With time, the thoughts started turning into sentences. I didn’t sit there planning it, but the more I wrote, the more it pulled from the same places, the same memories, the same moments that had already been tearing through me. And before I reallyunderstood what I was doing, I was writing about my life. It was all there, the orphanage, Krysyna, Bartosz, the door, Zwierek, no, me.
It felt wrong and right at the same time.
Like I was forcing something into the open that had never been meant to be seen all at once. Like I was peeling back layers that had kept me functioning, and a part of me wanted to stop, to drop the pen, to shut it down before it went too far, but I couldn’t. I needed to see it. Maybe if I wrote enough of it down, if I dragged every piece out and laid it in front of me, I’d finally understand what the fuck was wrong with me.
Or maybe I wouldn’t.
Maybe I’d just reach the bottom of it, hit whatever was waiting down there and realize there was nothing to fix. Either way, I kept going.
There’s something so twisted about it. About wanting to show something and hide it at the same time, because that’s what it was. I was putting everything down, every detail, every thought, everything I’d done and still keeping it locked to myself. Like I needed it out of me, but notthatfar out. The more I wrote, the quieter it got in my head. Like I had finally given it somewhere else to exist so it didn’t have to live entirely inside me anymore.
I think that was the closest I’ve ever come to relief, because the truth is, little Ghost, you either turn around and face what’s been following you your entire life, or it keeps growing behind you until it’s the only thing left. And this, this was the first time I stopped running.
Maybe that’s all this was.
An excuse, to call it something else.
Writing.
Because if I could dress it up like that, like something intentional, something creative, then maybe I didn’t have to call it what it actually was. A slow, careful descent into everything Ihad spent my life trying not to understand, and maybe that’s the only real difference. Some people go insane unnoticed, and some people give it a name and call it art. I just wrote until there was nothing left in me that hadn’t been dragged out onto the page.
The Denouement
Chapter 49
Institution:Regional High-Security Psychiatric Unit, Mazowieckie, Poland
Document Type:Comprehensive Psychiatric Evaluation & Pharmacological Management Report
Patient Name:Rowan [Surname Redacted]
Attending Psychiatrist:Dr. Kazimierz Lewandowski, MD, Specialist in Psychiatry
Translation Note:This report was originally authored in Polish and has been translated into English. Terminology has been preserved to reflect clinical intent.
Reason for Admission
Patient was transferred following emergency surgical stabilization after a high-lethality suicide attempt. He was discovered in an isolation cell with bilateral, extensive incised wounds to the volar aspects of both forearms, deep enough to expose underlying tissue structures.
Lacerations were longitudinal and repeated, suggesting sustained intent rather than impulsive action. Total of 47 sutures (combined, layered closure) were required.
Estimated blood loss: critical.
Survival dependent on immediate intervention.
Following stabilization, patient was deemed at acute and ongoing risk of self-harm and admitted under involuntary psychiatric hold.
Mental State Examination (Initial)
Appearance
Approx. 190 cm, physically well-built, posture controlled, minimal spontaneous movement
Behavior
Guarded, observant, prolonged eye contact alternating with complete disengagement
Speech
