Alone In the Dark

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

“When the picture changes, say when.”

I hear Dr. Ambrose’s voice leading me through the mental exercise as I tap on my temples, trying to shift the image in my head to a more pleasant, healing one.

“OK, when.” I mutter, more to myself than her.

“Tell me what it is you see.”

It’s always the same. Sunshine. The smell of summer and fresh cut grass. A whiff of exotic flowers—jasmine or gardenia—on the light breeze. Windchimes. Low notes, slightly flat. Peaceful. Soothing.

When you’re alone, and I mean TRULY alone, you learn to listen to the different voices in your head. Not in a crazy, unstable way. In an honest way. You start to hear the distinct voices your soul creates. And if you listen just right, you can hear yourself for a change.

When you’re alone, you can hear it all. The internal narration, running commentary, the inevitable stream of conscious thoughts. It’s never-ending. It’s unnerving, sometimes comical. I say the words aloud on occasion, because they’re funny, or sad, or something that would have made for a great conversation starter before—

“Tell me how that makes you feel.”

Dr. Ambrose’s voice halts my inner thoughts. Easy to get distracted when you’re alone. You wouldn’t think that, but it is. It’s just so quiet. Lack of people interaction has is a blessing and a curse. I am my own best and worst conversationalist.

“I feel…at peace. Alone, but not afraid. I’m… happy.”

I open my eyes, losing the image of summer on the porch for a moment. I had forgotten where I really was for a second. The night skyline is dark. It always is. No lights, not even my own. An ongoing sea of blackness. The stars though, are brighter than I remember. When the world is dark, when people can no longer light up the sky with technology and man-made things, nature returns to it’s natural state. The world is brighter, yet so much darker.

“Just an observation on my part. You are always alone in these healing images.”

Dr. Ambrose interrupts my train of thought, bringing me back. My hand strays to my neck, fingers tracing the ridges and valleys of the gold locket I always wear. Dad gave it to me before… It’s a subconscious thing, I think. Nothing to do with the moment it went dark. Or being alone.

“I’m ok with alone.” I still smile slightly, despite realizing she’s calling me on my crap. I hate asking for help. I don’t like to be beholden to people. It means owing someone a favor. If I take their help, I’ve got to return in kind. It’s manipulative. I’ve got enough tragedy in my past. People make it ugly. I’d rather be by myself.

I think, I’ve always been alone…Even before….Well, before I truly was. When I was in a room full of people, I had felt it. Felt like I didn’t quite fit in, that I had less in common with others. I’d always felt ok with my ability to be by myself. Preferred it. People were so complicated. People say and do such terrible things. Their needs, their violence, their lies. Their noise.

”Does this have to do with your father?”

Doesn’t it always? You think of your parents as being the grown-ups. They are supposed to teach you how to navigate. There’s a certain point where you realize they’re just as fucked up as you are, if not more. The moment you do, reality shifts. You feel like you can’t trust them or yourself for believing them. You have to figure it out for you. You have to figure it out alone. And it sucks. Because it’s his damage that broke you. His damage that makes you think about yourself the way you do. His damage that you need to forgive if you hope to heal. You have to do that alone.

I pick up on a flicker in the distance. Unusual. Haven’t seen a disturbance in the skyline for ages. It flickers again and my eyes strain to see in the dark. My heart knows there has to be a rational explanation for it. It can’t be people. There’s no one here but me.

“Can you let go? If it means you can find peace?”

Irony. When you’re alone with only your own thoughts, there is absolutely no peace. No relief from the voices you hear. It’s constant truth and the silence of this world is the perfect space for these internal conversations. It’s maddening and unescapable. Before the world went dark, there used to be ways to cope—alcohol, weed, binging a crappy tv show—but now there’s no distraction. Daytime here is easier. There are places to go and you can at least see the empty world around you.

But at night… No light other than the stars or your fire, if you bother to start one. It’s not cold here. Even in winter. It’s just painfully quiet, except in my head. That flicker again—for a moment I feel hope surge briefly before logic and past experience dampens. Every time I’ve gone to investigate unexplained lights on the horizon, I’ve been disappointed. It’s never people. I know for a fact that I am alone here.

I’ve lost count of days. I used to keep track of time. Used to mark the days, weeks and months down, but it didn’t change anything. It was just a ritual—some daily activity that helped me feel normal-- until I asked myself why I was doing it. No one really cares here. I certainly don’t. What does time mean when you’re by yourself? No beginning, middle or end here. It’s just a big empty world, where nature has resumed her hold over man-made things. And me.

I used to love daily rituals. They gave me structure, a reason for being. Get up, take your meds, brush your teeth get dressed—clothes, makeup hair—all the things that you do to create the picture of who you are. Or who you want them to think you are. Here, I can just be.

The flicker of light in the distance turns into a flash. Then a pause. Another flash. Two more flashes. OK, this can’t be a generator going down. I’d investigated so many unexplained lights in the dark. Most of them led to a burned out, dead or charred explanation. But this…this looked like a pattern. Again, I feel a flutter in my heart. Maybe…I’m not…alone…

“What are you going to choose to believe today?”

I hated that question when Dr. Ambrose asked it. It meant she thought I had a choice. That my reality is what I believe it to be. Sometimes people are who they appear to be and the world is a dark place. Did I believe this new world into existence? Do I really have the mind power to MAKE myself alone because I felt it? Did she really think I had the will to end the life that I knew, that I wanted to end up here? Alone? In the dark? THAT is insanity. No one would choose this. No one really wants to be THIS alone. You may think you do, that the world would be better with less bullshit and people doing their bullshit things…

But when it really happens, you realize just how alone you really are. You might have thought you were alone before. Self-isolation is different that this. This kind of solitude is crazy-making. What I wouldn’t give to be back in therapy, struggling to pay bills and make ends meet. Balancing a busy schedule with life. Chasing that “work life balance”. Dealing with my family. My parents. Dad…

Maybe this is why my eyes are playing tricks on me. Why I’m seeing lights in the distance. Am I choosing to believe I’m not alone?

Or am I just setting myself up? I can’t let my hope get the better of me. I can’t keep letting myself feel that upswing of emotion, especially when I know that there can’t possibly be other people out there. It’s been years and no proof that there is anyone left but me. My mind is playing tricks on me. It’s the depression and anxiety getting the better of me. I’m not taking my meds here.

“Do you truly believe you are alone?”

It’s not belief. It’s fact. This world is empty.

The flashing light starts up again. Flash. Pause. Flash, flash.

Hope is a dangerous thing. I’ve felt it lift, then break me all in the same moment. Tomorrow, I need to make my way south to figure out what the light source is. The longer I wait, the more I will fool myself. I’m not sure how much more hope my heart can take. Every time reality sinks in, I feel worse. It gets harder to get up. The reasons for being get less and less. Alone gets harder when you believe, even for a moment that you are not.

I get to my feet and head back indoors. Tomorrow, I’ll go south. And I’ll prove it once more, that I am alone here. There is no one here but me. And I’ll be OK again. I need sleep. That’s it. Sleep.

I move through the house. I don’t need lights to navigate my way. I can almost see the floorplan in my head and I make it to the bed without incident. I close my eyes. The darkness is indifferent. No matter if my eyes are open or closed. Inside the house, without the stars, it’s pitch black. I can’t tell the difference between dreaming and waking in here, at night. It used to make me feel claustrophobic, but not anymore.

You can get scarily used to the dark. Once you can accept that you are truly alone, the dark is less terrifying. Because it’s just nothingness. Nothing and you. I sleep restlessly here.

****

Dr. Ambrose set the penlight aside and made a note in her file.

Subject’s pupils again responded to light treatment. TBD cause. Neuro consult needed.

“Yes Doctor?” The young nurse arrived with a gentle knock.

“Thank you for coming so quickly. Can you have neuro paged right away? The patient is responding to light again today.” Dr. Ambrose turned back to the ghost of a girl lying still in the bed.

“Do you think she’ll wake up, after all this time?” Nurse Abby had been assigned to this wing of the hospital for months now. You didn’t see a lot of full recoveries here. Most patients didn’t make it long enough after an overdose to be in long term care like this. Much less leave the hospital on their own.

Dr. Ambrose stroked her patient’s cheek, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear and Abby dared to say there was a sad smile on her face for the first time in months. The bruises were long gone from the girl’s face, the physical ailments all but healed.

“It’s too early to say, but I have hope. I believe she’s fighting to come back.” Dr. Ambrose paused, never taking her eyes off the girl, “She never struck me as a suicide back then, and I still don’t believe it today.”

“Do you still think it was her father?” Nurse Abby lowered her voice. She knew it wasn’t kind to gossip about patients, no matter how sad or terrible their stories were.

Dr. Ambrose absently held the girl’s hand. She’d treated her for years before the accident and was still here, advocating. Despite her professionalism, she had allowed herself to become attached. She felt for the poor girl. No one should have to bear this kind of tragedy and suffering, especially at the hands of a parent.

“It’s always been her father.” Dr. Ambrose nodded, “She just finally found a place he couldn’t touch her.”