Dementia's Tormenters

[Deon]

This has been a hard few days for me. An eye-opening few days, but hard nonetheless.

I don't get it. Ever since that stupid demonstration with Mr. Railen I haven't been the same. I've never felt so weak and powerless, so at the mercy to another person. It was... painful to bear. I was always so used to my powers, my body being my rock, my constant in a changing world. I thought I would always be able to count on them, if not anything else.

I guess I was wrong.

You know what I've realized? There's no such thing as a constant in reality. Reality is such a fickle thing, like men. But of course the connection is easily seen. Humans, the ones who interpret reality, change their minds, and go back on their word, and pronounce as wrong what has been seen as right for years and years. There is no such thing as right and wrong, or what exists and what doesn't; it's all about perception and interpretation of a mind so corrupted as a human. So maybe that I've lost control of my entire mindset shouldn't be such a surprise. It's hard to accept a changing reality.

If a tree falls in the forest and no one is there to hear it, does it make a sound?

If there were nothing for time to change, would it ever pass?

If there were no men to perceive reality, would it even exist?

I may never know the answers to these questions.

[Deon]

I think I should call this journal The Book of Realizations.

I've discovered the meaning of life. Or rather, more appropriately, the non-meaning, because there is no point to existence. How could there be when no matter what we do and no matter what we accomplish in our life, it all leads to the same place where achievements possessions and the mind itself doesn't matter anymore: death. As soon as we're born we're slapped with a one-way train ticket to our end, and every second that ticks on the clock is like the wheels running over the tracks as a constant reminder of our impending doom. It stops for nothing and no one, propelled by the unstoppable force of time itself.

I was wrong about there being no constants. Death is the only constant of life, almost like a contradiction to itself. It is the ultimate and unavoidable end; it is inescapable destiny. The thought makes me cringe at the sound of a ticking clock.

There's no point in doing anything when no matter what, nothing one does can save them from their horrible fate. The point of life is merely to exist until time snuffs out your candle and moves on to the next. Everything you do in life is futile and all is lost at the end. It's a horrible existence.

How badly I want to stop that force that propels us to our end, but time's passage seems to be as inescapable as death.

But what is time itself? It's change. Yes. Constant change of the body and mind until both are finally changed from their state of life. That goes back to my question from a few days ago.


If there were nothing for time to change, would it ever pass? If time is simply the measurement of the force that drives beings to their deaths, and there were nothing in the universe left to die, would the force even exist?

The more I question, the more I get bogged down in the contradictions that are my only answers. Maybe I should start believing in some kind of god.

No. That would just make it harder to bear.

[Deon]

I met this really strange guy today. His name was Kaygen... Or at least, something to that effect. I don't know how to spell it. The circumstances weren't that great. That damn girl that snapped at me for yelling at one of her friends in the hallway yesterday stole my clothes while I was swimming and trying to clear my head of everything. I've been asking myself too many damn questions. Yesterday I felt so horrible... about everything in general. I couldn't keep any food down, it was so bad. I just felt so sick with myself and everything I didn't understand.

But I digress. So, the little bitch steals my clothes, and this guy decides to help me instead of stare at me while this other guy just watches, eating rocks. I didn't meet him, but I thought he was an interesting little freak. Again, I need to get back to the point. We got into a good debate, one that actually made me think... and even doubt. At first I just thought he was this insolent little idiot who didn't know what he was talking about, but he got a little better at his arguments. I like it when people challenge me. It makes winning so much sweeter.

Something he said kind of disturbs me, though. I mean... Is there really something wrong with me? I don't want to look into myself anymore. It hurts too badly. Maybe there is something wrong, if that's the case. Isn't guilt normal, though? Isn't insecurity normal? Doesn't that just make me more human? Or am I truly screwed up, violent and insane like he said?

dementia:

1 : a usually progressive condition marked by deteriorated cognitive functioning often with emotional apathy

2 : madness, insanity

I guess then, I was aptly named.

[Deon]

I don't get it. I really don't.

As soon as I find someone who understands me, as soon as I find someone who cares for me, as soon as I find someone with whom I can have a relationship with, as soon as I find someone whom I could possibly start to love, the world seems to find a way to torment me.

I thought that I had gotten over my past. When I told Seaheart everything, when I relayed every damn torturous minute of my past to him, I thought I was finally able to let go. Seaheart told me that I couldn't live in the past, that I couldn't be fearful and caught up in what happened long ago. He told me I couldn't cry, because I'll just be left afterwards with the same problems no matter what. I thought that I was finally strong enough. And then here, here comes this face from my past and all of a sudden everything comes crashing down. It makes it even harder that Seaheart knows about him, the only man I've ever truly loved. And now he's back. And I want him so badly, even though he's not the same man. But there's still Seaheart, whom I care about deeply, who cares about me, who I've shared my past with and he his. Yes. I told him all about my past, and I remember every word of what I said. And I'm going to record it here, because it's only consistent. I've recorded everything else here that tormented me so.

I still don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive my father for sending me to my grandmother in Poland. Oh, that damn woman made my life a living hell. She convinced me as surely as she believed herself that I was possessed by the devil's demonic force. I thought that I was evil, that I endangered everything else, that I tainted and cursed everything I touched. She had a way of getting into your head that way.

God... My life was horrible. She whipped me every Sunday morning, at the sound of the church bells. God, I remember it so clearly. She would yell incantations at me in Polish, she would scream bible verses, all the while inflicting as much pain as she could on me to try to drive the devil out. I remember pleading with her... pleading for her to stop, and she would only do it harder. Even with my healing, it still left scars. They're all over my back, like ropes sticking out of my skin. They still hurt... every once and a while.

And every month, under the full moon, she would perform some kind of sick occult ritual. I remember it all too clearly. First she made me wear this white dress of 'purity.' Then she would bind me to a cross, like Jesus, she said. She would slit all the way down my forearm with a knife in the same exact place, over and over again, whenever it healed up, letting the blood drip into a vessel that collected it. When I had bled about two liters and was barely capable of even thinking, she took me down and forced me to kill a lamb as sacrifice, to slit its neck and put its blood into the collection. Somehow I always managed to comply. It was horrible. I always got its blood all over me, all over that pure white dress. She took that as a sign of evil, that it bled on me and ruined its purity. As if anyone could stop it from bleeding on oneself after its neck was slit and that person was the one who slit it. After that she sprinkled holy water on the mixture, poured in what she called the blessed wine and bread that was supposed to turn into the blood and flesh of Jesus, then boiled the thing and put incense into the fire, all while shouting these incantations and prayers and god knows what else. Then she forced me to drink it. The entire thing. It tasted horrible. It burned my tongue and throat. I always vomited afterwards. She took that as another sign that the devil rejected the holy purified blood.

When her rituals didn't work, she started getting innovative. Once she tried to seal the devil into a teapot by luring it out of my body through blood. Another time she tried to drown me in holy water. After that she just began to try to kill me whenever she could. She even made a voodoo doll of me and started stabbing all over my abdomen. I've still got the scars. I don't know how it worked. God, I tried to commit suicide so many times. I threw myself off of our balcony, I slit my throat, my wrists... I did whatever I could. It hasn't worked or else I obviously wouldn't be writing this right now.

The worst thing is that I damn wanted her to do it. I wanted to be tortured, I wanted to be hurt, because I thought that I was the most evil thing in existence. I loathed my very core. I felt that I deserved only the worst, I wanted to rip my black heart out every second that I lived, I was so convinced that I was the source of everything horrible and evil that happened in the world. I thought that I was cursed with existence, and that my grandmother was doing me a favor, and she did everything she could. Many times she even brought men from the group she was in to try to rape the devil out of me, because apparently an orgasm was a the blissful gift of god that the devil couldn't stand. And I hid everything from my father. I didn't want him to interfere, because I thought I deserved this. I wrote about my studies, anything but what was really happening in this house.

And then I finally meet the one person around whom I didn't feel like the evil burden of society, the one person who uplifted me, the one person who held me up rather than put me down... the one person whom I really loved. I was thirteen then. Was it only four years ago? And you know what I did? I killed him. I killed him willingly. I killed him horribly. I killed him so that he suffered. I didn't deserve to feel like that. I was the most evil thing in existence.

Then my father came. He somehow got word of what was going on for... god. It was ten years. Without fail. 52 weeks in a year. 520 whippings. 12 months in a year. 120 rituals. 121 sacrifices. And I didn't want to leave. Again I tried to kill myself when he rescued me from her. I needed her. Her work wasn't done. I hanged myself off the roof of one of his hotels. As you can see, I'm still alive, still tormented.

Dariusz. I haven't been able to speak his name since I was thirteen... since I killed him. But I must record everything. I must get it off my chest. I want it to glare at me whenever I open this diary as a show of my strength that I was able to do it. I was able to do it again. I was able to do it in ink, permanently, in my hand. My history. There. His name. Here. And it will stay.

Dariusz. Oh, it's been so long since I felt like I did when I was with him. And here he is, back again, as if the world is giving me a second chance with the worst timing possible. I met him in the main hallway, and then again in Xavier's dorm room. Apparently he's Xavier's new roommate after he tossed Salvador. The resemblance is uncanny between the two--he looks exactly like an older version of Dariusz. It was so hard to face him. As soon as I saw him, god, I wanted him so badly! I'm admitting it now, so that I can move past it, because I know I can never give in. At the same time, the horrible guilt washed over me, a guilt that nearly brought me back to the loathing of myself that I started with. It was so painful. I knew I couldn't have him. I'm too afraid of what that would do to me... to Seaheart. And yet I'm drawn to him more than ever. Arkady. Arkady.

I've put my thoughts on paper. That's the first step to acceptance. That's the first step to putting everything behind me.












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I am Sophie Devereux, and I killed Dariusz Bzornej.

[Deon]

I don't clearly know what it is that I want anymore.

There are just too many conflicting emotions that I have, too many contradictory wants, too many twisting and turning unexpected aspects of life that have never been part of the equation, and I can't even possibly fathom how to solve it.

And the worst part is, I don't know what to do about any of it. I can see nothing ahead of me but dark, foreboding alleyways winding through possibilities with no end in sight, no end that I can imagine. It's blanketed in an opaque fog, and the path that it enshrouds is wrought only with suffering and doubt. All my life I've been able to calculate the result, to anticipate events, to know where my path leads, to have some sort of control over the situation.

Now I'm in so deep that I can't even see my hand in front of my face. And no matter how far I run down those damned alleys of actions and outcomes, of cause and effect, the fog only gets thicker and thicker, impairing my vision even further, stifling me in its claustrophobic grasp.

I don't even think I know down which alley I've gone, or what awaits me at the end. If there is an end. But I'm not even sure of that anymore.

I was probably as close to death as I have been since my fourteenth birthday only a short time ago, practically on the fourth anniversary, as well. I thought that I might have some kind of a realization, a clarity of thought just before the end.

But... nothing.

Nothing at all.

I'm still as confused as ever, still as tortured as ever, still as doubtful as ever about the path that I'm taking. I feel as if I've been ripped apart and that my pieces were strewn about those dark alleys, never to be found again in the fog. Have I lost myself in this madness? In this maze of possibilities?

I need someone to talk to, someone to help me clear my head. I can't even look inward anymore, because my mind is what's torturing me the most. My father heard of my injuries. He wants to come to Cassis City, to take me back to France for a while to get away from everything, maybe even permanently. He says he worries about my well-being--a well-founded fear. His suggestion is almost tempting.

But if I know one thing, it's that I can't escape. There's no way out, and I have to see my path through.

I want to talk to you, Arkady, because I feel like you would understand. But I'm afraid in a different kind of way. Am I afraid of being comforted? Am I afraid of being happy again? Am I afraid of being helped? Or is it just that I'm afraid of feeling weak? Seaheart... let me be held up by someone other than myself just this once. I've borne my burden for too long, and the harder I try to lift it the heavier it gets. I know that I can't do this alone, but I'm afraid to be with someone else. But all these stupid contradictions just cause my inaction, which is worse than the choice between one or the other.

Dammit, Dementia, why can't you choose? Because you don't know the outcome? Because some things might be out of your hands?

I know it, I know it, I know it! I've become that stupid weakling that I've so despised! But it's worse than that, so damn worse, because it's myself that's made me weak! My own mind has forced me into submission and inaction! I'm not even strong enough to venture into the unknown, so I just sit here, unable to go on and at the same time unable to escape, trapped in between the beginning and the end.

Seaheart... I'm afraid to move forward.

Arkady... I'm afraid to move back.

Either way something is left behind, and I just can't seem to let it go.

[Deon]

I can't keep traveling down the middle of the road anymore, passing all the tributaries that stemmed off from my river of unsureness and despair, passing all the choices. I've finally come to that final crossroads, where I have to choose, where I can't just sit and remain still any longer, or else I'll lose everything.

I kissed Arkady today. It seems so trivial when I write it down, those four simple words. I kissed Arkady today. But what makes my heart jump even faster is the fact that he kissed me back. I kissed Arkady, and he kissed me back. The feeling is almost incomprehensible, impossible to put into words, the most confusing and clear, wonderful and painful, guilty and righteous thing that I've ever felt. I feel as though a huge weight has been lifted on my chest, and I can finally breathe air for the first time in years. It marked the end of my just meandering through life, avoiding choices, tortured by whatever I passed, afraid of whatever would come up in the future. I have to make a choice. And I have a fifty-fifty chance of getting it right. That's good enough, right? I just... I don't know what I would do if I got it wrong.

Arkady... The option that I never thought was an option before, a person whom I never thought I would let myself have... he's now opened. With that one moment, that wonderful kiss... My heart flutters even thinking of his name, jumps when I see it on paper. With Arkady... I was able to release my emotions in a way I never could with Seaheart, to lose control and know that his reassuring grip would keep me in check, steer me back in the right direction. For once I didn't have to be strong, I didn't have to deal with it myself, I didn't have to hold it inside, and I found someone who would gladly share the burden of knowing my fears, my emotions... But at the same time I put myself a his mercy to whatever he wanted to do with it. But I'm learning to have faith again, and I feel that nothing bad can ever happen to me in his arms, and I know he will never use that knowledge against me. He was lifting me up... I never thought it would feel so good to get out of my self-imposed hell, even though I was still so guilty, so undeserving. What can I do to deserve this? To deserve him, when all my life was spent doing... I can't even bring myself to describe it. I'm so horrible. He opened up Sophie, pulled her out of Dementia's clutches. He's put me back into my past, as if I could redo my life, redo what I did to Dariusz, now, with the insight that I have from living for so long in the delusion called Dementia. But how could I? What if I do everything wrong again? How can I go back to being weak and vulnerable? I know the answer when I'm in his arms: Because he will protect me. But... once I'm away from him, I just slowly start to sink back into unsureness. Oh, Arkady... I love you.

On the other side, there's Seaheart. My future. Dementia's future. The very epitome of everything I stood for then, and still stand for now, to an extent. What I felt for him, and I guess, still feel, to an extent... it's a different kind of love than what I feel for Arkady. Between Seaheart and I, it's like an exchange between two great, similar people for mutual benefit, like trade. Commerce with intimacy, to be discarded once the other was of no use anymore for whatever pleasure they were seeking. The kind of love that I wanted. That Dementia wanted. But with Arkady... It's different. It's two people who are trying to learn from each other, to help each other past whatever flaws they may contain, to give love without expecting something tangible in return, but to love for the sake of loving.

But it looks like Seaheart isn't an option anymore. But I don't think he ever was, as soon as he saw Yuna again. Maybe it was an omen, like he said. Arkady and Yuna. Arkady and Yuna. Sophie and Twilk. We're both going back. We weren't meant for each other. So all I have left is Arkady. But I think that was my only option anyway. I don't think I could ever bring myself to leave him, because I have finally realized the true extent of my love for him to be deeper than I could have ever imagined. If he ever left me... if my love was unrequited... I don't know what I would do.

There's just so much confusion in my mind right now. I... I don't want to think right now what I'm sacrificing, what I'm putting on the line for something that might not happen, or my feelings for Seaheart. No. They're not my feelings. At least, not when I'm with Arkady. It's what Dementia feels. What Dementia wants. But Sophie wants Arkady. Sophie loves Arkady. Dementia would never survive with him. But who do I want to be?

Huh. Identity crisis? Laughable.