username; Sashtato
name; Foalan
gender; Male
prompt;
It was happening again. Everything became fuzzy, the world blurred into a mess of shapes and colors while every sound merged together to form a sad moan. I felt a heavy blanket of nothing drape itself over my body, and every bit of life I had was drained out of me until not a single drop was left. Emotionless, numb, it was like a dream.
I felt the cold wrap itself around my body. Though something was wrong. When the cool air touched my skin, I developed an overwhelming sensation as if it wasn’t there. I knew it was real, but I couldn’t feel it.
There he was. My dad. “Can I have a hug?” he asked, holding back tears. Reluctant, I stepped forward and allowed the interaction to take place for the first time in months. After a few minutes of the rest of my family catching up with him, we finally went inside. It was warm. I knew it was warm, but I couldn’t feel it. The inside smelled clean, and the long brightly lit hallways seemed to never end. I hated hospital visits, always surrounded by so many emotions that my normally empathetic self cannot seem to handle. It overpowers me, and forces my body into defense mode. Well, that’s what most call it; to me its “shutdown mode.”
After turning a few corners, an elevator ride, and more corners, we arrived at the intensive care unit. We buzzed the front desk and the let us inside. “Can we see him?” my mom asked one of the strangers standing by the door. Then a familiar face peeked out of the room. My aunt, it’s been years since I’ve seen her. “Hi Foalan!” she exclaimed, trying to sound enthusiastic. Behind me I heard more excited introductions. I turned around to face my grandma. “Oh Foalan,” she started, her red swollen eyes and the tissue she clenched told be she had been crying. She tried to clean herself up while my family and I peeked into the room, and that’s when it hit. That wave of emotions I knew I wouldn’t be able to handle. My grandpa lying in the hospital bed saw us, and everyone broke into tears, trying to reconnect with each other between weeps and gasps for air.
Standing quietly in the background, I tried to not let it take over. Tried to feel something. “Come here Foalan,” he called. I shuffled through the crowd and sat down beside him. He gave me a big, strong, hug with just half of his body. He tried very hard to spark up conversations. It took every bit of willpower I had to keep it up. I talked to him, hugged him, we took pictures, but it was so hard. There was little energy left in me, and I was almost unable to continue the act. The dissociation finally took full control, and I was once again at the mercy of my own thoughts and inner nothingness. Forcing me to act normal while it kept all my energy, all my emotions locked away from me in a hidden chest deep within the dark craters of my mind where I could not access them until it gave me permission.
Unable to feel, unable to think clearly, just left to ponder over when I’ll be free from the clutches of this monster as time slowly drifts on. I’m different. I can’t control everything I do or say, I’m weak to it. When I dissociate, I become nothing but a blank slate, a completely new person still learning the complexity of emotions.
After a while we decided to take a break. Everyone stood outside his room to talk for a bit before my grandpa called me, my mom, and my sister back into the room. We closed the door behind us, and I dreaded the conversation that was about to take place.
“What’s going on, guys?” He asked, a concerned look taking over.
“There’s just, a lot,” my mom replied. “He said he told you everything.”
“Well yeah, some but I need to hear it from you too. You guys are family, Bethany.
No matter what happens.”
I start to think that maybe, just maybe, we’ll finally have someone on our side.
“You guys need to work things out.” And then that thought is gone again. I know he loves us, I know he cares I thought to myself, but it’s so hard when he doesn’t know the whole story. I wish he knew the whole story. If only it was that easy.
The conversation concluded itself, and I followed everyone out, trying to leave the room as quickly as I could.
“Wait, Foalan,” I turned back towards my grandpa. “What’s going on with you? Why don’t you want to talk to me?”
“I want to talk to you,” I responded, trying not to let him catch on. I must hide it, keep it to myself.
“You’re so different,” he said. “You used to be so lively. What happened?”
People change, I thought, why is he so focused on my past. That one story, that part of me is gone. But I didn’t dare say it out loud.
Everyone gathered outside the room and collectively agreed to meet my grandparents at their house after my grandpa is discharged. We started our way back outside, I remembered every corner we passed on our way up. The long, bright hallways greeted me again, and I couldn’t seem to shake the feeling that this was all a dream. I know it’s real, why can’t I feel it? I asked myself. The cold air stung my numb skin again when we walked back to the parking lot.
“So what’s the plan?” My dad asked
“I don’t know, are we staying at your dad’s house?” My mom responded with a question of her own.
“There should be room upstairs with me, my sister has the guest room.”
“She’s staying there?” And that’s when the arguments began. Even now no one knows what they were really about. Fighting over drugs, sleeping areas, and more consumed the small space in the car as we drove back to my grandparent’s house, my mom yelling back and forth over the phone with my dad. My sister and brother decided to stay at my grandparents’. Doing anything I could to avoid from my dad, I joined my mom at a hotel while we were staying in town.
This fight really dates back eighteen years, when my parents first met. For as long as I can remember, nothing but abuse and toxic language were what made up the bulk of their relationship. I hated my dad for the way he treated my mom. For the way he treated all of us. My brother followed closely in his footsteps, destroying everything in his path, even if that meant hurting his family and his own future. I finally found a way to get my dad out of the house, but now I had to see him again, hear his cruel voice that digs at my ears like rusted knives every time it cuts through the air. All in the name of "family" in this dire situation.
Back at my grandparents’ house, after they left the hospital, my grandpa asked me again. “What’s wrong?” I had no idea what to say to him. The question alone triggered it again; everything blurred and my reality quickly became fiction. I’m just different now I told myself over and over again. I’m okay, don’t let them know I’m fighting. Everything is normal. I’m just different now.
Above is a snippet from Foalan's private narrative. He writes stories of his life to calm him and bring him back to reality whenever he dissociates. His writing helps remind him what's real.
Foalan had a very difficult time growing up, and he still suffers the consequences of it, even though he is an adult living on his own now. He continues to fight his dissociation and PTSD, and is currently working towards becoming part of the mental health support field to offer affordable health care and therapy to others who suffer just like him.
Foalan's coat is a representation of his personality and past. Surrounded by dark colors, with just a little bit of inspiration and hope peering through in the form of stardust.
This one is particularly personal and symbolic for me, I hope you enjoyed the story and writing!
Sorry if this is too long... I got carried away cx
