Wake Up Call

My dearest Isaacs,

I woke up pretty absent minded. That’s my state lately. I've submerged myself in to work. I barely sleep. There is no sleep for the wicked. I keep waking up in cold sweat like I did two years ago. The pills help me control my moods but I have made a blessed mistake by missing one…

Most of the day was a blur just like old times. This day I woke up and went to work. Did my job but my mind was somewhere else. I can’t remember where… It was a dark place. I remember going on my cigarette breaks. I'm not sure if I even ate. I remember the end of it though. Still blurry but I remember it. I was walking the streets. The pace in this city is so fast. People don’t really look you in the eye much. They pass on politely, going on about with their business. The cars passing us by too. Their lights looking like neon stripes.

I saw a boy cry that day. Cry desperately. This boy was about 17. He was crying so painfully. Like the animal in my dreams. Like me two years ago. The cry of an innocent soul. I do remember that. How it feels… I remember my black eyes. Lying in bed after days of no sleep. Sitting up and then it goes. The memories. The pounding of the heart in my chest. No oxygen. I try to gasp for more but it seems like my lungs can’t catch any of it. Everything gets hot, but there is nothing that you can do. Everything, every emotion you have ever felt rushes through you and you feel like you’re going to vomit. I feel a lump in my throat and all I can say to myself is “don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry!”. I slap myself across the face trying to stir it all away with pain. It doesn't work. I stand up and look around. I don’t know why. I guess I was just looking for something to save me. Nothing comes…

I start pacing back and forth in my room, trying to catch my breath, trying to get a hold on myself. Nothing works. I storm out of there and go to the shower, fully dressed, I open up the cold water and wait for it to pass. It seemed like hours that I stood there, still not able to breath. It still doesn't work. I got out and went back to my room. I stood there in the middle, leaking a puddle of water to the floor, still trying to breath.

I wanted to rationalize it, Isaacs… Why is this happening to me? Usually panic attacks are different and they pass… This one was not letting go… It felt so different than the others. “it’s just in your head. It will pass. It will pass, I promise”. But it doesn't, so I go to the kitchen and grab a knife. It’s taken away from me. I keep crying. I stand there, soaking wet, rubbing my eyes and crying. It keeps getting worse. I black out. I found myself lying in bed for the next week. No food, no water. I think I've slept through all of it…

These memories are not that bad, Isaacs. It happened so long ago and they don’t affect me like they used to. But that day… something happened. I passed that church I love so much. I remembered France. I remembered Notre Dame. The gargoyles! Oh how I wish I could be one, Isaacs! They’re magnificent creatures, they are. Sitting on the top of the clock tower, watching the world from above. I stood and stared. I could see myself climbing that tower, sitting on the roof of it and breathing fire from my mouth. I closed my eyes for just one moment and saw myself looking at the world from that top. I'd sit on the edge watching people passing by. I could see myself. I was looking at myself standing on that corner, gazing at that church, every morning on my way to work. And one day I would come down, stand as that giant marble creature in front of the dead cage I have become, and tell myself “you can do better”.

I have no idea what have made her die that day, Isaacs. Or what caused me to have that... fit. I know it was a trigger to something hidden deeper in me. Something that I did my best to forget. I used to be able to look at the stars and tell you exactly why this world is beautiful. I alway knew that there is so much pain in the world. Today, I just don't know how to not notice it.. The only way I think I will ever be able to figure it out is to become her again, Isaacs. For as she said; I could do better.