservation.
Truth be told I was afraid.
Afraid of not being believed, even more than being labelled mad by those around me.
So I forced the feelings away, I needed to be calm, needed to be rational.
I needed to carry on like everyone else, like nothing happened, like it was just a couple of teenagers arsing about, like a part of me hadn’t been hell bent on strangling someone.
And that’s exactly what I did.
It has been several years since that day, the Other hasn’t yet tried anything like that again, I’m hoping it stays that way. I’d like to say it’s gone, but who knows? Sometimes when I’m approaching the edge of sleep, I swear I here his (it’s) voice, in the back of my mind.
I wonder just where I’d be now if that day, I’d instead found the courage to do what I suspect many will feel was the morally correct choice and admitted to the experience, instead of leaving it to fester.
About 2-3 weeks ago I was traveling on a bus, the destination wasn’t to familiar to me, so I was trying to keep my mind on the journey, but as per usual it kept wandering off into the realms of fantasy and general introspection.
Apparently another part of my mind thought this just wouldn’t do.
Enter the 10th Doctor
Ok, ok, so it wasn’t exactly David Tennant, just incase there are any jealous Doctor Who fans considering hunting me down, but the voice was very Scottish and well, male, two things I most certainly am not… Unless I’ve gotten the erge to talk to myself in different accents again, in which case the former is a distinct possibility.
Anyway, Mr. Scottish took to prompting me to pay attention to where I, or should that be we? Were going. After some time, in which I resisted asking someone if we were near our destination, on account of the fact I thought the Scottishness was going to come out, we, I? disembarked at the right stop, and he, disappeared back from wents he came.
I’m not sure what it says about me, that at no point did I find this little episode anything other than intriguing. After all, its not like it is a regular occurance and when it’s happened before, it hasn’t been pleasant, but that’s a post for another time.
Perhaps I’m finally coming to accept these little eccentricities of mine.
That’s a nice thought.
Where have all my emotions gone?
They won’t come out to play.
Not grief, or joy, or love,
They’ve all but gone away.
I struggle with emotions, this is not a new thing, looking back it started early on though I note that thought and behaviour patterns of the sort appeared around the age of 9. At around that age I started to reject physical contact with people, hugs from family etc. I distinctly remember telling myself that I wasn’t going to display such weakness. To this day I’ve no idea where the attitude came from, only that it did, and still is a part of me.
As a teenager friends thought it was a bit odd, they’d try hugging me just to see what reaction they’d get, they gave up when they realized that their repeted attempts had done nothing other than to desensitise me to the contact. Awkwardness gave way to indifference, a running theme in my life. This isn’t to say I’m completely void, more like the range is limited, expression is dulled, accept for random periods of quite intense mood, the cause of which is often unknown.
I cannot sympathize.
I can empathize on a cognitive level, but 99% of the time, I seem to lack the emotional element that is apparently supposed to tell me I should care about the understanding.
I tell myself I should care, but telling myself doesn’t make it happen, so I try to fake it… And fail spectacularly.
I sometimes have to remind myself that other people are actually affected by things such as family, relatives dying. Grief is a foreign concept for me.
I’m sure that another aspect to all of this, is the fact that consciously or not, I try to remain somewhat detached from people, a source of internal conflict.
On the one hand, there’s the part of me that believes that there is something not quite right with me and wants to change, fix it, and on the other hand, there’s the part of me that is quite happy the way it is, nothing is wrong, nothing needs fixing.
Maybe one day I’ll work it out, I’m trying.