For several years, I was haunted almost every night by apparitions so viciously aggressive, they had me cry out for my “mummy…“
Throughout the savage, nightly beatings, I felt what it’s like to have my skin peeled raw by a bear’s claw, and my neck bitten by a Pit Bull Terrier.
One night, the apparitions pinned me down on my stomach and whispered in my right ear: “We’re going to kill you.”
On weekends, I relied on large glasses of Jose Cuervo Gold Tequila with two cubes of ice, and other ‘recreational aids,’ succumbing to addictions to bring joy in my despair, and clutch my deteriorating sanity.
As my detachment from reality increased, a voice in my mind goaded me to take my life.
In intricate detail, it instructed me to use “the razor sharp kitchen knife. The one with the jagged edges…”
Persuading me that I could be in a better place, it uttered the most convincing line of all:
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