Psychotic Fiesta
I have not been blogging much lately because I have gone insane. I lost it (the ‘it’ people refer to as a necessity to function in society) last week when my paranoid delusions culminated in a severe breakdown - an unhinged instability churning like tornadic razors, gnawing at my sanity. It all started with a nervous energy, a twitching vibration of seething diffidence slithering betwixt my epidermis and subcutaneous fat.
A few weeks ago, I thought I heard my neighbors playing music really loud. I listened for hours and realized it was live music - jazz, thrash metal, polka and Hungarian dances all rolled into one; sometimes going into long Baroque flute and neo-classical speed metal guitar solos. What an incredible group of musicians!
I was confused because they never stopped playing. I walked outside. To my surprise, the music stopped. Later on, the music started again while in the shower. I turned the water off, but left a slight drip going. Every time a new water droplet hit the floor, the music changed styles. It was like the soundtrack to my own life-movie; incontrovertible attestation that someone was controlling my mind from another dimension.
I realized there was no band - my mind was playing the music. Now, even more symptoms have emerged. While driving, I hear voices whispering in my ears, tickling my inner ear tissues with moistened, heated breath; just parts of sentences in different voices. I heard a womans voice say, “That’s all Emma said momma, and then she ate our cantaloupes.”
A man’s voice streamed by and mumbled, “So I decided not to burn the children, I ate their maggots.”
Children’s voices screamed, “Smelling my breath in summer.”
I could barely drive as the windshield seemed to bend the light rays, twisting my field of vision into a distorted matrix of contorted highway. All the while, voices kept groaning the phrase, “Bloodmaggots, bloodmaggots, malt blistered pork sacs,” over and over and over. I was confounded when I realized I had never actually left my shower. I had been asleep on the floor, fully clothed, sweat sodden and crying like a newborn infant.
I was overcome by a maddening compulsion to touch things a certain way. If I opened the refrigerator with three fingers on the handle, they had to seat dead center. If I failed to open it with the correct geometrical angles, I had to reopen it three times with my left hand and nine times with my right because odd numbers are a necessity in my mental wellbeing. Each successive opening had to be perfect or insane nervousness would cause me to snap.
If I notice something, it becomes an uncontrollable obsession. Two nights ago, I noticed the sensation of my toes touching one another. Never in my life has something like that driven me to the point of absolute psychoses. My disdain was unbearably intense - like having insects crawl all over my body while arms were paralyzed, unable to pluck their juicy bodies from my flesh - like an orchestra of vibrating fingernails grinding down the face of a chalkboard - old ladies cringing from the cacophony of sickness.
My neck muscles cramped, causing my head to tilt at a steep angle. Using a complex system of strings and lasers, I was able to determine the exact angle of my crooked neck: 47 degrees. Thank God it wasn’t 46 as I might have shot myself in the head. The only reason I didn’t is because it’s impossible to shoot yourself in the cranium three times. Combined with the frustration of my toes, this only compounded the ferociousness of my neuroses (a word that isn’t even used anymore - that in itself is driving me insane).
I stuffed clumps of paper towels between my toes to separate them, but it didn’t satisfy my mania. I hopped around the block on my heels to shake the weirdness from the tumid rag of my soul, but the problems only became worse. Every time I hopped around the circular road, I had to hop backwards to alleviate the surmounting tension of psychotic reversals. A wisp of cool air blew into my left ear and left an unquenchable desire to do the same in my right. For a balanced completion, I had to have the same cool wisp blow into my left once more to achieve an odd number - it took 17.33 hours.
To make things even more perplexing, I had to bite down on a chunk of polypropylene to keep my jaw closed. It’s the least flavorful of the thermoplastic resins I had on hand. I could no longer bear the stress of my toes touching. With a pair of heavy gage wire cutters, I cut the index toe from my left foot and cauterized the wound with a Bic lighter. It’s the one next to the big toe and the main source of anxiety. I am not kidding - it had to come off. I fed it to an armadillo, which carries polio and other infectious diseases by the way. Read my sickening horror story Killing Old Hag for more on toe amputation.
I have no idea what is wrong with me, and self-diagnosis doesn’t seem to be helping. I’ve come to the conclusion that wikipedia is not the compendium of knowledge it claims to be. I want to see a real doctor one day (when Obama gives me free health care and saves the world), but am afraid they will surgically alter my brain somehow. I drank five liters of orange soda because the artificial orange food coloring seems to sooth my spasmodic nerves. I hope haven’t murdered anyone with my razor of death while in a manic stupor. If I did, I wouldn’t know about it. Someone please help me…I beg you.
The painting is “Allegory of the Triumph of Venus” by Angelo Bronzino in 1545.
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Please tell me this is a story, I can handle everything until the chopped off toe came along…
Bobby,
Quite a frightening foray into the twisted human psyche!
Jeanne
Hola Bobby! You’ve been tagged, come have some fun!
Tag
@Joh: Yes, it’s a story and only some of it is true
@Jeanne: Thanks! I was going to edit and refine it, but decided to publish the raw draft. Sometimes, it’s the best choice
@Marzie: Thanks for the tag! Is that a tag for my amputated toe?
Wow. This was quite a ride. I love your stories and I can definitely see a little truth in there. Some of it is true about me. That must be part of the horror.
Thanks Teeni!
This was supposed to be weirder than it is, but I didn’t spend much time writing it. What part is true about you?
bobby!!!! you never add a disclaimer,, and i am always half the dang way thru before i realize you are creating… i love your horror fiction,, always have… good to see you back !!!!!
Hi Jodi! I like the idea of blending reality with fiction, so my fiction is partially true. Thanks for reading!!!
I heard Dr. Obama “always” Wright will also cure the angle of your dangle only if it is exactly 47 degrees!
Hi Debbie! Don’t you mean Lord Obama? He is a lawyer from heaven and Saviour of the world. He will sweet talk China into another 500 billion dollar loan
I skip your horror stories- Bobby too scary for me… I don’t do terror or insanity or killer clowns, cannibals or monkeys. I hate monkeys- passionately. If you have a story about stomping monkeys or ripping their toes off I will read it in entirety.
Of course now I have outed myself and all of Peta will be after me to rip my toes off and feed them to poor starving African Mandrills with blue butts and foot long fangs.
Did I mention I hate monkeys?
Well, I don’t want to scare you off, but the nervous energy and the compulsion to touch things a certain way sometimes overtake me. I don’t think it’s obsessive with me though because the touching thing is not often but when it happens, I can totally understand with OCD sufferers are coming from. There is this one thing - my ex husband used to kid around and press my nose with his finger like a little kid pressing a button because he knew it would drive me crazy. I could not leave it alone until I had pushed my nose from underneath almost like a kid wiping snot up thier nose with the back of their sleeve. It just didn’t feel right until I did that reactionary movement to his first movement. Okay, now you know way too much info and are probably calling the nice young men in the white clean coats to come and take me away. But they’ll never catch me! LOL.
@Michelle: I love monkeys! I ate one last night. It was a crab-eating macaque from Thailand. It arrived in a small cage with masking tape over it’s eyes. I’ll save the details for a post - it gets quite disturbing lol
@Teeni: Haha! I thought everyone had such experiences. When I wrote how noticing my toes touching each other was bothering me, it was true. I actually lost sleep over it for a few days. I didn’t cut it off though. Now I wear really tight socks. It seems to help me!
Bobby, that scared the bejebus out of me. Thank God it was a story. You are so intense. I loved it when I realized it was just a story.
Thanks Ettarose! I fully expected that no one would read this. Every time I write some twisted story, I think people will stop visiting me.
“Every time I write some twisted story, I think people will stop visiting me.”
Some how I doubt that will ever happen… it’s not like you’re the most twisted pretzel on the internet.
*whew*. I’ll admit that you got me there. I was getting nervous! It was comforting to read your sane comment replies..hehe…what a piece!
@Michelle: I’m not the most twisted pretzel? Oh my, I’d better change things around here lol!
@Pentad: Thanks! This post is partially true though!
hi bobby! you’ve been awarded!
Come & check it out!:)
Thanks Jean!
Bobby!!! Thanks for the funny comment at MPG he he! I can’t wait to see ur Revellian handbag ha ha ha!! Out with it now Bobby!
You had me scared there for a minute. Glad to hear it was fiction. It reminded me of something that happened to me. I have never had so much as a hint of a psych condition, but I did actually have one unexplained auditory hallucination once. I could hear a flute playing, with a much quieter accompanying orchestra. I could hear it very well and it was a well developed, beautiful melody. It wasn’t super loud but it was as loud as a normal speaking voice. I was alone in my house at first, but then my son came in and I asked him if he could hear music. He said no. It lasted for about 1/2 hour and was gone. BTW, I enjoy reading your fiction. Massacre at the Waffle House was awesome.
@Marzie: You’re welcome…It’s coming up soon!
@Robin: I have similar auditory hallucinations to the one described in my story and have most of my life. It happens when it’s really quiet. I’m a musician, so I think about music a lot. That’s cool that you heard that flute and orchestra! The mind records music subconsciously all the time. I don’t see it as a problem, it’s a gift. Thanks for reading!
Jesus Bobby…I was thinking, is it a story or is it real, but throughout, I thought what a magnificence. Well written. I enjoyed it. The raw (emotional) and cogent narration. It’s a scary and compulsive read.
Thank you Ana, that means a lot to me and really made my day! I’ve come to terms with the way I write and don’t fight myself any more. Though there’s really no normal plot or character development, the overall rawness and insight of the written perspective serves as a construct. This perceived vacuum actually is the plot. Sometimes, as in this case, the delivery outweighs the story itself. I know you have a keen sense of writing analysis, and wanted to share with you my view on this.
Thanks again