Haunted Memories


08 Apr 2011 15:39  |  by Carys Kinsey
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I'm losing my bleedin' marbles. I've gone from ignoring the imaginary man, to pointing him out to others, to watching a woman hold a conversation with him. I can't tell if the medication isn't working as well as it should be, or if my condition has just changed. I've called around to set up an appointment for further testing, but I'm not certain that it'll help at this point.

Because now he knows I can see him, and he keeps trying to talk to me. I know it's just a hallucination, and that it's been exacerbated thanks to the woman who came into the shop, and was telling me that he was real. I know he's not really there…

… and still when the shop is empty, I find myself starting to respond to him. I've caught myself at it twice. Miss Priss looks at me as though I'm mad, and I really probably am.

I just hope against hope that when I go back for the testing they don't decide to lock me up again. I've got my life at a good place now. I'm doing well in school, and Glynis is giving me more and more to do at the shop. I'd rather not lose myself in that catatonic state again.

Imaginary Images

12 Feb 2011 23:57  |  by Carys Kinsey
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Yesterday upon the stair
I met a man who wasn’t there
He wasn’t there again today
Oh, how I wish he’d go away.
~ William Hughes Mearns

Mearns' poem Antigonish suits me perfectly. He may have written it about a ghost, but I think it works for imaginary creations of my mind. I see things that aren't there, and I see them frequently. Less so in the last three years thanks to the medications that I'm on. Sometimes, even with the medications, I still see them. I try to ignore them. That's what the doctors would say to do, since they aren't really there anyhow. Just imaginary beings that my mind creates to fill in the empty spaces. This guy though, I see him like clockwork whenever I'm in the shop.

Every afternoon just after tea I watch him. He enters the shop. He moves to a shelf that doesn't exist. He removes a book that is non-existent. He sits in a chair in the corner and reads. The odd times I do happen to catch his eye it looks as though he's about to say something. Then someone else will enter the shop, and he'll vanish.

That is how I know he's not real. Were he real… were he corporeal… he would actually ask the question. He'd come to the counter and purchase his seemingly non-existent book. I'm tempted sometimes to attempt talking to him, but the fear of winding up back in that place is constantly there. I've been doing well these last three years and I'd rather not wind up back in the institution.

Though maybe… maybe if he talks to me like the others used to… I'll talk back.

Just to see what he wants.


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