I’m Going Slightly Mad

1.

I never thought I’d be one of those people. In the past, if I ever heard of people doing this I would think to myself ‘That is so stupid, why would they do such a thing’, but now I’m sitting in this taxi, driving down familiar streets to my new flat. Parts of my life are stuffed in the suitcases stacked around me in this black cab, the rest are on their way with the movers and we will hopefully be reunited soon. I also have Jack, my cat, in a carrier next to me. He’s very upset about this adventure we’re on, but I feel like it will be good for us. I keep getting flashbacks of me being in the flat with my ex Michael and his words ‘I can’t do this anymore’ and the only thing I can say to soothe myself is ‘Good riddance’. Jack and I are being driven to the flat I bought without ever seeing it. I saw the photos online, I sent a friend to have a look at it and then I bought it. For years and years, I had wanted to return to this city, to find some past version of my life I feel like I left behind. A time when things seemed simpler. I think I finally had that crisis which people come across at different stages of their lives, and for me that meant packing up my life and moving back to the past. It just feels more comfortable there. I’ve never been much of a future person. Every single time I’ve tried to imagine my future, I’ve been faced with this void, so I just stopped trying after a while. Creative solutions and what not.

I couldn’t afford a flat in the nice part of town, the one I used to love walking through. Green groves, stunning folliage in autumn, beautiful brick houses. However, I told myself that I can always go there for my strolls, my flat doesn’t have to be there. I look around me on the street where I will now live. The pavements are littered, the road looks a bit worn and bumpy, the houses are covered in that grime they absorb and it’s clear they haven’t been painted in years. I lug the suitcases up the stairs that are blotchy and some of the tiles have fallen off the walls in the close. It doesn’t bother me at all. It already feels like home.

When I’m finally through the door, I scan my surroundings. Everything looks fine as far as I can tell. The little corridor leads to a living room that also holds the kitchen and then off to the side there are the doors to the bedroom and the bathroom. So far it looks exactly like the photos. Everything seems clean and tidy. Unlived in. It came partially furnished because I told the previous tenants that they could leave their stuff if they didn’t want to take it with them, so I don’t have to worry about buying all the big furniture; wardrobe, fridge, bed. It feels surreal. How am I supposed to start this new life? What is the first thing I should do? Nothing feels ceremonial enough. I decide to unpack later and go to the shops first.

I go to the local. It’s a Lidl. I still remember it from my days as a uni student since we would often go there because it wasn’t very far away and it meant cheaper groceries. I put away some ready-meals, coffee, bread, butter and jam, among other things. I give Jack his food and set up his litter box. Then I sit down on the bed and lose time.

2.

Something is wrong. The following morning when I go into the kitchen to make my coffee, I notice something in the space between the fridge and the countertop. I try to get it out and when I do it turns out to be some moldy pizza crusts. It looks as though they have been there for a while but I swear they were not there yesterday. Then, when I go to the bathroom, I see a puddle of stale yellow water beside the sink. That was also not there yesterday. I know I can be a bit oblivious sometimes, maybe slightly careless, but these things do not make sense. If someone asked me to swear on my life that I had not seen them there before, I would have done so.

What’s even more terrifying, when I check my phone I realise it’s not the following morning after all. Somehow three days have passed and I have no recollection of them. I know what this means, but I am so good at living in denial that I tell myself it’s fine. My new job doesn’t start for another ten days, so I have time to lose. I spend the day tidying up, finding even more things that were not there before. Jack follows me around, apparently just as confused as I am. My hands are itching again and I have bruises everywhere. I check my eyes in the mirror and they look slightly better than they have on other occasions, so I again tell myself it’s fine. I check under the sink where I put the recycling box and things definitely make more sense now. Not entirely though, because the flat seems to be in an inexplicably bad condition which would not have been my fault. It’s like it’s falling apart in a way that’s mirroring my emotional collapse. I had heard that this can happen, that sometimes the things around us; places, plants, people, respond to our own instability. I can’t think about that now because it’s too soon after the move, so I shove that in the part of my brain that remembers everything from my life before, and get on with the day. The moment the afternoon hits, I lose time again.

3.

I go to the back of the house this morning, to the bins. I meet one of my neighbours there and the look she gives me is disgusting. We’re talking as I am putting away the recycling and although the conversation started out friendly enough with her asking me where I’m from, why I moved back and other niceties, by the time I empty my bag, she looks concerned and that’s exactly what I didn’t want. The last thing she asks me is ‘you said you’ve only been here for a week?’ I would have never asked someone that. But life goes on. I just hate that I can still rememer the sound of all the glass breaking. It makes me feel ashamed, when that was what I wanted to avoid.

Later that night is when it all truly goes awry. I am jolted awake and yet my brain is still dreaming. It’s as though one part of me is in the dream world and the other is in the bedroom. I am parched and want to reach for the water but then I am stuck talking to someone faceless. We are both looking at me in my bed, cowering underneath the covers, as an entity is sitting on top of the bedsheets, on top of my body. It’s a woman but she is covered in a slimy black substance, the heavy liquid dripping off her locks of hair onto my bed. She is petting Jack and repeating ‘I love you, my little boy, I love you, my little boy, I love you, my little boy’, while he is laying there, belly up. I remember feeling a kind of fear I have never experienced in my life, but I feel that fear in my body, the one underneath the sheets. Somehow it feels like a premonition. The me in the dream world is calm and collected as she asks the faceless person what’s happening, who that is. The faceless person tells me to look at her more closely, to think carefully. And then I realise what it means, because no one else could pet Jack like that, with him staying so calm. That’s when the version of me from the dream world disappears and I am just there in my body, hiding under the duvet, I swear I can still hear that entity and I am so afraid to look. It takes me half an hour to finally raise myself slightly to check to see if she’s gone. Jack is sleeping soundly between my legs and the room is empty. I drink an entire bottle of water and hide under the sheets. My hands itching, my whole body aching and dehydrated.

4.

I’ve been sleeping on my friend Ivan’s sofa for the last few nights. I can’t go back there. The place frightens me. Not just the place, but my mind. I feel like I’ve lost it, like I’m slipping back into something I tried to forget. It’s not been an easy adjustment, mostly for Jack, because he is so afraid of anyone who isn’t me, that he has just been hiding under my duvet on the sofa. Ivan doesn’t know what’s going on. I have found myself in his bathroom several nights in a row looking at something that looks like coffee grounds in the toilet. I try to tell myself it’s normal to throw up sometimes, but even I can’t justify this. If only I could tell him, maybe I could change. But then Ivan asks me to join him for a night out and I can’t say no. Even though my anxiety about the fact that everything seems to be falling apart is strong, I feel like it is easier to just ignore it for the moment. He tells me there’s a new club that’s opened not far from where he lives in the city centre. He suggests we go for a drink to see what it’s like. I say yes.

As we approach the door to the club, there’s music blaring and the street is filled with people. Most of them outside for a smoke, but many seem to just be loitering about. When I have already gone through the door and received my stamp, I see Ivan stay behind to talk to someone he knows. I could go and introduce myself but the man at the door is already ushering me in and I really need a drink. I head to the bar which is right by entrance and order a whiskey on the rocks. Once I have that in my hand, I feel a woman, a member of staff, pull me along and tell me to go further into the bar, to follow the corridor that’s ahead. I don’t want to lose Ivan but there’s not much room there to just wait around, so I just figure I’ll see him in there. As I walk along the corridor, I get an eerie feeling. I take a sip of my drink and the moment I swallow it I feel a sharp pain in my right side. I ignore it and keep walking. At first, I see a group of people ahead of me in the distance, but their voices seem to echo and they disappear from my sight. The floor and walls of the corridor are black and it’s dimly lit by some sconces along the way. I think about turning back but I don’t listen to my gut. As I keep walking, it starts to feel endless and at some point I realise that the drink I held in my hand is no longer there. I start to feel a mild sense of panic but keep walking because I feel like there is no other choice. Then, just as I begin to believe that I would never see another human being again, I see a shape in the distance. I can only hear my breathing as I approach it and realise that it’s a little girl. She is also walking without looking back so I touch her shoulder gently to draw her attention.

‘Hey, what are you doing here?’

‘I don’t know,’ she says and clings to me. I can feel her shiver against me and I can tell she is scared. I swear I recognise her but I can’t place her. It’s like I know her but I’ve never met her.

She whispers to me:

‘Where are we?’

‘Honestly, I have no idea,’ I don’t want to lie to her. I don’t think we are in the club anymore.

‘Will you protect me?’

‘Sure I will. We’ll find a way out of here,’ I take her hand in mine and my heart breaks at how small it is, ‘Come on.’

We keep walking and neither one of us says anything. I am just as panicked as she is so I’m not sure I can say anything comforting. The corridor looks exactly the same as when I entered it, there seems to be no end to it. I try to find my phone, but I realise I no longer have my purse. Things keep slipping away from me, so I hold onto the little girl’s hand more tightly. My legs are starting to get tired and I have completely lost track of time. We could have been walking for minutes or hours. Eventually, she squeezes my hand and says: ‘Look!’

There is a faint light in the distance and as we keep going forward, quickening our step, it grows brighter and brighter. It is so straining on the eyes because we have been in such darkness, that I can’t even open them until we are fully out of the corridor and standing for a few seconds in the brightly lit room. When I finally look at my surroundings, I feel my heart sink. It doesn’t make any sense. We find ourselves in a hotel suite. Everything here is beige, from the carpet, to the furniture, to the walls. The television is on but it is stuck on static. The girl cautiously lets go of my hand and goes to look around. There is so much light in the room but it is all artificial. I go to the windows and realise the view beyond them is merely a screen. A nice sunny city view, with high-rises in the distance and even a bird or two in the sky, but they are not moving.

‘What now?’ she asks me and I can tell that her fear is still there. It is painful to look at her. Her little face is pulled into a frown and her eyes look slightly glassy as if she is about to cry. I go to her and give her a hug so that I don’t have to look her in the eyes.

‘I’m sure there’s a way out of here.’

We walk through the living room to the bedroom and there we find a door. At first it wouldn’t budge, but I really put my weight into it and we get it open. As we step through it, we find ourselves in a nearly identical hotel room. Same beige furniture, same static on the TV, same sunny skyline, however the layout is slighty different. I feel cold sweat on my back. I already had a feeling as to what we might find, and I am proved right. There is another door in the bedroom and yet again it leads us to another hotel room. I know I am hyperventilating, I am starting to lose count, because everything looks the same and I am already so tired, I think we go through two or three more doors before she starts crying and I just sit down on the sofa, feeling utterly helpless.

‘We’re stuck,’ she sobs, ‘Why did you make us stuck?’

‘It wasn’t my fault, I … ’ my words escape me for a second, ‘I don’t know how we got here.’

‘I didn’t want to be here. You brought me here,’

‘I didn’t mean to. I was just trying to fix it.’

‘Now we’re stuck!’ she shouts at me and wants to run away, but I grab her and hold her to me. I am afraid to let her run off, afraid to lose her in this maze.

I want to save her, I want to save myself. But it feels like our destiny is now one and the same and there is no escaping this loop we find ourselves in. Suddenly, I wish I could go back. I wish I could go back to the bar and not order myself that drink. I wish I could go back to Ivan’s and say no when he asked me to go out. I wish I could go back to my new flat and celebrate my arrival differently. I wish I could go back to my life before I moved back here and change the reason why I felt like I needed a fresh start. I wish I could go back and tell my younger self to stop the pattern before it becomes a loop.