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Scary: Short Story by Magda Olchawska

“Scary”: Short Story by Magda Olchawska

I hated when people say: you are young, you will make it. But I didn’t feel young. I felt old, and I had been trying so hard to make it for the past years that I didn’t even know what it meant, “to make it” any longer.

I had a secret though, which I never shared with those „cheer me up, people“. It was so secret that I kept it for myself only. I discovered that everything I touched turns into some disaster. In no time at all, I became obsessed with this idea. To make sure I had my obsession under control I was carefully monitoring my moves and thoughts. This constant observation let my brain go nuts with sick pleasure.

I couldn’t think clearly any longer, and I was losing the battle over my life to my mind.

When the battle was over, at first, I stopped smiling because I didn’t feel happy. Then I stopped eating; I didn’t feel hungry.

The psychiatrist was confident that I was only depressed. He prescribed me “magic pills” that were supposed to sort out my problems right away. The “magic pills” kept me going but at the same time, I was so detached from any feelings and reality that I didn’t know if it was a good help or a lousy help.

I also started seeing a therapist. But nothing changed. I didn’t change. My brain was still in control of my life, and my body and I had nothing to do with whatever was happening to me.

I liked therapy better than the “magic pills” since I managed to come across certain questionable issues of which I had never thought of before. The issues didn’t make me feel any better about myself though. I was still nothing in my own eyes, and now I also had the “issues” to deal with.

Some of my boyfriend’s friends, (I didn’t have any friends on my own since I found communicating with people the most challenging task of all. Besides my brain didn’t like people and we can’t forget that I was continually acting on behalf of my mind.), suggested aromatherapy as a way to calm me down, which I did on a regular basis. I also spent months doing homoeopathy as well as any other natural healing methods I could find. Nothing worked. Still, the same blank state and my mind were leading the way.

The only thing I was capable of doing was sleeping. I didn’t even have the strength to go to the kitchen and make myself a cup of tea. The strength abandoned me when I started being friends with the “magic pill”.

I believe that my “brain damage” started when I was a child. I didn’t fit into my family structure or the school’s narrow-mindedness. I was susceptible and much misunderstood by the grown-ups and my peers.

I started being naughty so people would pay attention to me. But I don’t think the naughtiness worked out as well as I had planned. The next step of my childhood master plan was to become self-sufficient, and soon I became so just to prove to my parents that I was loveable. I didn’t need anyone around me. I could do everything by myself, on my own: I could play with my imaginary friends, I could make myself breakfast or tea, go shopping and tidy up after myself. However, instead of paying more attention to what I was doing my parents stopped paying attention to me altogether. So I decided I was going to become a boy because boys always had easier lives. As a kid, I had this impression that being a girl wasn’t good enough. I would have been more accepted by my parents or society if I were a boy. But I wasn’t a boy. Even though I tried hard, I could have never become one.

My childhood experiment didn’t help either. My parents still didn’t love me for who I was. In fact, the sex swap only created a detachment between me and my female body, which has carried on to my adult life.

The gender obsession lets me believe that I didn‘t like girls (girls have always been bitchy to me anyway). So my first choice was still to surround myself with boys since I was more like them or at least I wanted to be like them. However, I couldn’t be one of the boys, which only increased my very low self-esteem. This led me to be ashamed of myself and whatever I was doing. I also had this strong tendency to attract people who made sure I felt like shit, personally or on the work front).

I was a mess just like any other human being. There are so many contradicting feelings and emotions in one tiny person, and no one will even begin to understand any of them.

Luckily, today I found myself on our bed, looking at my hand hanging a few inches above the carpet. The blood was running from my brain through my neck, arm and my fingertips to drip slowly onto the carpet. I had a massive hole in my mind and the small gun in my left hand. I looked so peaceful. It‘s fortunate I decided to wear a red dress. The dress made the blood look much less scary.

After so many years of attempting suicide, I finally had enough strength to pull the trigger.

It takes guts to finish the known miserable life and to go into the unknown part of existence. I only hoped I would finally find the happiness I have been searching for and longing for all this time.

I know that everyone will be surprised and there will be loads of questions asked. But I had to do it. I couldn’t face another day in bed with my best friend “magic pill”, which didn’t turn out to be as magical as it claimed.

My body hasn’t been found yet. I suppose they will find me tomorrow morning when my boyfriend comes back.

He is away on business or at least, so he says. I wouldn’t blame him if he were having an affair. It would do him good. Hanging around crazy people, like I am, isn’t so beneficial in the long run.

Since I didn’t have my body any longer, I started floating over towns and cities. It was fun at first, but I got bored very quickly. It was all the same, only buildings, lights and weird pollution smell. I couldn’t see people who were still alive; they didn’t exist to my dead soul.

So I decided to move to the forest. And I walked between dry branches of autumn trees. But this wasn’t exciting for too long either, and it didn’t give me the peace of mind I was looking for most of all. Besides, my brain still had ways of creeping into my dead soul.

Amongst empty, sleepy and dead fields I met some other souls who did what I had done. We didn’t talk. There was no point. It was all over for us. However one of the dead people, whose face was all eaten up by worms told me that, “People who commit suicide are to hang around on earth for eternity until some other soul is willing to save them. We are to be neither living nor dead”. He said.

I instantly started screaming hoping that someone would hear me and save me from that. The others were laughing at my silent screams.

I didn’t know how long I had been screaming for, but my boyfriend was shaking my body for a long time before I woke up.

When I saw him holding my frail body in his arms, I cried until the sun rose. He didn’t ask any questions. He was there next to me.

I was still staying in bed all day long, but this time I was only praying for the state of mind to leave me and let me be. I didn’t want to kill myself anymore.



Filed under: Short Stories, Writing

About the Author

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Magda Olchawska is an award-winning independent filmmaker, writer and screenwriter. She writes not only about making films and writing but also about financially independent and sustainable lifestyle. Her current projects include Ecotopia Universe and School Runs.

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