Thought 1 (Stupor)
The fire is out;
the house is completely burned to the ground.
Everyone made it out,
besides Lucy:
my hound.
To wake me from a slumber,
she barked until I started screaming.
I can still hear her.
I cannot be dreaming …
Lucy is the one that saved us all.
Why wouldn’t she come to my call?
I’m going to miss her ...
I’m going to miss her so much ...
I need my girl back.
I’ve had her since she was nine weeks old.
I need her back.
I wish I weren’t so cold ...
I wonder why she stayed back?
Why didn’t she run out with us all?
What was holding her back?
Why did she stay back;
did she not hear my call?
Thought 2 (Disordered)
I asked Mother if she had seen Lucy,
but she could not revisit the idea of me having a dog.
How could she not remember?
Father couldn't even recall!
What is going on?
Are they going crazy?
Maybe I’m going crazy?!
Why would they not remember my hound of almost ten years?
How could they not remember?
I need someone that knows;
I need a seer!
Thought 3 (Romantic Delirium)
After being released from the police station,
Father drove us to Aunt Melissa to finally eat some food.
I even asked her of Lucy,
but she also hadn’t a clue.
I think my family is getting worried for me.
Although I really don’t know what will ensue;
I, admittedly, don’t know what is true.
I know I had a hound;
I know I should not be confused!?
My hound of ten years is missing.
This reality is sickening.
I remember you, Lucy.
No matter what,
I will always love and miss you …
You’re on my mind, okay?
I just don’t know what to do . . .
. . . I don’t know what to do.
Thought 4 (Abhorrent Denial)
Since my parents are apparently worried for me,
they are sending me to a counselor,
-- a fucking counselor!
Ugh! Aku kacau!
They should be the ones sitting in front of a stranger!
They are nothing but gluttoned cows!
The counselor told me people have different modes of “coping”,
and after about 6 sessions with me,
She said something really cold to me ...
She said my “coping strategy” was to imagine something comforting,
to the point of a deluded manifestation:
summoning.
Though I did desire to have a hound two whole years prior to finally getting Lucy,
I am not an ignorant fool.
I completely understand what she is trying to convey:
That I am a crazy person that she can just school.
She is wrong.
They are all wrong.
I have Lucy, my dog.
Thought 5 (Apathetic Paranoia)
I am taking medicine now.
The label is calling for Seroquel.
I looked it up,
and it is used to treat psychotic patients or those with poor coping skills.
No!
Things are going too far.
I am certainly not crazy!
I can understand the modes of coping,
but this?
Absolutely not!
This just enrages me!
This turns my stomach to knots.
I feel my blood pumping aggressively through my veins.
The emotions inside,
they are making me go insane.
My face is blushing,
but not the expression of it that Darwin speaks of.
It is the blush of hostility.
It is the blush of lacking empathy.
They should be scared of me.
No!
They better be scared of me.
No ...
I ... should be scared of myself.
Thought 6 (Sobering)
Mother and Father are telling me to calm down.
I told them I refuse to take such medication,
I am just not sound.
They concurred.
Though said with little intensity;
It's absurd!
All I seek is for them to believe me.
I cannot believe they do not remember;
I cannot believe they think I’m crazy.
What is going to be next?
All my questions are those with answers only I can find within myself.
I do not have the patience for this,
but I am calmer now in this Hell.
Thought 7 (Neurosis)
Though it does still feel like my world is falling apart,
I just wish I didn’t know what that felt like.
I wish Lucy came out from that fire,
I wish she could have held bright.
I wish when Mother and Father touch me;
I didn't feel all belch-like!
I wish here;
I wish there --
I wish for a lot of things,
but you know what they say:
“Wish in one hand,
shit in the other:
see which one gets filled faster.”
Again I wish, here and there;
this has really become a terrible disaster.
Thought 8 (Gradient rumination)
I am content that we finally have a new place.
The insurance from the fire really helped my parents find their space.
Although Mother and Father are in debt again,
the new house is very nice and I really like it.
Now that I think about it,
I still can’t get over how they asked me if I wanted a dog!
I hate that I keep coming back to it,
but why would they offer to get me another?
Shouldn’t have they said “another”?
Why would they want to replace Lucy?
Lucy is irreplaceable.
Lucy was a wonderful dog.
I don’t want another hound just to replace the idea of her in my head.
That would be very wrong of me because she is very dead!
Thought 9 (Simple Reflection)
The visits to the counsellor are going terribly.
The counsellor is treating me as if I am crazy!
She has no fucking idea.
Mother and Father should be the ones in here, damn it!
Thought 10 (Investigation)
To my surprise,
they took the suggestion.
Mother and Father told me that the counsellor was astonished at the details of Lucy I gave her.
Of course, I know every little detail about her,
she was my dog for ten years!
This is going too far.
There is something that needs to be done.
Maybe I have a picture somewhere?
In my locker at school maybe?
Maybe I should go digging around the old yard,
and hope a picture flew away that didn’t get burned?
Maybe … just maybe.
Thought 11 (Memories)
I looked and looked,
and no luck.
No luck at all.
This is so irritating.
I feel the rage above all.
I am done aggressively throwing my things around.
I am beginning to calm down,
I started to put things back neatly,
and I found something:
a picture of Lucy and I in a drawer,
hidden discreetly.
Thought 12 (Derealization)
I showed Mother and Father,
but they could not see her.
Clearly she is in the picture!
I can still see her!
Why are they not seeing her?
Why am I the only one seeing her?
They’re fucking with me.
No me jodas, motherfuckers!
I’ll show you what I can do!
Thought 13 (Dysfunctional Plea)
The rage is turning into depression now.
I am finding myself alleviating the pain by cutting.
Wincing at the initial pain,
there is just no rebutting.
I don't know why?
I am cutting on the wrists, ankles, sides, and thighs ...?
... sometimes other places, too …
I don’t know why I do it,
but I yearn for it, ... in lieu.
It feels like a quick solution;
thus making it relieving.
This method of “cope” is all too familiar.
This is me escaping.
I almost forgot about cutting.
Before the fire, I was breaking.
I cannot exactly recall why, though?
Why did I result in cutting myself?
Why can't my heart just play the ukulele ...??
I want to stop,
but I don’t know where to begin.
I want to stop!
I want to enjoy my dreams again …
I have to stop.
Where to begin?
Who would do such a thing?
I don't want this to be the end.
Thought 14 (Reflective decisiveness)
It is raining outside.
Oh man, it is pouring.
The sound of it is relieving.
Here I am, soaring.
That’s normal, right?
I do not ever remember Mother or Father mentioning.
They never talked to me, though.
Their lack of connection is quite diminishing ...
I can feel this pouring rain setting the depression in further …
I think it is time …
I think it is time to give myself the ultimate relief.
No life preserver.
This may damn me to Hell,
or leave me in the abysmal of everything;
I don’t know,
and I don’t fucking care.
I’m ready,
because they need this scare.
Thought 15 (Stubbornness)
I went to the kitchen and got one of Mother’s new knives she recently purchased.
I think I remember her telling Father it was $55 by itself.
Nice and sharp;
I hope there are no churches.
This is perfect for what I want to accomplish.
Thought 16 (Innocence)
I take to the bathroom with the knife.
I remember someone in middle school told me to cut vertically,
but I don’t think that will suffice.
I don’t want to slit my wrists.
I know somewhere better..
Somewhere with more surface area,
Somewhere at the top of this sweater ...
This will ensure I will bleed out;
with there being no return.
It will be more painful,
but it is much less to discern.
The pain will likely make me second guess like a bitch,
but I know, in the end, the pain will scratch this itch ...
I wrote a note to Mother and Father.
I drew a picture of Lucy and I together,
the way I saw her.
I hope they feel bad.
I hope they grieve for a long time.
Now I remember why I cut before.
It is because my parents know not I exist anymore.
I am fixing to do it.
I am excited.
Is this wrong?
For some reason,
I am feeling slight happiness in me,
Almost like listening to a song.
I bring the knife to my neck,
and I start.
I make the slit slow,
and it hurts so bad.
Blood is going everywhere.
Why couldn’t they believe me? I didn’t want to be sad.
I can’t say a word.
My vision is starting to fade,
I am positioned in the fetal.
I take the knife away from my neck.
And, in the end,
I see a needle.
Evidence
Your Mother and Father found you approximately 6 hours after you died. The time on your death certificate reads 12:42 PM on June 28th. The autopsy revealed your death was an overdose on methamphetamine.
No knife was ever found on scene.
Further investigations revealed in your autopsy report that your body had been suffering from a complex case of sexual abuse from your parents over a course of projected years.
Your toxicological report came back with high quantities of illicit drugs in your system suggesting an addiction to multiple substances.
You were failed.
Quote
“Self-destructiveness may be a primary form of communication for those who do not yet have ways to tame their excruciating inner conflicts and feelings and who cannot yet turn to others for support.”
― James A. Chu, Rebuilding Shattered Lives: Treating Complex PTSD and Dissociative Disorders