They

11.23.2003.

It’s hard to call this my first entry. Technically, it is. At least in this notebook. But the first time I tried this was in English class. Or was it history? It’s hard to remember. Sometimes it’s hard to remember what I was doing with them laughing and taunting me.

My first real entry was on a plain white sheet of paper. I don’t remember where I put it. Don’t think I really care. I’m not sure I want to see what I scribbled there. Nothing good, that’s for sure. There’s nothing good to write when all you can hear is them mocking you. Everything you do, say, or write. The way you move or look. Nothing is good for them.

One of them is laughing about my writing now, too. It’s not like it’s anything new. They always laugh. Whether it’s loud or not.

I don’t want to sound crazy, so I rarely talk back. I don’t want anyone to hear me. But that drives me crazy. I don’t want to be locked up somewhere. I don’t want to be seen as crazy Alex.

Shut up!

---
12.25.2003.

I remember the first time it happened. I was eight.

That scared me more than anything else in my life before. There were whispers. Coming from my closet. Like every other kid that age, I thought it was a monster. I called for my parents. They checked the closet and acted like something was really there… that didn’t help me.

I could hear the voice cackling… somewhere… it wasn’t in the closet anymore. It was behind me.

I spent the rest of the night in my parent’s room.

I didn’t sleep at all.

---
02.15.2004.

It’s three in the morning, and they’re not letting me sleep. Again. I have school tomorrow. Or today. It’s probably better to say today.

We have a new teacher. Don’t think I mentioned before. Or maybe I have. Don’t know.

No. I checked. Haven’t mentioned it before. Although there are some pages ripped out, so maybe… whatever. Doesn’t matter.

The teacher, though… he’s something different. Teaches psychology, and it kind of scares me. What if he sees that there’s something wrong with me? He might tell someone. They’re worried, as well. This is the only time we think the same, and that scares me.

Maybe it would be good if he noticed.

---
03.02.2004.

“We should seduce him. Get him fired and thrown in jail.”
“Take away all his money.”
“Look at the way he’s looking at you!”
“He definitely wants to fuck you. I think you should let him, might help you ease your nerves. You’ve been really tense lately.”
“He would be even tenser if he had his dick up his ass. Think it’s that easy?”
“With his virgin ass, no, but he’ll loosen up after a while. Get it?”

They’re laughing.

I hate it.

I hate that they know my thoughts. I hate that they control my dreams and desires. I hate that they notice things faster than I do.

Yes! Okay! So maybe the new teacher is good looking. He’s not that old, and, even though I am a virgin (as they already pointed that out), I still have some… dreams… if you’d like to put it that way.

“He might give you a better grade if you suck him off.”
“True. You have been kind of falling back lately. That might help you get back on track.”
“You really think he’d like to fuck this scrawny kid? He doesn’t look like a pedophile to me.”
“People have different desires.”

---
03.19.2004.

I want to get away. I want to tear my eyes out. Rip my ears off. Pull out my hair.

But that won’t help. Cause they’re not in my eyes, ears, or hair. They are a part of me.

I need to get help.

I’ll do that. Someday. When I’m eighteen. I will. Today I looked up some psychiatrists who might help my case.

I’ve been saving money. I hope it will be enough.

---
04.16.2004.

I kissed him! And for a moment they were silent. They were shocked I actually did it. But then it all started again. They haven’t stopped. I can’t do my homework like that. I yelled at my mom… and then at my dad, too.

I’m sorry.

He said that he’s noticed something different about me. He said that I’m quiet. “Introvert,” he called it. Said that it’s what pulls him towards me.

It scared me.

What if they’re right and all he wants from me is sex? I’m new and naïve. It would be easy to get me. I guess. I know I don’t have much a willpower. I’m weak. I don’t have much of my own opinions. Somehow I always rely on them. They are my backup.

If someone teases me, I let them take over. I let them speak for me. I let them work for me. These are the times I’m thankful for having them.

---
07.28.2004.

I haven’t written anything in a while. I’ve been busy. Preoccupied with other things. It’s summer, after all.

He asked me out. He got my phone number and asked me out. Being an easy target, I agreed.

They didn’t leave me alone for days. Roaring, laughing, making inappropriate noises.

I broke my mirror and cut my hand. There’s a scar now. It still has its red color.

He’s so open about himself. It hurts that I can’t share everything with him, like he’s sharing everything with me. He would think I’m crazy. He would leave me.

---
08.17.2004.

“You loved it. You loved it. So much. Already thinking about the next time? Slut.”
“Oh, oh, oh. Jack, yes.”
“You sounded ridiculous.”
“I bet he was lying, saying he loves the sounds you make.”
“Although you could be great for porn. I’m sure they would appreciate your pathetic moans.”
“And that’s all from just his fingers. Don’t even want to know how disgusting you’ll sound when he’s actually fucking you.”
“I will cut off my ears before that.”
“You don’t have ears, moron!”

They’re fighting now.

My eyes are just as wet as the window from the rain. It was all great. He didn’t rush anything and yes, I loved it. But they ruined it. They always do. They can never be understanding. Or at least shut up.

I hate them.

I hate myself.

---
09.26.2004.

I’ve come to a conclusion that I hate movies involving mental illnesses. They all look so fake. They don’t know how it sounds, looks, and feels.

I was laughing with them. On the inside. But that’s where they are, too. So we were laughing together.

I feel crazy. Like the people from the movie. Only more realistic. I’m not screaming and tearing my hair out, scratching my arms or face.

Jack was showing it to us in the class. I wanted to tell him how ridiculous it is, but they said ‘no.’ I understood. I couldn’t just go up to him and say how fake this movie is. How wrong it is.

---
12.04.2004.

I let him do this. I let him take me. It sounds stupid.

Call me slut all you want! You’re not real and will never know how amazing it felt! That’s why you’re making fun of me! Cause you’re jealous!

“I'm glad that I didn’t have a dick up my ass.”
“Didn’t look like you were enjoying it at first.”
“Those were tears of joy, you moron. You really know nothing about how Alexander here works.”

He was slow. He gave me the time I needed. And, yes, maybe I did let some tears show, but he didn’t make fun of me because of that. He understood. He kissed me; let me adjust.

I wish I could tell him.

I have an appointment next week. Right after my birthday. Hope she won’t feel the need to inform my parents. I’ll be eighteen, after all. No need to call them or something.

I probably should’ve told Jack, but I’m scared. As stupid as it sounds, he really is the only good thing that’s happened to me in a really long time.

---
12.17.2004.

This diary is stupid. Makes me feel like a twelve-year-old girl who writes a diary about all her crushes, teachers who have been mean to her or her friends, some new shoes or dress she had bought.

But this isn’t that type of diary. It’s ruled by them. If it wasn’t for them, I never would’ve started to write this stupid thing. Sometimes it helps, but sometimes not. Sometimes it just spikes everything up even more. I don’t want that anymore.

I’m hungry.

I don’t want to eat. The thought of food makes me nauseous.

But I’m hungry.

---
12.31.2004.

Jack asked me if I’m fine. Of course he would notice something. I don’t let him take off my shirt. My hip bones, collarbones and ribs are more noticeable than before.

I let them take over. They were mean. Like always. They hurt Jack. Emotionally. But that’s the worst kind of pain.

I pushed them away and apologized. He was confused at first, but I said that I’m confused. That everything happening around me is too much. I can’t take it. He seemed to understand. He didn’t ask me questions. He let me be. And that was his mistake.

He had always told us in class that you always help someone who needs it. He failed his own rule.

I have pills now. My psychiatrist prescribed them to me. They make me drowsy, but I’ll take them. They make them drowsy, too. They’re quieter. Not so loud. Though their comments are getting meaner. They know that I’m the one doings this to them. I’m the one who’s trying to quiet them down.

---
01.03.2005.

“You fucker.”
“You’re so screwed. I actually feel sorry for you.”
“Still in high school and pregnant. From your teacher. Great. That’s the best thing I’ve heard lately.”

I had fainted and my mom, being my mom, immediately drove me to the hospital. They ran some tests and… yeah… it’s pretty understandable, from what they said.

The doctor said that with me being so underweight… there might be a lot of problems. That’s if I decide to keep it. I don’t want people pointing fingers at me and laughing. I have enough laughing happening inside my head. I don’t need more. I don’t want more.

It was an accident. We used protection. We always do. But the damn condom broke and… I took that useless day after pill… apparently it didn’t work.

I talked to Jack. He said he would understand, but… he was so happy. I can’t take it away from him.

But I don’t want this child to have my problem. This can be inherited. Probably. I don’t want to curse my child.

---
05.24.2005.

By the end of May they’re laughing. Along with the voices inside my head.

Although the voices have become… different. They laugh at me, but they protect the baby. It’s as if… as if it would be theirs. It’s scary. They yell at everyone who has something bad to say about the baby.

The doctor said I shouldn’t take the pills. The ones that made the voices become drowsy. They’re back and loud. Not that they were ever fully gone. But now they’re back with a new force. New strength. They hate me for what I did.

I guess the reason why they adore and protect the child so much is the baby is why they were allowed back.

Jack is adorable. He is… I don’t know… I still feel bad about not telling him about this… problem of mine.

“You’re the worst boy toy anyone could have.”

---
06.16.2005.

“You nearly killed him, moron!”
“I hope Jack takes the child and leaves you! You don’t deserve to be a father, you freak!”
“You had so many years and opportunities to kill yourself, but now… don’t torture this innocent creature… it’s not the child’s fault you’re so fucked up.”

I’m in a hospital. I fainted. Again.

I know that me becoming bigger is a part of pregnancy and I should be thankful for that. At least the baby is growing the way it should, but I… what did I do about it… what did my stupid brain do. I felt fat, disgusting… I stopped eating. Not completely, but enough to bring me to the hospital.

They’re right. Jack should take the child and leave. I’m not worthy of them.

---
03.21.2010.

I found this in my old stuff and… it’s depressing. But that’s my life. Not much has changed. Besides the fact that… I don’t know where to start. I guess I never should’ve stopped writing here, then there wouldn’t be so much confusing stuff to write or…

Joey is five. Jack proposed a year ago. We still haven’t gotten married, but we’re getting there. We were happy. We are. I guess. Jack still doesn’t know. I don’t know for how long I’ll be able to keep this from him.

Some kid has started to bully Joey at school. Never thought that five-year-olds were so mean. Didn’t know that they know what bullying even means. They probably don’t. It’s just fun. For the one who does the bullying. Joey didn’t seem so happy about it when I picked him up from school. He was crying and shaking.

They came back. In full force. The pills don’t seem to help anymore. I took more than I should’ve, but I can still hear them.

They’re still protecting Joey.

---
04.02.2010.

I can’t sleep. Jack is sleeping. Snoring lightly. Thank god that he isn’t a loud snorer. I would’ve kicked him out of the bed if he was.

They’re telling me things I don’t want to know. Trying to convince me that Jack is cheating. That he’s sleeping with one of his students.

“He’s done that before. Why wouldn’t he do it again?”
“He has a good point. Who knows how many have been there before you?”
"The only reason he stayed with you was because he knocked you up.”

I can’t take it. I liked the quiet hum of their whispers.

I didn’t like it, but it was better than their loud voices, trying to over speak each other.

---
04.07.2010.

“You freak.”
“Hopeless and useless.”
“They don’t need you.”
“You always work. Joey doesn’t even like you. He’s just been taught to be polite.”
“Jack’s still with you cause you’re a good fuck.”

I hurt Joey. I didn’t mean to. I just hugged him. Too tight. And then I pushed him away. His little body hit the sink behind him. He ran crying to Jack. I don’t blame him. I cried, too. Jack was angry. At first. But then he noticed that something was wrong.

I think I was shaking. I was crying, that’s for sure. But he heard me whispering something. Something that didn’t make sense cause there was no one for me to whisper to. I was alone in the bathroom, kneeling on the floor. Pills were spilled all over counter, and my fingers were tugging my hair.

The pills don’t help. They just laugh at me every day when I take them. They know, just as well as I do, that my body had become immune to them. They have become immune to them.

---
04.14.2010.

I’m in the hospital. Not the hospital. The crazy hospital. I’m in a hospital for crazies.

I haven’t slept for what feels like weeks. My hands are wrapped in bandages. There are scratches on my cheeks and neck. My nails are broken.

Jack was here when I woke up, holding my hand. He was crying. He asked me why I haven’t said anything to him. Why, during all the years we’ve been together, haven’t I told him? I wanted to explain it to him, but they were loud. I could barely hear Jack’s broken voice over their yelling.

And I couldn’t move. It was too hard. I could barely turn my eyes to look at Jack. I just couldn’t open my mouth to say something. I just let him hold my hand. Let him cry by my bed. Let them laugh and yell inside my head.
I cried. For Jack. For myself. For Joey.

I’ve ruined their lives. I never should’ve stayed with Jack. It would’ve been better for him. His life would be better without me.

---
05.08.2010.

I was let out after three weeks. I still felt weak. I barely talked. I felt like I was trapped inside my own body. All I did was sleep. Joey sometimes sneaked inside the room, quietly tiptoeing to bed to look at me. I faked sleeping. I heard Jack telling him that I was sick.

He was right. I am sick. Just not the way Joey probably thinks.

I don’t want to hurt him again. They won’t let me live it down. Joey is their little boy. He is their son. I’m just a body through which they can work.

---
05.11.2010.

Jack holds me against his body every night. I feel like I don’t belong here. I feel like I’m holding him back. He could’ve done so much more, yet he’s stuck here with me. Taking care of me.

Although it’s probably not that hard. I don’t eat that much. I can go to the bathroom myself. I don’t need to be looked after.

Today he saw me while… I’d let them take over. I was tired. I let them talk. Let them yell and laugh and taunt me. I just sat there with blank eyes. Silent tears falling down my cheeks. Jack saw. He said something I didn’t catch and then he was pulling me in his chest.

I felt like a human-sized puppet. Not having control over my own body and thoughts.

---
05.16.2010.

They don’t leave me alone anymore. There’s not a minute in my life where they aren’t there, too. I feel dead even though I can feel my own breath against my bare arms.

I silently slipped out of the bed, hoping to not disturb Jack. They started to yell at me, telling me that I’m an idiot. That what I was going to do wasn’t going to kill them. I’ll just make myself look like a fool. But what else is new? Nothing.

I took a hold of all my pills and tried to swallow them.

It’s obvious that I did make a fool of myself. If it would’ve worked then I wouldn’t be able to write this. I wish I wouldn’t have to write this. This stupid, battered notebook makes me feel sick. All the pages, all the words I’ve written here.

Jack had heard me heaving. My body refused to swallow all the pills and pushed them back.

I wish I could stay in his arms forever. I feel safe there. And for a moment, I could close my eyes and imagine that the voices aren’t in my head, but somewhere outside. Coming from the street. From the house next to ours. Not from my mind.

---
05.28.2010.

Joey has taken a liking to slipping in bed next to me in the mornings. When Jack leaves bed, Joey takes his place. He thinks I’m sick. Which is true. I know that. He tells me stories, but it hard to hear them. They’re too loud. Sometimes I smile weakly at him and hope he understands that I appreciate him being with me.

---
06.01.2010.

I’m sick of it. I’m done with them. I’m done with myself. I can’t take it anymore.

As always, it’s in the middle of the night. They like to be loud during the nights. Or maybe it just seem louder because everything else around me is quiet. I don’t know. I don’t want to know. I don’t want to stay here and find out if it’s true.

I’m not taking pills anymore. I know they won’t work. I know my body will refuse them again. I don’t want to make myself look like more of a fool than I am.

They’re scared now. They know that this’ll work. They’re almost completely quiet, and for a moment I just stand in the middle of kitchen and listen. I can hear the car that drives down the street. I can hear the neighbor’s dog barking. I can hear the quiet ticking of the clock.

---

Tear stains littered pages. Many sentences were crossed out, the stains of pen too dark to see what had ever been written underneath. Pages had been torn out in frustration, leaving some entries unfinished, texts missing.

Dried blood. That’s what had replaced the tear stains. Blood. The hand writing became messier; harder to read. His hands had been shaking too bad.

Sometimes it looks like a little kid had been writing it. He’d been trying too hard. Too hard to try and write in the lines. Properly.

He tried.

Notes

how this one shot was born:
- drank 'monster'
- thought that it would be great to have a nap
- obviously couldn't fall asleep
- started to think about...some weird things
- came up with this idea
- got up and wrote it