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Somebody help me

.-.-.

‘Can you help me?’ Please, help me.’ That’s what they all want. Help. They want help, they’re not getting that, I can’t help them. And that’s why they keep around for so long, some come back and some don’t. I sometimes wonder what happens to the once that leave, will they get any rest?

Am I ever getting any rest? I’m not a freak, at least I don’t consider myself as one. To be a freak you should have revealed your… well, freaky side. I don’t, I’ve been considered psychotic, once, maybe twice. I’ve been told I suffer from Insomnia but I call it restless and maybe the fact that I consume coffee as oxygen plays a part, but they never asked about that.

You stop seeing them after a while, ya know? You behave a certain way to get the results you want, me not seeing my therapist gave me the result I wanted. Not feeling like a drug addict anymore.

You start with one pill, that cost you to feel nauseous, you get another pill for that. The combination of the first two gives you major headaches that keep you up the entire night (not that my bizarre sleeping pattern suffered much from that), leaving you up to a big bright handful of pills in the end.

Best thing I’ve done, quitting therapy. Stupidest thing I’ve done, letting someone in.

There are subjects you shouldn’t bring up during your relationship. And I don’t mean the whole: Honey you look fat in that dress, do you think we can do a threesome? I used your credit card.

To get straight to the point, I was a freak in his eyes. I needed help, because that’s not normal. And being delusional in love I bought all his crap and I went back into therapy, I even spent nine month in an instituted. Nine months, I nearly got motherly feelings at the end. Nine months, I lost nine months because someone had convinced me I was crazy. And in there everyone was completely sure I was mentally ill.

Nine months and some good sense of acting skills and I could walk out. Nine months, it took me nine month to figure out I couldn’t talk about my horrible default anymore.

Ever seen The Sixth Sense? Ah, I bet you wonder what kind of mojo I’m going to rave about. But just keep your mind blank and forget about the crazy facts I threw in before. Did you see the movie? Yes, great. Now remember when the little boy said: I see dead people?

I remembering watching the moving and cracking up. I laughed until hysteria. I had to press pause and rewind so the boy would say it again: I see dead people.

You know what I said? I said: Kiddo, I see them too. And then I laughed, didn’t care about the neighbor’s complaint.

And honestly it doesn’t bother me that much. It’s comparable to fall. Leaves falling down, guided by the wind to get into your face. They’re everywhere, but they don’t bother you. They are just part of the street, the scenery. There dead and falling down to their final place of rest.

With dead people it works nearly the same, they're dead to pinpoint that down. They are falling, sort of, towards their final place of destination, to rest. I’m not a fucking saint so I can’t tell you if there is a heaven or a hell. Personally I think were quiet achieving to make this place a living hell, but that’s not the point right now.

They are never in my face, the people I see and you don’t. They are… background noise, corner of the eye hazes. Nothing more and I’d like to keep it that way. I don’t see them as clear as in movies and -thankfully- I never see them in the way they died. I mean I would probably need an extra therapy class to process that. And I’d rather not as I’ve told you before.

I do know how they died, I’m not into Yoga or Feng shui, but… It’s in their aura I guess. Suicide is darker than passing away in your sleep. Murder is pitch-black and it can suck the warmth right out of a room. Not the cheap special effects from the movies. It doesn’t get colder, it’s just… a sense, as you can sense if a person is a warm and caring person or a cold hard bitch. C’mon it’s intuition, don’t tell me you don’t have that was well.

Light blue is for those who are in a coma and it takes time and effort to hear them clear, they are softer then the softest whisper. It’s not even a breath. You know, sometimes you think you hear someone talk to you, or you would swear you heard your phone ring in the back pocket in your bag you left downstairs? Those are the coma patients. Kids are mostly green or orange, happy colors. It suits with kids I guess.

I don’t really see them, at least not as clear as living people. I see them if I blink my eyes, they are in the corners, they are there if I wake up and look through my lashes. They are everywhere, just look behind you. I bet that makes you shiver, but to be blunt and honest there is a fair chance that there’s someone dead watching you. Well, not watching you, they don’t see you the way I see you. They might have a clue you are sitting there, but they can’t grasp reality like you and I can. Wait skip that, like you can. I don’t know if I can, honestly I think I’m living somewhere in the middle. I’m half of two worlds and it sucks. I’m living in a half way house and the big question is where will I go from here?

I don’t even think they can see me clear, I think they see me the way I see them. As a shadow as background noise, but more important. Because they are with so many and I’m alone. Sometimes I think I’m leaving trails because as I walk to my work I feel them crossing the street with me.

They talk to me, whisper, but I never talk back. I keep them the way I want, background noise. That’s why I listen so much to the radio. It’s background music that hushes the death-whisper.

Some people might call me crazy, some might think I should use my gift for the good. But honestly what good can come of it? And I never wanted to be a hero, I never wanted to be known. I just want to live an every-day life. That’s the thing with blessings right, to the ‘blessed’ it’s a curse. I’ve never tried to make contact to ‘the other side’, frankly because I’m scared that I won’t be able to turn their volume down. I’m dead scared of that.

I keep myself occupied with stupid little hobbies, you can’t name it or I’ve tried it. I hardly ever sleep, for some reason I don’t need more than two or three hours. I once wondered if they would get less if I slept for the common eight and used some sleep medication. Twelve hours, a hysteric boyfriend and a rush into the hospital I found out it didn’t help. By the way that was the second time, they thought I attempted to commit suicide, again. They were right the first time though; it’s tough to be part of two worlds at the same time. It’s even harder when you’re dead neighbor keeps coming around. He’d been angry, angry at his wife because she let the gas on. Choked in his sleep as she went away for a nice weekend ‘just the girls.’ It got freakier when his daughter came around to back daddy up. I still wonder if his wife wanted to kill both of them, or that it really was an accident.

My parents, younger brother and I moved after that, I think they might be scared I could be right. After we settled I had my first meeting with a therapist.

‘I see dead people,’ never is a great pickup line. But I do, I see them. I know that they are around. And I wish I didn’t know because it has cost me my childhood, my friends, my relationships with pretty much every living person and my carrier until this point.

‘I see dead people’, but I don’t see the point. I never felt the urge to talk or think about those who’ve passed away. Maybe that’s because of my gift/curse. I see them around, they are never completely gone until the point I don’t feel their presence anymore.

‘I see dead people, I guess I have to live with it.’

.-.-.

I wrote this a while again, I have Teresa to think for that. It’s… I’ll tell you what it could be, a story about someone who sees dead people. But it’s not, this is kind of it. Maybe I’ll ever use it for an introduction to some story but right now, this is it. Some drabble about a person who sees dead people. I don’t see them but I bet there is one of them watching me right now. No kidding, or maybe not I haven’t been dead yet. Somehow I think this is out Gerard’s point of view, because mainly everything I write feels like that.

Thank you for reading,

X Nuky

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