Day 36 / 12:36
Noah cannot, dare not, talk to Ms Turner about the intruder in his room. But he needs to get it out, somehow. And if one thought leads to another – well, that’s what he’s getting used to when he writes things down.
Dear Ms Turner
I’m writing this in my journal because I can’t use words to talk. You say writing things down makes them easier to deal with, helps break down a large problem.
These are huge problems and I don’t know how to cope with them.
Someone came into my room.
I’m pretty sure of it. But I can’t be 100% positive, and that’s what’s worrying me. I have so much I need to be careful about and it feels as if I’m not being as vigilant as I should.
I always have this huge question in my head – what if?
It won’t go away. It stops me from doing anything properly. I can’t join in group properly, I can’t make friends, I can’t talk to you, I can’t let my mother know I’m OK, I can’t face up to my father and ask him what his problem is. Every time I do, the question’s there. What if I do and something terrible happens to my family? It’s my job, you see. I have to keep them from harm and if I break one of the rules …
When I sat down to write this, I thought, OK, here’s one place where I can tell the truth. Really say it. Move it from inside my head. Even as I’m trying to write, I feel it building. It wants me to stop. It’s going to start telling me what to do. It doesn’t like it when I speak for myself.
I’m going to tell you about it, Ms Turner.
I call it the Dark. It drowns me when I try to talk. It stops me moving. That’s why I need my 5s, to push it away when it fills my head.
I can’t talk about it. It’s too risky. Too dangerous. I won’t show this letter to you. But I’ll write it. Anything to make it weaker.
It’s there. The Dark. It’s always there. That’s what I find so hard to explain. There isn’t a single moment when my mind is empty. I force it back, shut it down, but I can’t make it disappear.
When it moves, every muscle in my back bunches and my fingers curl. I’m coiled and ready, waiting. It prowls, jabs at me.
Keeping you on your toes, Noah.
That’s what it tells me, that sort of thing.
I have to tap, keep it contained, because if it explodes it will reach right down into me and destroy me. Leave me gutted, unable to crawl or call for help.
You know those scenes you see on the TV, after a hurricane has hit a town? The streets laid out, the grids, the pavements, the way the town was planned on paper, but now whole houses have been torn up, trees are upended, roots pointing to the sky. Everything’s turned upside down, all the insides out.
That’s what it’s building towards when it gets really angry. I smell it, hot and ready to blow. I have to gather strength.
I have to stay on high alert.
The thing is, once a hurricane hits, you can’t even see there used to be a town. And that’s what the Dark is like. It’s out to crush and destroy. Once it’s done with me, it’ll be off, unstoppable. My parents. Maddie. I won’t be able to help them.
I’ve tried my best to describe it, but my words are too weak. The Dark is a hurricane, a tsunami, a raging forest fire, all swept into one. It hates to be controlled. And every time I close it down a bit, it resents me more.
It hates me.
I hate it.
I wish it would vanish, once and for all.
12:56
And should it vanish, ‘once and for all’, do you think Fear will leave too?
It will still be out there. In the shadows, where your nightmares wander.