I think that is where I developed my love of art, that and my Nonno.
I painted a world in my head, with endless landscapes, fairies, castles, and animals to keep me company. The joy of bringing a blank world to abundant life. It's hard not to want to escape there when things here get tough.
I haven't been back inside my little world in years. I've followed my doctor's orders and taken my medication when needed. Every two weeks I see a counselor to keep myself in check. I do my best to avoid my father, if I'm not around, he can't scream and use those quick hands of his. But right now, the urge to go under feels like a drug. Escape this bloody contract, this twisted life I was born into. I feel like a coward.
Am I honestly so afraid of my future that I'd risk it by hiding in my head and staying there? I look at my Diazepam bottle sitting next to my perfume. I should take one right now. But I keep hesitating at moments like this. I want to learn how to manage my life without using any drugs. I need to figure out a way to control my anxiety so that I can live a life worth living.
I take another deep inhale, and this time I can feel the oxygen entering my lungs. It's like taking a deep breath when surfacing from the water following a long dive.
Doctors can't explain what exactly happens when I get too overwhelmed and slip into my head, only that I'm different from most patients.
I slip into a catatonic state where my mind will escape the trauma or stress I'm experiencing. It can happen so fast that the surrounding people don't know I'm gone. There is no screaming, passing out, or making any other kind of public disturbance. I simply disappear into my head retreating from the real world.
Rebekah says it's creepy.
Despite having my eyes open, I'm not in there. The real me is gone to my home. My body is standing there, still able to function, sort of. I can walk, eat, and sit when instructed to do so, among other basic commands. But I am a shell of myselflooking at you, I am not really there.
As a result, I can't verbally communicate or make decisions regarding my wishes since I am not able to do so. Once I've gone inside, I won't come out until I know I'm safe.
During a couple of these incidents over the years, my subconscious would take a step out and watch. Like a movie being played in my head. I can see snippets of my life being lived out, helpless to lift a hand to protect myself or call out.
These moments are the worst.
It's a window where, if it were possible, I could escape, defend my body, and stop everything from happening around me. That being said, I never do. And that's the problem. It is difficult to leave the security and comfort of my home because if I were safe, I wouldn't need to go there in the first place. Who wants to leave a place where they feel complete and loved? Where you are protected from harm and can be who you are.
Being mentally imprisoned has a huge drawback; you must rely on others to take care of you--safely. When it first started after my rescue, my parents would freak out and take me straight to the hospital, which then led to months in an institution.
After a few of these "Stress Comas," as we started to call them, and the fact that they were an inconvenience to my parents' social calendar, they hired a permanent in-residence psychologist.
Dr. Sarah Marshall. She has a cottage off the back of our estate. My parents pay her a sizable salary to wait patiently for my next episode. I don't even know why she's still here. It's been years since anything has happened, but I guess to them it's much easier to receive the support I need immediately with her around than it is to drag my butt into the hospital.
Dr. Marshall is excellent and adept at handling my situation. I swear I would have been detained forever residing in a plush white padded cell if it weren't for her.
The fact that my future marriage contract would bring in significant connections that my father requires is the only reason my condition was treated at home and, I assume, kept hush-hush from the public eye.
I finished high school, went to university, and got a job like normal people. The truth is that, at the end of the day, all I am is a bartering chip, which can be used by everyone to their advantage.
I put the brush back on the vanity, and rub my sweaty hands up and down my thick thighs. Dinner is in a few hours, and as I scan my face, I can see it won't make any difference how long I sit plucking and priming, trying to impress a man I've never met. I'm not, nor ever will I be, Rebekah. Why try? Mr. Russo will get what he gets and the family will form the alliance they need.
That's all my father wants anyway. I never did matter.
My only hope is that my new husband, if he sticks around after the introduction, will take his marital rights on our wedding night and ship me off to some condo with three cats and my paintings to live like an old maid. If he is smart, he would.
If he doesn't know my mental history by now, he soon will, and that would be his best play.
Hide me away.
I could take one of the rooms, set myself up a sweet little art studio, and start to paint, get my work out there, and sell a few maybe. I'll hang out with the cats and watch Netflix; stay up all night because I'm working on a piece; sleep in and eat breakfast in my socks and t-shirt over the coffee table while watching cartoons with Charlie, Chester, and Chad.
( Sweet names, you go brain!)
I could put up with one night of misery to fulfill that dream. I've read a few romance novels; I have an idea of what's to come... maybe.
I do know that powerful men like him need the perfect Barbie by their side, and I don't fit the profile. So I don't think I'll be around too long to worry. Rebekah is perfect; I do not fit the profile of a family wife.
My bedroom door slams open and Rebekah swaggers in, looking like she is going to the Oscars in her gold silk evening gown. She shimmers as she approaches, and the neckline drops almost to her damn belly button. Her skin is flawless, with not a damn sweat stain to be seen.
"Holy shit Izz, is that a smile I see on your face? I thought I'd come in here to find an android. I was hoping you'd check out for a bit so I could dress you and put some makeup on your face."
