by Fiona Campbell
The devil hides in mysterious places. The devil is under my skin. He crawls there like little worms, eating me from the inside out. I am scared, terrified that this is it now, I will never be normal again.
I hear them talking in hushed whispers downstairs, I stand on the landing trying to hear what is wrong with me. What they really think. No one is with me, it feels strange to be alone, they think I am asleep. The tranquillizers knock me out, the voices tell me to pretend to take them and then spit them out. I listen because I cannot trust these people who say they love me, they don’t understand, only the voices are on my side.
I look out of the bedroom window and I see my body lying on the floor, blood seeping into the cracks. Maybe I could fly, fly away from this world that has turned against me. I slowly climb up onto the narrow windowsill, holding onto the curtain. I stand there and a moment of clarity screams at me. I don’t want to die by default, there is still an ‘I’ in here who does not want to die or kill, who is not pure evil.
They say I have ‘severe post natal depression with psychotic symptoms’ but it is a long time before I will know this, all I know now is that the devil is inside me, he lives under my skin.
Fiona Campbell lives in Surrey, is mother to two girls under four and writes while the housework takes over the house.