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Featured Writing - Patty Out

This isn’t my story. It doesn’t belong to me, but needs to be told as a warning to others. About a month or so ago, I found a journal lying in the middle of the street. It was decipherable despite being soaked through and torn. It had been hardly used and most of the pages were empty. But the writing inside was horrendous. There are some responsibilities that I wish weren’t mine, but with the privilege of writing comes the job to tell. I have been sitting here for the past hour torn between sending this in or not. If you are reading this, then I managed to hold on to the chicken inside of me temporarily.

Entry 1   9/24/2013

My psychiatrist recommended that I start a journal, to record what’s happening.  It makes him mad, that I tell people, that I write things down.  Right now he is sitting on my bed, glaring at me with those pale, blue eyes.  The eyes- they haunt me as I sleep.  I haven’t dreamt since this whole ordeal has begun.  Even the dark behind my eyelids has been invaded, because he is there, his eyes, always watching.

I guess I should start at the beginning.  First off, my name is Patrick Herrington…not Patty!  I have jet, black hair and brown eyes.  I often get called Pinocchio due to my nose.  About a month or two ago I started hearing voices- no, a voice.  Just one haunting voice- his.  He wasn’t saying dangerous or vicious things- just snide remarks.  He could be funny, but in a cruel way.  I found myself enjoying the things he said about my friends and teachers, and even agreeing with parts.

I started to think more of myself.  With his encouragement, I began to believe I could do better than everyone else.  I should have appreciated my friends while they were here.  I lost them all, because of him.  Not only was I a jerk, but who would want to be seen with the weird kid that laughs randomly, for no apparent reason?

I’ve got to go now.  I’m hungry and he tends to yell and throw things if I ignore him to long, just like a child.  He can give some awful headaches.

Entry 2   9/24/2013

I’m back. He is busy playing on the computer- tumblr, I think. Anyways, back to my story. Eventually, I alienated all of my friends. Even my parents didn’t like to talk to me, let alone my sister.
Please understand. I got lonely. I was desperate for company. You would have done the same thing, especially with his voice- in your head- wearing you down all the time. He kept saying things like, “You don’t need them, you have me,” and, “I’m your friend, only me.” So one day I responded. I mean it was just my subconscious or something. It would all be fine. Tons of people talk to themselves. I wasn’t that crazy, right? He let me vent to him about losing my friends, my parents’ worried glances, the name-calling, everything. He held up to his promise, he became my one and only friend.
It was very gradual- so slow that I didn’t pick up on it. He was no longer just words. He became a presence, the warmth of his hugs, and the reassuring squeeze of a shoulder. I could feel his unwavering stares and complete attention.
I began yearning to see what he looked like. I deserved to know, it was my head he was inhabiting. That’s when the dreams started and with them my granted wish. Nothing happened in them. It was just him, watching me, even so, during the night I would scream and roll around, clutching me head. Eventually, my parents would wake me. They thought I was having night terrors, but they were wrong. I was fine. At least, that is what I thought.
That was when they made me start seeing the psychiatrist, Dr. Benning. She wants me to recall our conversations (me and the voice in my head) as exactly as possible. So this is what happened the first time I saw her:
Her chilly office wasn’t very welcoming at all. The walls were covered in corny posters and her smile was just as fake. “Hello, Patrick,” she said, her voice as bubbly as a shaken can of Mountain Dew.
“Hi,” I mumbled.
“How are you today?”
“Obviously, not great, if you’re here. Come on, this is dumb. Let’s bail,” he said.
I tried to ignore him, but I’m sure Dr. Benning noticed me pause, “Um…fine, I guess.”
“Excluding the obvious?” She chuckled with raise brows. I could feel him roll his eyes, but I nodded. “Why don’t you tell me about why you’re here?”
“I don’t know.” She didn’t respond, but sat staring at me for a long, awkward silence. “My parents are making me.”
“The idiots,” he said, “you’re fine.”
“Well, why do your parents think you need to come see me?” She asked oblivious to the voice in my head.
“Well…” I fidgeted and looked down at my hands.
“Keep in mind, everything that happens here is held in complete confidence.”
“Yah, sure,” he said, but I needed to tell someone, and she was offering to listen and keep my secret.
“Okay,” I sighed, “apparently I have been having night terrors and my parents say that I’ve changed a lot. According to them I’ve become a real jerk.”
“There are a lot of jerks in the world, you don’t see them in therapy,” he said, I could feel his frustrations at being ignored mounting.
“What do you think? Do you need therapy?”
I took in a deep breath and in that moment- I decided to trust her, fake smile and all. He knew it was going to happen before I even opened my mouth. His ear-splitting screams and shouts filled my head, as he tried, in vain, to drown out my voice.
During his rage he began to appear in the room. First, only in my peripherals, then right in front of me. He would remain for a couple of seconds before fading away again. It was a cycle and each time he would last for a bit longer and be a bit clearer, until he stopped disappearing at all. He had given me the image to his voice and I wish he hadn’t.
Long story- short, Dr. Benning gave me a prescription of Thorazine that should help. I’ve been taking them two weeks tomorrow. Within one more he should be gone. I can do this.
Well, I am going to try to get some rest. Along with the pills Dr. Benning gave me some valium to help me sleep.
…P.S. Did I just wish my journal, good night? Maybe, I’m crazy after all.

Entry 3      9/29/2013

Hi, um…I’m back.  I’m at school right now.  My mom is late to get me.  It’s been like fifteen minutes and it’s sweltering out here.  Actually, I’m starting to get a bit freaked out.  He seems to be really happy.  He hasn’t bothered me all day, just sat there, smiling.  I feel like the pills should be working by now, or at least stopping his progression.  Yet he grows clearer and clearer.

I haven’t told you about the worst part yet.  It was about a week after first seeing Dr. Benning.  I was sitting in the living room trying to ignore his yells.  He kept blocking my view of the T.V.  I just pretended like he wasn’t there, though.  Eventually, he stomped off.  I assumed that he had gotten bored of bothering me and smiled in victory.  All of a sudden something collided with the back of my head.  I spun around, rubbing the bump that was forming, to see him standing in the doorway.  He was holding one of my books and there was a pile of them at his feet.  He pulled back his arm and then let loose.  A copy of Maze Runners hit me square in the face and busted my lip.

“Stop! Knock it off!” I shouted

He just sneered and chucked another book in my direction.  Just dodging it, I rushed forward to tackle him.  Before I reached him, he slid to the side.  Into the room stepped my mom.  “What’s going on?  Are you okay?  Oh my gosh, your lip!  Come on into the kitchen.  We’ll get you an ice pack and you can tell me what happened.”

With a sigh, I followed after her and then accepted the pack.  “So,” she sat down at the table across from me, “What happened?”

“I…I was trying to read my book and,” he stuck his tongue out at me from behind my mom, “aaaanndd…there was this…fly.  It kept bugging me.  So, I was trying to hit it, but I accidently punched myself in the face.”

My mom looked at me kind of stunned, “Okay…that’s a first”

I smiled down at the table top.

Now that I look back on it, I may have been laying it on a little thick there, but she believed me.  Speaking of my mom, she just texted me.  Apparently, she’s on her way…she forgot.  It has been like half an hour.  What the heck?

Well, I have nothing else to say right now.  I am going to get a head start in English and read another chapter of Lord of the Flies.

Entry 4      9/30/2013

I am scared, I am really, really scared. I don’t know what to do. Oh my gosh, okay Patrick, breathe, just breathe. It started yesterday with my mom. Everyone has been forgetting about me, EVERYONE. But that is just the beginning. They can see him! They have been talking to him and ignoring me. It started off gradually, but the more they saw him, the less they noticed me. Now, they can’t see me at all. I wave my hands in their faces and yell in their ears, but they don’t hear me. He does though, but all he does is sneer. Oh my gosh, he is taking over my life!

It’s worse than that, though. I’m beginning to not see myself! If I look at my hand it just looks all transparent. I can barely even lift this pen. I keep dropping it and it is so heavy. He is looking at me right now. He won’t stop laughing. I can’t stand it, his pale blue eyes are so real, but when I look in the mirror, my brown ones fade in and out.

What do I do? I wish someone could hear me. I wish someone could help me. I wish Dr. Benning was here. Wait. I have one pill left. It’s in my bathroom, if I can get to it, then maybe everything will be better. I just have to be sneaky. He would never let me take it. Okay, I am going for it. Be right back, hopefully.

Shit! Just as I stood up he went in and locked the door. I am so scared. What will I do? Am I going to disappear? If only I had never listened to him in the first place. I can barely write anymore, this pen is dragging and so is my hope. Everything is getting

Sorry about that.  I was taking my last pill.  I am so happy.  Everything is fine now.  Dr. Benning was right.  It is so much better to not have his obnoxious voice in my head anymore.  I feel like a brand new person.  Well, I’m going to go.  I haven’t talked to Josh in a while and I was going to see if he wanted to come over and play COD.  I don’t think that I am going to keep a journal anymore.  It’s geeky, and now that he is gone, there is no use for it.  ….So this is it.


That is where the journal ends.  I can only assume that the worse happened to poor Patrick Herrington.  This story should stand as a warning to us all.  Don’t assume you’re fine when you aren’t.  NEVER respond to the pesky little voice in the back of all of minds, for it isn’t there to help.  It only slinks along the borders of our most precious thoughts waiting to discover our weakest links and when it does find them, it will pounce.

Hopefully, I sent this story in by now.  Now, that I’ve finished copying it down, I am going to go drown myself in beer.  Maybe, it will help me build up my own wall, inside.  At least it will help me ignore the voice…before it comes any closer.  Now, that you have read this, I recommend you do the same.

Veronica E., age 17
June 9, 2014
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