Stockholm Syndrome (Jalex)

Day Five

Alex. Day Five - 2:58

I need to feel something: pain, anger, fear, happiness, sorrow, joy, or even, the unspeakable, non-existing love. It doesn't matter which: I don't feel anything at all and I need to, I'm going mad in this empty shell. It's only so long until these fleshy prison walls cave in and my eyes will shut for the final time. That can't happen, not now anyway: I have a purpose to fulfil that's hardly begun, and I hope whatever being is up there, that they have mercy and a sense of understanding if it does eventually come down to that. It sounds narcissistic, but I can't die, not yet.

I need to sort things out, get my priorities in order, because I don't like it, but I won't lost much longer like this. My brain is a peculiar thing, a clockwork bomb and stimulation is the only thing that will prolong the countdown. Some days, sometimes however, I get so desperate that I want to, that I need to let the seconds tick down so I can explode because I need to feel something even if it does end me. It's like being dehydrated and drinking litre after litre of water, but no matter how much you drink, nothing can really quench your thirst. I'm the sea in the middle of the desert, greedy and cackling, but as soon as I take a drink, my waters are toxic and poisoned with sand.

To give my aforementioned simile some context, think of me as the dehydrated suffer, with a thirst wild and untameable; think of dehydration itself as the time bomb with seconds ticking down until I die, because no matter how pretend the water seems, how dry it makes my throat, the consequences of not drinking it are far too real in comparison. Finally, think of my victims as the litres of water; I always need more, I need to keep my thirst quenched, but it never works. It never fucking works! Maybe I should try something else altogether, something exciting, but maybe slightly more legal; I don't know, snowboarding or something pathetically healthy like that.

But, you know what? Let me tell you something that's been bothering me immensely; it's been the first time anxiety has set foot in these bones for years and I'm not sure if I appreciate it. It hurts to feel, it hurts even more than the decaying numbness that is there otherwise. Emotions are like the daggers that slit your throat and numbness is like the torture rack, slowing pulling you apart. This anxiety however, has a cause a very real cause; it's a cause that I was at first overjoyed with until I realised the gravity of my poor situation, until I felt the human blood pumping through my veins and I heard my heartbeat in silent moments - it's driving me insane, because it never fucking shuts up. My brain is awake, it's alive with thoughts that I don't need, trivial matters that'll only slow me down like worrying about how lonely I am and whether I need to eat. You're missing the positive part in this entirely, the thirst went away. My thirst is quenched and I hate to say it, but I think I know why, and boy, I do not like the reason.

This all started as soon as Jack got here. Those brown eyes into mine; the sadness, the longing, the desire to oblige, to make me happy, keep me entertained and as much as I hated to say it, Jack was my favourite victim- No, I wasn't, I shouldn't be allowed to have favourites, because if I have favourites, then I get attached and attachment is an emotion, a human desire that I've spent my life striving away from - I can't relapse now over some stupid boy with stupidly perfect eyes.

I should have suspected it really; eventually there'd be one that made it stop, one that I didn't need to kill, because they kept the thirst at bay. He hasn't just prolonged the time bomb inside of me, he's gotten rid of it entirely. The whole thing just ripped out of me chest. It scares me, because I haven't felt this human in years, and to put it lightly, I don't exactly like it. I don't appreciate the constant pounding in my chest, the in out mechanism that draws in breath after breath, and let me tell you, the sex drive's horrible.

I need to be reckless, I need to shut off this desire, this compassion, this loving and care I seem to have developed for this boy. Maybe the thing I need to cut off is his air supply? Or maybe just carve his heart out- No; maybe I could do something all the more heartless (pardon the pun) entirely. Something just that little bit more fun, and a heck of a lot more dangerous. Fun and dangerous? Right up my street.