- By girly-d
- On 29/09/2017
- 0 comments
He was mad of course.
Clinically insane at one point. But by that stage I was borderline losing it too so we were to get on well together.
It wasn't what I expected. The living room was over-crowded and smelt of Vanilla and cigarette smoke. I hate Vanilla. The sickly sweet smell of it made me gag and I tried hard not to retch. There were cans of accelerant everywhere. Mainly lighter fuel. He told me once that he had served time in Prison. For arson.
I believed him. I tried not to look.
I slept in my clothes. I didn't have anything else. He gave me a blanket and a pillow which were later replaced with a sleeping bag, once it became apparant that the sofa may have to be on standby. I slept like a log. Exhaustion and alcohol are a winning combination.
The sofa became my place of safety - and somewhere where I could lose my mind quietly, without violent interruptions from my psychopathic ex. I returned to sleep there time and time again. Mostly in tears after yet another night of abuse from the twisted guy I was in a so called "relationship" with.
I kept going back to him - falling for his lies. I obviously had a death wish. It nearly came true once or twice. My guardian angel had her work cut out for sure. Suprised she stuck it out to be fair. I would have thrown the towel in ages ago. "Sorry love, you're on your own - forgot to mention I have a plane to catch. Gotta go. Have a nice life, bye..." or words to that effect.
I was ill of course. Dangerously so. Had been deteriorating for a while. Mentally as well as physically. I know that now. I just wasn't thinking straight. I was there in body but my mind had gone awol for a while. He could empathise.
He had been institutionalised. Hospitals, prisons. They gave him electric shock therapy. He described the horrors to me. How he used to beg them to stop. I couldn't even imagine.
I didn't sleep well. He would come in to smoke a cigarette or a joint and I would already be awake.
We'd chat. About allsorts and then he would wander off to bed, instructing me to wake him if I needed the company. I never did - that would have just been weird.
He was good to me. Respectful. Again, good job really as I don't know how I would have coped otherwise. He never overstepped the invisible line that I had drawn the first night I stayed there - although the thought that he might crossed my mind several times.
He provided the sofa and a hot shower (I rarely used it) - allowed me to wash my clothes. I provided company and my freaked out, traumatised self along with the very occasional take-away.
He compared me to Alice in wonderland. Pretty accurate. I had the "drink me" part of her journey down pat. He was The Cheshire Cat....C.C for short.
He tried to do nice things for me. He printed out photo's that I had, and made my favourite songs into a playlist.
One morning I woke up and there was my favourite photograph of Little man staring down at me from the big screen. It was meant well but it freaked me out a bit if i'm honest.
As I'm writing this i'm shuddering . It's hard to take it in looking back. It was beyond surrreal. But at the time it seemed perfectly normal.
Every day I was becoming more and more ill. I was still being hounded by the horrible guy I was with. I finally managed to leave him while his back was turned. Now I was hiding from him. He threatened me constantly. I believed every word of his threats.
My days were spent indoors, with me only venturing out to buy more alcohol once my supplies ran out, and my nights were spent sharing the life of a once clinically insane pensioner with a fondness for setting fire to things.
I didn't need drugs to alter my mind by now..it was pretty much shot to bits all by itself.
I was ill, malnourished, and could barely walk. Personal hygiene was now completely alien to me. I couldn't brush my teeth, the thought made me retch. I was sick and shaking every morning from withdrawal. I couldn't face taking a shower or changing my clothes as I couldn't bear the thought of him knowing that I was naked on the other side of the door. It just freaked me out.
I wore the same clothes daily so I didnt have to get changed. I finally took my boots off after ten days straight and my feet were black. It was horrific. I barely gave two shits. I had gone back to shower at my ex'es - at his invitation. He had been playing "Good cop" and on the surface appeared shocked at the state of me. I genuinely thought that he was being nice. Instead he sent me a gloating text message minutes after I had left, debating whether or not he should go for a second shower that day...."not because he needed to...just because he could".....knowing how much that would get to me. True to form. Straight for the jugular.
The clock was ticking. Detox was looming....I just had to keep hold of my sanity for a little while longer. I was even answering to Alice at this point and actually felt like I was her at times. Freaked out doesn't come close to I was feeling at this point.
Alice needed to leave while there was still a chance that sanity could be restored. Her little bag was packed . She was ready.
Her drivers name was Scott. He was taking her to hospital. She was relieved to see that he was driving a seat. She was pretty convinced that her ticket would have been for the sunshine bus.
Alice's time in Wonderland was over. It wasn't a minute too soon. A new kind of craziness beckoned. And this time there were drugs...
**Disclaimer** C.C was a friend to me when I needed it most. He was my protector and guardian and I am indebted to him for everything he did. He probably saved my life...this is my account of my mental health at that time only and is in no way meant to be disrespectful to him.