Faceless

The creature in this story is a personified version of depression and anxiety. This highlights my experience.

I first met her in a hallway. It was dark, but somehow a faint light shown from above making her impossible to avert your eyes from. As she walked closer, I could see her features slowly come alive. She looked like me, but fragile. One fall and she would break. Her pale porcelain skin, her bronze eyes, her dark flowing hair, her thin physique. Somehow I felt for her. But the uncanny resemblance was hard to look past. There was something about her. I couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was, but I could tell, she was special.

She introduced herself, and whispered her name. The syllables rolled off her tongue gently into my ear.

My heart began to pound. I could feel the pounding in my chest as if someone was trying to escape. With a wave of her hand, the hallway looked as if it was closing. The walls were caving in. The door became smaller and smaller. She grabbed my hand and she pulled me along. We were running, trying to catch up to the door that seemed to be getting further and further away. The adrenalin. That was what she gave me. Adrenalin. A strong determination to catch the door and not get swallowed by the walls.

We were running and running until I closed my eyes. Snapped them shut. When I opened them we were on the outside. Her hand holding mine. Had she saved me?

Starstruck I looked into her eyes. The bronze had faded revealing a green jewel tone. So saturated, much like the smile she wore.

Letting go of my hand, my heart returned to normal. Everything became clear. She was gone. There was a longing feeling before she let go.

In my sleep, I felt a cold hand wrap around mine. A whisper. Her name. In my head, every sound faded away by the pounding of my heart. Pounding like a drum. Faster and faster it went, until I finally stood up and opened my eyes. There she was. Her dress was torn, she looked worn and tired. Using my other hand I clutched my gold locket. Once she saw, she tore it off my chest. She told me I wouldn’t need this anymore. She would be my golden locket. The one I clutched every time my heart raced. She assured me she would always be here, holding my hand. Never letting go. I needed her. I could not live without her, was what she told me.

My heart returned to normal as she left my bedside.

She would wait for me everywhere. At school, she would be right by my side. Everytime she waved her hand, the world would spin. Turn into a dystopia right before my eyes. Everyone was out for me.

I begged her to stop. Everytime I tried to leave her, ignore her, she would wave her hand, and the world would change. Not for the better.

No one else seemed to notice her. She seemed only visible through my eyes.

She grew older as I grew scared. She grew worn as I grew stronger. Closing my eyes, breathing deeply could stop her magic wave. I felt myself moving further and further away from her. Her grip loosening.

Until one day.

I awoke to find her saturated smile in my face. Choosing to ignore her, I proceeded my day with her one hand wrapped tightly around mine. She waved her hand. The world grew dark. The tiles on the floor were moving away. My heart pounding out of my chest, my body shaking. I closed my eyes. I breathed deeply. Opened. Nothing had changed. I repeated. She was still there. Laughing, cackling, was all I could hear. Everything was spinning, I could barely breathe, the only thing that seemed clear was a silver pair of scissors on the bedside table. I picked them up and drew a clear clean cut right across her thigh with my free hand. The dark world was gone. Her smile became less intense. I winced in pain and saw on my thigh, was a clear clean cut right across. Our blood pooled on the carpet and I felt a loosened grip.

I felt a wave of relief as well as a twinge of uncertainty.

The next time she appeared, she looked damaged. Our cuts were still visible, which I hid from people by wearing long skirts and pants. No matter what I wore, there was still a clear clean cut right underneath. Everytime her grip tightened, I would press down on my cut to remind her of her weakness.

Months passed, she would still appear. She would taunt me occasionally. Tell me I didn’t have power over her. I would never escape her. She would be my golden locket forever and ever.

Whenever she taunted me, whenever she waved her hand and the world grew dark, I would take my scissors and make a clear clean cut right on her leg. Everytime I did, a clear clean cut would appear on my leg too. The pain, I grew used to it. I told myself I was becoming stronger, but really I was becoming weaker. I would give in too easily. Before I new it, I was cutting her everyday. All over my leg were scars and stains from my actions.

One day,  I was walking to school, hand in hand with her when I noticed something peculiar that lay ahead.

A boy I knew, never truly spoke to was walking hand in hand with someone who looked just like him. But fragile and worn. I looked over, and saw her holding my hand with a confused look. This wasn’t her doing. She hadn’t waved her hand. The boy seemed to notice me, and he approached. He introduced himself, and I did the same. She introduced herself to his friend and he did the same. I could see him glancing over in her direction.

So I took a risk. I asked if he could see her.

He told me he couldn’t see her clearly. He told me she must not be too strong. This was peculiar since I could see the boy latched on to him. I could see the boy touch his heart, and he closed his eyes and breathed deeply. This looked very familiar. He grunted and squeezed his eyes tighter. The boy latched on his hand became so unclear.

The boy told me his was strong. His would touch his heart and the world became an instant dystopia. This rang true in my ears.

He told me mine was weak in comparison, but was getting stronger. He looked at my legs and I wondered why. He told me he could see a glow under them. All the cuts I had made in attempt to weaken her.

He sat me down and told me the truth. Everytime I gave in to her attacks by cutting her, I was strengthening her, but weakening myself. This confused me. I told him how she seemed hurt and worn everytime I cut her.

He explained how it was simply a ploy. To encourage me to cut. He pointed towards her legs, which had not a scratch.

They come for you when you least expect it. They latch onto those who are vulnerable and open. His boy told him he would be his shoulder to cry on.

I felt myself welling up as I told him she had told me she would be my golden locket.

They gain our trust by using the adrenalin from the attacks to save us from a dystopia they created. They can’t latch on unless we give them our hand for help.

This hit my heart. The hallway, I thought. She had pretended to save me from a caving hallway.

They live off our pain. Everytime we hurt ourselves, they grow.

Then he told me something that truly horrified me.

When he was worn so thin by his boy latching on to his hand, he told him how he could make it all go away.

He almost did. He almost gave in.

If it wasn’t for the people who had found him just in time, he might have been dead. And his boy might have grown strong enough to latch onto all the people who loved him after his passing. He told me that is their goal. To grow strong enough to latch onto as many people as possible. They feed off of pain, he reminded me. And if he truly did succeed in killing himself, his boy could have fed off of the immense pain of others.

The encourage pain, they help with pain. To ignore them, to fight through the suffering.

I could see her getting angry. Out of the corner of my eye I could see her true face behind her saturated smile. The distorted hungry face of a monster.

She waved her hand once again and suddenly, his words became faint. He looked so far away. I closed my eyes, and pressed my back up against a wall, and breathed through the pain. Everytime a thought entered in my mind, I would expel it and focus on my breathing.

Soon, I could hear his voice. I opened my eyes, and she looked weak. Truly weak and tired.

He lifted me up, and gave me a reassuring smile. He told me I was doing it. I was becoming stronger. He then gave me the words I would never forget.

To leave them is to starve them. Don’t give in to the pain. Fight through it.

The what he next did was write a series of numbers on my arm with a pen.

He told me when all hope feels lost, use these numbers.

He left with his boy tagging along.

It should be said that though I never saw that boy again, I never forgot him.

Months past, and I felt stronger. My cuts turned to scars. My tears hadn’t left my eyes, and I felt happy once again.

The stronger I got, the more hungry she became. She occasionally picked up my scissors and began cutting herself in hopes to taunt me. But she couldn’t get past the barrier I created. She was starving. I starved her.

Days later I was walking to school, hand in hand, feeling strong and indestructible. Until something truly terrible happened.

Everyone around me was sad. Everyone around me had a faint figure walking hand in hand with them. I asked a girl what had happened.

She told me the boy, the boy who helped me uncover the truth, had ended his life last night.

I looked towards my girl. She looked so pleased by this turn of events. She started cackling loudly.

I knew why everyone had someone holding their hand. His boy grew strong enough to detach from him and feed off of many people who mourn his loss. At a time where they are most vulnerable.

I ran home, with her hand in hand. Her smile came back, she inhaled all my pain, she drank all my tears. She hadn’t been fed in months. This was her gaining her strength back. For the first time in months, she waved her hand.

Instead of the world becoming dark, I saw him.

He was standing in my room. Happy.

He walked towards me, and told me to join him. He was free from his boy, he was happy. He told me I deserved a chance to be happy too. To truly be free from her.

I slammed my head on my pillow, and told myself it was just her way of trying to get me to give in.

If it weren’t for his voice, I might have stayed away.

His voice kept coaxing me back up from my bed. He sat down next to me, and gave me my silver scissors. He told me we could be together. Forever.

The temptation was so strong. I could hear his kind voice, her cackling, my heart pounding.

I picked up the scissors and held them close to my neck.

I closed my eyes.

But then I felt a pulse.

Another one.

I looked down at my arm, and I saw the faded numbers on my arm. The numbers he wrote.

He told me when all hope feels lost, use these numbers.

With all my strength, I pushed past her and grabbed the phone.

I punched in all of those numbers, even though all my instincts were telling me to go back to the scissors.

The long lasting dial tone was painful. I almost hung up and went back to my bed, until someone picked up.

She had the softest voice I had ever heard.

She asked me for my name.

I gave her my name.

She asked me if I wanted to talk.

I asked what for.

She told me she was a part of a help hotline.

I rolled my eyes and told her I didn’t want to talk.

She told me that was alright. She would stay on the line as long as I needed.

We sat for minutes in complete silence.

She asked me once again if I wanted to talk.

I said I didn’t.

More silence.

She asked me why I called.

I gave her an honest answer.

She asked me what I was doing.

I gave her an honest answer.

The more I talked to her, the faceless woman on the phone, I could begin to hear her more clearly. The background noises were fading out.

My girl looked confused. She was no longer feeding.

The boy slowly disappeared.

I kept talking to her, and something opened up.

She mostly listened, but at that point, advice was useless. I needed someone to listen.

We talked all night, and the next day, I felt a strength which helped me realize my problem.

I had been dealing with my girl all alone for the most part. All the pain had been building up inside me, which my girl would slowly feed from. But I found another way to get rid of that searing pain. Talking to someone. Opening up. Not letting it pass into her mouth.

Everyday I talked to the faceless woman on the phone. And everyday, my girl got weaker. Her grip was so loose, and one day, she let go. In mid conversation, she let go of my hand and faded away into the air.

Years had passed, and I had devoted my life to becoming a faceless woman on the phone. Everyday, I would listen to people for hours talking about how awful they feel, and how much pain they are in. At the end of every call, I would say the same thing.

“To leave them is to starve them. Don’t give in to the pain. Fight through it.”

With one slight difference.

“But never hesitate to open up.”

Author's Note

Be honest please and thanks.

Reviews

[Amaya]

I absolutely adored this story. It is so meaningful and relatable and by personifying these feelings, I was able to better understand how they affect me and how I can overcome them. Your story is something that will definitely be kept in my mind for years to come. Thank you for sharing :)

[Olivia Danielle]

Thank you so much! This review made my day, and a support hotline did change my life.

[Julie McCarthy (juliesp..]

amazing piece of work, cant believe no reviews yet.
thanks for entering this honest personal raw piece of work
its amazing showing the struggle of self harm depression and anxiety.
It also shows what good these ladies and men on the hotline do for thousands who call them.
goodluck in my competition, take care always.x