#9 IS THIS THE END, MY FINAL WORDS TO YOU?

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Who am I?

The time of squirrels is up. We stand alone in the shadow of a lonely light and it's almost midnight, almost beautiful. We cry. You say you are bad and you only hurt people and can only harm me. I turn to smile because those are my words, my very own words. I hold a wood structure and my legs give way as butterflies. My hair is pacing the ground. You kneel and are above me and kiss my head and try to wake me up. I am nowhere. I am nowhere. Are you saying goodbye?
You say Happy Birthday. You are the first, except for those who where mistaken and congratulated me a day too early. I laugh or I cry because my last five minutes of possibility have disappeared. The time is up. I would have done it too, if you hadn't been here, if you hadn't taken me out and then helped me to get back. The magical year is over. I had to die.

We haven't seen each other for a while... You've been missing appointments... Tell me about your week... I have been in contact with your therapist from home and we feel that it would be a good thing for you to attend group therapy meetings. They are specialized in the treatment of BDP... they have many resources... they meet often... the difficulty is that they're in another town... How do you feel about it? ... You could still come here... You are crying, what is going through your mind?
My mind... How many therapists does a crazy person need to be cured? How many to understand that there is no cure, that this is the rest of your life, that you really are really mad? You people keep sending me forth and back and I have to relive my life and every time is harder and harder and I have to tell it all over again, to feel it all over again... I am already miserable as it is, why are you forcing me to suffer more? Am I not a good patient? What did I do wrong? You are as everyone else, rejecting me and sending me away.
I cry. I cry. Outside, the birds, a tractor, voices. Do I really hear them? The voices are inside.

Yes, you're right, little girl. We're here. Why don't you die?
But I don't want to die. Go away! You are not real. I want it to stop.
Oh, but it can't stop. We are part of you. We won't shut up.
We won't shut up.
You eat too much.
Nobody loves you, nobody remembers your face. Even your imaginary friends and your invented little brother know that you are the real lie.
You should have died.
You are alone. Forever forever forever. Growing old alone and fat.
You are very silent... What is going through your mind?
What? I look at my therapist. She is really there. She studies my face and waits. Crap. She wants me to speak, talk, have a voice. Which voice? Which one? Speak, voices, speak. I'm letting you speak out loud. You speak to the nut-doctor and I will think how to make this stop.
I have to find the monster. I have to surprise the monster and kill her before she eats me up.
I'll go to her while she's taking her bath. Alone, alone. I'll wait outside the curtain, filing my nails, cutting them sharp until they become razor blades.
I wait outside the curtain, listening to the monster splash in the water. When she comes out, I'll jump on her, attack her, make all this stop.
What is going through your mind?
Who are you? Why didn't you die?