That clarity is…jarring, though. It’s unsettling when I look at events in hindsight through a less medicated lens, especially when I talk through those events with Dr. Turov.
It’s a tough pill to swallow, the idea that the attacks you’ve barely escaped from over the last few monthsmight not be real.
Dr. Turov have talked about both those incidents. The second one, where I was sure I was being chased, was probably a so-called “persecutory delusion”.
It's relatively harmless compared to the first incident involving the bus.
That one’s a bit more serious.
Dr. Turov says that could be a cross between suppressed suicidal ideation and “dissociative self-harm displacement”.
In layman’s terms, I’m insane, harbor a desire to kill myself, and imagined a scenario where an unseen force pushed me into oncoming traffic.
But the scarier reality could be that I threwmyselfin front of that bus and then sold myself a story invented by my subconscious in order to cover its own tracks.
…Yeah.
It's either that, or someone reallydidtry to push me in front of a bus. Except there’s no security footage showing that, nor did the bus driver see anything except me suddenly hurtling forward in front of his vehicle.
Again, this is where I truly don’t know what I’d do without Bane. Because not only is he there for me—holding me when the nightmares come, calming me when I start spiraling—he also doesn’t patronize me about any of it.
He’s justthere, in every way I need.
Thank you, Lark.
Thank you for leading me to him.
37
DOVE
Dear Boo,
I feel that I’m losing him. Or that I’m going to. And when I do, it’ll be my fault, and mine alone.
I don’t know how to stop this…THING inside me that keeps popping out and making me do things I don’t want to.
I lie to him. I tell him I’ll meet him somewhere and then don’t, without calling or anything. I say mean things…cruel, awful stuff.
Even though he should, he doesn't tell me to fuck off. He doesn’t dump me for someone who won’t act like a total psycho cunt to him all the time.
I hate this, and hate that I don’t know how to stop it, or why it happens. I hate that I snap out of it later and just want to cry or throw myself off a fucking bridge.
I’m legit going crazy, Boo.
There’s a monster inside me, and it’s getting harder to keep it caged up.
It’s getting harder to tell what’s real and what’s all in my head.
Please help me.
A lump formsin my throat as I read the entry a second, then a third time.
Jesus.
I’m nearing the end of Lark’s diary, and they're all like this at this point. Painful to read, full of confusion and doubt and self-loathing as she becomes unsure what’s real or what’s not.
I was terrified before to see her mental state devolve into, well,mine. But at least now, as horrible as it is to read about her spiraling as she unwittingly got closer to her death, I knowwhyher story feels so familiar.
