CONTROL

It got to where he could only feel cold, and anything that would normally provide any sort of warmth simply felt neutral –neither hot or cold- a phantom limb feeling, almost the way things feel in a daydream or a memory. Shaking, trembling at the sight of food  -often to the point of nausea- eating was not really an option, or at least he didn’t want it to be.  This sick fetish he had with putting himself through Hell just to feel something real, something alive, had become a real drag and it was no longer under his control. Something took him over.

It has been said that every person has a dark side, but not all show it so openly or at least do not realize they are showing it. When this dark side gains power it takes total control of the organism it possesses, thus, the organism can do nothing but witness it’s autonomous actions through frozen, dead eyes, like a ventriloquist dummy; a gruesome and unwilling spectator of it’s own demise.

When he attempted sleep his sheets felt greasy and slimy and unwashed. His skin crawled and ached. Then it would be 6a.m., too late to even think about sleep.  That’s when the birds came out to signal the rising Sun.  –even though the sunlight barely made through the blinds, it burned him on contact, especially his eyes when the light pounded at his tensely shut lids.

The filth was all over him now, even more so than his skin….

It manifests itself as some sort of thin imaginary layer of mucus membrane or transparent slime over the skin and even coated his organs and lined his veins.  “Parasites!” his brain screamed.  “That’s what has polluted my body and filled it with poison!”

But Densmore never really gave much weight to what his brain had to say.

He knew the real cause for all of this suffering. And it was cheap, readily available at almost anytime and just one call away.