Killing the demons

"Ah shit" , I thought to myself as I woke up. The room was dark and that sinking feeling came over me that I had slept too late and missed something important again. Propping myself up on my elbows, I saw the digital display on the alarm clock flashing back at me - 11.24pm.1

I had been asleep all evening and missed my father's birthday dinner. The red light was beaming across the room like a laser from the answerphone. I knew it would be my mother leaving a stream of messages; the first would be -2

"We will be eating around 7PM Lizzie see you then" , followed by - 3

"Is everything OK, Lizzie? It's 7 o clock and we haven't heard from you?" 4

And then there would be the last one of "Well I hope you have got a good excuse, your father is really disappointed you haven't even bothered to call".5

I rolled my eyes in the pitch black room and pulled the pillow that was lying next to me over my face. The cold cotton pillowcase felt good against my skin, nice and soft. I hated the way they all spoke to me sometimes, as though my lateness and absences were intentional, like I got some kind of kick out of letting people down.6

It had been this way for as long as I could remember though. Everyone else in my family was normal and I just wasn't. I had been sent to psychiatrists and psychologists and counsellors in my teens and they all had a different opinion on me. Depression, teenage angst, hormones, social anxiety disorders; one even saying I was just lazy. The first few therapists I saw, I really tried to open up to. I didn't have any traumas in my childhood, I wasn't the typical story of some sort of abuse. I had friends; I just didn't want them. All I wanted was to be on my own and isolated from the world. There were so many thoughts in my head and such little time to think about them all. They took priority over everything else and nobody could understand that.7

At the age of 17, I just had to get away. I moved into a shared apartment with 3 other girls of similar age. At first it was great, they would all think I was out at college during the day when really I was alone in my bedroom. I would go into college maybe one day a week for a few hours and tell the tutors I was ill. Even my new doctor would be so convinced that I was ill he would happily give me a note to say I had to stay home. In the first term of college I think I only attended a handful of times and before long I was so far behind the rest of the class, I had no option but to leave.8

The thought of moving back home was just too much to deal with so I moved in with some other friends for a while and slept on their sofa. For the next few months that was my life, just moving from house to house. On my 18th birthday I let my friends take me out for some drinks and I got talking to this older guy. He turned out to be 34 and had a great job in law. He took a real shine to me and whilst I didn't fancy him in the slightest, I knew if I just flirted a little I could wrap him around my finger. 9

I went home with him that night. 10

For the next 3 years I lived with him. We had a very odd sort of relationship where I did nothing and he did everything. We didn't have a sexual relationship at all, he just went out to work every day and seemed happy enough to come home each night and find me there for company. Half of the time when he got home I was still lying in my bed staring at the ceiling, not even bothering to have got dressed that day. It was very strange but I grew to love him in a bizarre sort of way; maybe out of habit that I was safe there and he didn't bother me. He never asked for anything so I never gave him anything. We just seemed to exist under the same roof and occasionally curl up and watch a film together before going off to our separate rooms.11

When I reached 21 I decided one day, very selfishly, that I was bored with being there. I needed a change of scenery and declared myself homeless. After 6 weeks of sleeping in my car I was given my own apartment paid for by state benefits. It was in a really rough area with neighbours from hell but I didn't care. It was mine, there was only me here, no one to tell me what to do, no one to speak to me, no one but me.12

Me and my thoughts. All alone.13

For the past 4 years I had lived here by myself, but not once did my thoughts ever stop for long enough to let me have any sort of normal life. I had never had a job; I lived on benefit money; I had no friends at all. I didn't drink or take drugs; I barely ate, and I could easily sleep for 14 hours a day. The thoughts tired me out so much I couldn't do anything else.14

"Everyone hates you Lizzie" 15

"You should just kill them all" 16

"You are never going to be anything but a useless waste of space" 17

"Don't go to sleep Lizzie, they're gonna get you" 18

"You need help Lizzie" 19

"You're a freak" 20

"Find a way to get rid of us, go on we dare you" 21

So I would, I would try and try to find a way to get rid of them. I would spend hours searching the Internet for ways to control my out of control thoughts. Some days I wondered if I was schizophrenic. Some days I listened to them and agreed I needed help. My whole life was becoming a lie. My parents thought I worked night shift and slept all day so they wouldn't bother me or come round. I had created this little story of a job I had in a hospital that was out of town where they didn't know anyone. The thoughts in my head got stronger and stronger about hurting someone, anyone, even a complete stranger that I didn't even know. A completely innocent person. I had to keep myself locked away, because I thought a time would come where I would just flip out and act upon these messages swirling round my brain. My head felt like a pressure cooker with so many thoughts and messages and images all compressed so tightly and I badly needed someone to drill a hole in the side of my head and let some pressure out, let some of the thoughts escape. But no one ever did.22

One day I got a letter telling me I owed money to the electricity company. I hadn't paid my bill for months and it had added up pretty high. I knew I needed to find money but I also knew I was in no state of mind to get a job. Out of the blue it came to me - be a prostitute.23

I went on-line and found a place I could advertise and within hours I had guys calling me up for an appointment. I didn't care who they were or what they looked like. I hadn't had sex in years and was like a vegetable when it came to emotion anyway. So I told the first guy who called to come round, and I put my best bra and panties on and gave my hair a brush. I don't know what he was expecting but he muttered something about, "well at least your slim". 24

Thirty minutes later he was finished and I felt nothing apart from knowing I needed to buy some paint for the ceiling. It was far more flaky than I had ever noticed before. Five more guys came and went and I had enough money to pay the electric bill. I decided to leave my advert on-line. 25

I never thought about them after they left. I never wondered what their names were or how old they were or whether or not they had wives or children. I didn't smile at them when they arrived at my apartment or offer them a drink; I didn't make any effort with my appearance. I simply opened the door, took their envelope with the cash, and told them to follow me to the bedroom. Maybe it's different with the street-working girls having to get in cars with their punters but I never felt any sense of danger. My eyes would look at them completely empty and emotionless as they carried out their sordid task and they didn't stick around for any conversation afterwards.26

As soon as they would leave, I would go back to my own thoughts. By now they were less towards hurting other people and more towards hurting myself.27

"You are cheap and dirty Lizzie" 28

"Imagine the shame you would bring to your family" 29

"Ha ha, look at the mess of you" 30

"Lizzie you are a prostitute" 31

"You fucking whore" 32

I spent so much time listening to them and fighting them. It took up so much energy to try and switch them off. But deep down I knew they were right. I was a prostitute and didn't even care. The men who came round probably thought I was some sort of junkie from my unkempt appearance and lack of interest or human emotion. One evening, after a punter had just left, I was in the bathroom and without even thinking I punched the mirror so hard it cracked. I pulled a shard of glass from it and dragged it deeply across my skin. I knew I was writing something but it was as though the thoughts had taken over and I had no control over it. All over my body I carved words like:-33

Prozzy - Ugly - Die - Kill him - Fuck me - Whore - Slut - Kill me 34

After I had finished the thoughts stopped. For the first time in years, they just went away. It was as though they were finally satisfied with me and had nothing more to say. My body was a mess covered in dried blood, scabs and scars, ugly words dug deep into my arms and legs, and yet I still let my punters come round.35

The first guy who saw me, who was a regular client, completely freaked out. He started shaking me by the shoulders saying I needed help but I just lay on the bed like a robot and offered myself to him.36

He said I was mad and left. 37

The next few guys reacted in pretty similar ways but there was one or two who just didn't care. Their little Lizzie fix was all they needed. Closing their eyes meant that all my problems clearly printed all over my skin were invisible to them. So my customer base dropped significantly, but I still had 3 or 4 guys who came round regularly. They seemed to subconsciously know the score: don't speak to me, don't ask me anything, just turn out the lights and do your thing and get the fuck out. It was best for both of us that way.38

So now here I was, lying in bed all alone, my thoughts tormenting me all day long until I had reached for a bottle and smashed it. Shards of jagged glass had lay all over the carpet until I wrote out all the words my mind instructed me too all over my body. Even my face had been subjected to their vulgar dictionary explosion today. There was no way I could have explained to my parents, I hadn't even seen them since Christmas and even that was just for a couple of hours saying I had to rush off to work. Seeing as I never went anywhere or bought anything I had managed to give them pretty luxurious presents that I'd bought on-line. It helped out with my story of working in the hospital. But even though I had been given plenty of notice and plenty of opportunity to say I wouldn't have been at Dad's birthday dinner tonight, I just couldn't find the words to get out of it. So I had said yes, I would be there.39

And I had let everyone down. 40

It was growing very tiresome now, this was me 25 years old and dealing with these thoughts with no name for at least 10 years. Every so often I would think therapy might be a good idea but it was all I knew. The voices were strangely comforting alongside their disturbingly dark messages.41

I slowly swung round and let my feet feel for the floor. The red light from the answerphone caught my eye again and I walked over and pressed delete without even listening to them. The broken glass was still scattered across the floor and I kicked it with my bare foot into a neat pile. Kneeling down onto the floor I felt through the pile for a piece that felt nice and sharp and dropped down onto my bum, cross legged. The room was still completely dark and I didn't want to see what I was doing. I didn't even know what I was doing.42

"Do it Lizzie, do it" 43

"Break the skin, feel the blood" 44

"Lets see if you can find an artery this time" 45

"You will only have done it correctly if you make it spray Lizzie"46

"Yes we want to see it spraying out" 47

I held the glass in my hand tightly and wrapped my fingers around the edge so just the very tip was exposed. My fore finger and middle finger had the smooth cold glass resting between them as my thumb pushed it into position. The thoughts got louder and louder, chanting to my brain, making me feel like I wouldn't be brave enough to do it, that I would fail them again. I could never satisfy them enough. When would my initiation tasks be over with them?48

Pushing hard I dug the glass in deep, just how they told me to. I twisted and turned it inside my skin, skewering deeper and deeper. I could feel the warmth and wetness of the blood trickling out and was momentarily glad I couldn't actually see it. For the first time ever I actually felt the physical pain stinging through my wrist so I knew I must be making them happy, I knew I was doing better than I ever had before. I kept waiting for the spurt, the big spray they so badly wanted but it just never came. Feeling extremely frustrated I pulled the glass out and threw it to the floor. I stood up and stormed into the kitchen and began pulling out all of the drawers. Finally I found the roll of thin rope I had got for hanging my washing on indoors but had never actually used. I tied it loosely around my neck and tied the bottom round and round maybe six times into a perfect noose. My arm was feeling really wet now and the warm sensation trickled around to the front of my arm before dripping down onto the floor. But I couldn't pay attention to that, the messages were getting faster and louder now.<49

"Get a chair Lizzie" 50

"You won't do it, you haven't got the guts too" 51

"Kill us, kill us" 52

"It's the only way to make us stop" 53

"Do it, do it" 54

"Prove us wrong" 55

"We're never going to stop Lizzie" 56

"They'll find you Lizzie" 57

"Li---" 58

I dragged the chair from the kitchen table over to the door and stood up on it making sure it was the right height for me to reach the top of the door-frame. It was. I ran back to the cupboard and pulled everything out until I found a hammer and some nails. Running out the front door into the cool air I searched around the garbage until I found some old bits of wood and ran back to the house. For the first time I put the light on so I could see what I was doing and couldn't help but pause for a split second when I saw my arm. Thick, deep red droplets were splashing out all over the laminate flooring. The wound was gaping open and was the nastiest thing I had ever seen. Holding the bits of wood in position, I hammered them as hard as I could into the front door, nailing them in place so that no one could get in easily.59

Blood was pumping round my brain so fast I could hear it thumping inside my ears but I had to do what they told me. It was the only way to make them stop.60

"Do it Lizzie, do it" 61

"Don't back down now, we know best" 62

I climbed back up onto the chair and dropped the rope over the top of the door. I pushed the door closed with as much force as I could muster so the rope was completely jammed tight. There was only one thing left to do.63

Before I could even take a breath, I had kicked the chair from beneath me, the rope pulled tight and started strangling me as I dangled against the door. I gasped loudly a couple of times and the rope began to burn against my neck. I tried to swallow but it just got stuck in the dry lump that was forming in my throat. My body gave no fight even though my feet were hanging just inches from the floor. My eyes blurred as the pressure became so intense I thought my head would detach from the rest of my body. The pain seared through me, worse than any knife. But it was all going to be over now. As soon as it was over for me, those tormenting little demons would die as well.64

As the final beats of my heart deafened my eardrums, they said their final words.65

"You really should have gone for therapy Lizzie, we told you we would win" 66