Endboss

This will be my last post, for reasons which I will delve into later.

I have recently (edit: not that recently) returned from a family trip to England. There are lots of touristy things I could drawl on about, but there are just a few relevant to me that are worth going into.

One. Getting to England involves a seven-hour flight, in this case six hours with a good tailwind. The problem didn't start until we started our descent. I always get headaches when dropping altitude (sometimes I think I was meant to live in the sky) but this was something else. Pins and needles tore across my scalp, and my whole head felt like it was being ripped apart. Looking out the window gave me the reason. The landscape as far as I could see was covered in a thick, snot-green mass. Large tentacles stuck out in places at odd angles. One of these wrapped around our plane as we descended, and it was this that was causing me such pain as it tried to get inside my head. That was my first encounter with the Beast of London.
How long has it been there? Who can say? Walking through the city was like walking through a swamp. The liquid flesh swilled around my calves with every step. When the rain came it sank into the ground, but as soon as it started to dry it was already sucking at the soles of my shoes. It kept trying to get inside my head. I fought it off each time, but it kept up a continuous pounding that never really went away until we lifted off again.

Two. My aunt has the same blood as I do. I can feel it, in and around her. But she has no idea. I wouldn't wish this on anyone, but at the same time... it would be nice to have someone else. Something solid in my abstract second world.

Three. Stonehenge was, as I predicted, a Circle. A large and probably powerful one, once. It's a problem, though, of the old ones having just gone too far; there are so many stones littering the place that it's impossible to make out where the patterns used to be.

Four. We went on not one, but two photoshoots, one for each side of the family. I absolutely loathe having my picture taken but went along with it; after all, what was I going to say? The event happened at the second, with my da's parents and his sister's family. (I found my cousin strangely attractive, which bothered me until I realized there was no reason why it should. It's not like I'm going to sleep with her.) After much wandering around the park taking photographs of different groups in different places, I crept away and rested in the shade of a weeping willow. Surrounded by the hanging branches, I leaned back against the bark and stared skyward. For once a sense of peace filled me, and I was struck by the feeling that the tree herself was embracing me, protecting me. "I love you," I whispered, leaning into her bark.
A dark, brown shape dropped from a thick branch above my head and landed on the ground lightly in a rough, humanoid shape. I felt a leafy being fall to my right, and another behind me. Trying to stay calm, I whispered "I take my leave of you," turning to my left and walking quickly (but not too quickly) towards a gap in the leaves. They followed closely, growing narrow eyes that stared accusingly. As I passed through the branches they moved, wrapping around my arms and shoulders, and my body tore. My solid self walked on unencumbered while the rest of me lurched backwards. I walked as calmly as possible to the nearest bench and sat down, not wanting to draw any attention to myself. At the same time I tore angrily at the tree, ripping clinging leaves from my shoulders. As the willow's slender arms fell away I took a triumphant step away from the tree. "I am free of you," I said.
"No," came a voice, neither inside or outside my head. I can only call it tree-speak. "You belong to me."
I looked back in horror. Sometime during the fray the tree had stuck a tube into the middle of my back, fusing seamlessly into my flesh. (It's becoming clear the spine is like a usb port for all manner of invasive beings. I should start charging rent.) I tugged on it but it was thick and tough, more like my own skin than leaf or bark. Already I could feel my own life blood being drained away. The tree was eating me from the inside, drinking me as though from a straw. Both my bodies started to weaken. Thinking quickly and trying not to picture the pain that would come, I brought white heat to my fingertips and slashed at the tube. Flesh burned cleanly away before meeting a thicker substance at the core. I drew back, annoyed (white heat burns through most things) and tried again. Abruptly the heat sputtered and fizzled out. I shook my hand but could not get it to start again. White heat runs on anger, suppressed emotions condensed into white-hot energy, and the willow was draining me. In its tree-speak I could hear it laughing.
I closed my eyes and tried to summon my last reserves. I thought of my childhood. I thought of being hurt and helpless. I thought of shame and regret, the damage caused to myself and others. I thought of love and the pain when it ended. I thought about chaos, losing time, the frustration of being unable to tell the difference between past and present, possibility and future, imagination and genuine experience. There was nothing. I felt nothing. I just felt weak, and tired, and trapped.
The family gathered and prepared to leave. Trying not to draw attention to myself, my body on the bench rose and followed, lagging behind but not too far behind. I got the feeling that I should not leave myself behind; I have no idea what would happen if I did. Would it be like death? Would part of me be gone forever? How much would I lose along with my under-body? Or would I be stuck forever in two places, one half of me being forever devoured by the hungry tree, unable to reunite? But at the same time, I couldn't wait for myself. The whole family was leaving. How would I explain to them, explain the urgency of my struggle? They wouldn't understand. Even if I was drained completely and collapsed, they would think I was being childish. Would my mother call it amature dramatics again? Would they call another fucking ambulance or just stand, arms folded, telling me there was no cause for this behavior?
I think of their embarrassment. I think of their frustration. I think of their scorn. I think of my mother explaining to me that I shouldn't have done that, still treating me like a child, the same conversation we've been having for the past five years.
With a mighty roar I tore the leeching tube apart along the wound. Green, lumpy fluid sprayed out like blood. I hurtled across the park after myself and slowed down in front in preparation. But more vines shot out after me, wrapping around my ankles. I fell heavily and felt something tear across my knee as I scraped the gravel path. But onwards I crawled, scarcely noticing the quick branches that desperately tugged me backwards. Every one I shook off was quickly replaced by another, but I was winning. But very close, I saw the gate leading out of the park. Boundaries are very important. If I crossed there before realigning, I would not be able to escape.
My struggle became more frantic as I slowed down, trying to give myself more time but still afraid to be noticed. I almost reached myself but fell, unable to support my under-body on my wounded knee. Seeing their chance, the willow snaked two branches around my shoulders and pulled me quickly backwards. I extended my hooks from my back and threw them forwards, hooking them into my solid body. This gave me enough of a hold to drag myself the last few crucial feet and lay a hand on my own shoulder. From there it was easy to slip into myself, lock my arms together, then my torso. This was enough to pull myself through the gate and away to freedom.
As the last of the branches fell away I heard a sad voice calling in tree-speak. "You said you loved me."
"There are many kinds of love," I said. Then I turned away and did not look back.
It was a while before I could tease myself back together. My knee was the worst. That night I patched it up as best I knew how; my under-body is physically very different from my solid one, and for obvious reasons there were no creams or bandages to treat it with. It works, now, but I think my left knee will always be a little more ragged-looking than my right. The remains of the leeching tube remained stuck to my back, about two feet long, and leaked green fluid for about an hour. Now it's shrivelled up and I think it will fall off soon. My mother told me I looked tired. I wanted to scream at her, shake my tattered fists in her face, tell her This Is My Life Now. I just smiled weakly.

And that, realistically, is the crux of my problem. This is my life now. Not university, not getting a job, not what other people call a life. Most of the important events these past few years have been either inside my head or otherwise invisible to everyone else. I'm supposed to care about joining a writer's group? Every time I go outside I look up to see if the sky is burning. I'm barely a part of your world now.
It's getting more and more difficult to translate my experiences into understandable terms. According to the good doctor, my experiences with dissociation fit the bill of a person with DID but across the whole spectrum of psychology, full-on visual, auditory and tactile hallucinations are very rare. If it were just one or the other they'd be able to pidgeonhole me, but as it is no one really knows where to start. The next step, we think, is going to be scanning my brain. I already know I'm not neurotypical, being synaesthetic, but it will be interesting to see what comes out. It will be awhile before we can do that, though, the medical system being what it is.

Part of the reason it's taken so long to write this is because I've taken to reading the whole of my blog before this point. (If you think it's confusing to read, try living it.) See, very soon I'll be eighteen. That means that this blog has spanned most of my teenage years, making it both useful and also kind of sad. Now that I'm entering young adulthood, I'd like to look closely at the past few years before moving on. It started when I found a link to my blog on my mum's computer, and that got me thinking, because frankly there are some things about me I'd rather not have her know. For both our sakes. That's when I realized that the things that keep you safe can also keep you trapped, unable to move on and deal with the very thing they're protecting you from. I'm going to need to let go of a lot of things if I'm going to face my demons. It will be difficult keeping a toe in both worlds as once. So like a lot of things, blogging has come to an end. It was for me really, anyway, just to get things straight in my head. There's not much more it can do. But for the sake of the few who make it this far, there are just a few things I'll clear up before I go.

Is it true?
Everything I have said is true, at least within the universe I inhabit. Some things change with time, but that's the way of the blog; it lets you see into the past. There came a point when I stopped worrying about whether my experiences were all inside my head, because either way they still happen to me.

Are the Nine stable?
I don't often refer to myself in the plural these days; it just confuses things. Yes, I am a multiple. But that no longer defines my life because, frankly, I have bigger things to worry about. A common enemy brought us, in a strange way, into a state of peace. We still argue a lot, but we no longer war amongst ourselves. We're so used to sharing information that memory lapses seldom cause problems, though they do cause confusion. A cataclysm that leveled the playing field suddenly helped us to function both as individuals and as an individual. Maybe someday we won't be Nine any more. Maybe we can bring back Alex. But there's still a long way to go before we can bring back that. There's still a lot boiling under the surface. The wound is closed, but the bullet remains within.

Who is Grandfather?
Here's what I think. Somewhere in the world there is a demon who calls himself Ba'al. One day he stumbled across me. I have something that he needs, or desires, but he couldn't take it for himself. I had to give it up to him. (It's that kind of thing.) Maybe through my blood, or my past, or my fate, or my brain, we shared some kind of connection. So he crept inside my head and found a terrible thing in my mind, and wove himself into it. Out of my memories he created a being inside of himself whose sole purpose was to torment me, and that being was Grandfather.
I don't know if this is true. They say the best place to hide a lie is right between two truths, so I can't take anything I've gathered for granted. I can only guess.

What really happened on December the 11th, 2008?
I wish I could give a straight answer to this. I can tell what I remember. At the appointed time I went outside. Even from a distance I could see a shape waiting at a corner of the school's field, just as I had predicted many months ago. As I approached it it rose, assuming an unfamiliar shape. It was not unlike the dark giants, but more well-defined, more detailed. I later named it the Banshee, for it was a herald of death to me for all that time. Unintelligable words spilled out of my mouth. It reached towards me. At that moment, I collapsed.
Fifteen minutes later (I checked my watch) I woke up. The Banshee was gone. I still lay face-down in the snow. I clawed my way to my feet and stumbled away. I felt drained, all the way through. Every drop of energy in me was gone. Whatever had happened, it had taken everything I had. I don't remember making it inside. I remember falling. I don't remember the walk. I remember the hunger, and the warmth. I remember desperation. I remember what I had to do to survive.
I'm so sorry.

What are you going to do?
I've always wondered about that. I have a few options.
This is my last year to save myself. The next major summoning will take place in October 2011. This time it's not an invitation or a confrontation; there are no two ways about it. If I am not prepared by that time, I will die. Maybe not right away, but there are many means of completely destroying me. When the time comes I will walk, I will feel pain, and I will fall forever.
Much has been shown to me of my life if I should choose the good path. My wife, my daughter, my liberation from those that haunt me. But there will always be dangers. I will never be completely healed.
I'm worried about how much to say. The future has a way of corrupting the past.
This is what I will do. I will remain safe. I will not eat people, no matter how hungry I get. I will have confidence in my own control. I will not be afraid to ask for help. I will not let my faith fade. I will trust. I will never surrender. I will use everything at my disposal to remove the weight from my hearts and set myself free.
I will kill Grandfather.

I love you all. Farewell.