Chapter Sixty Five
You should really get injured when you tumble down a long flight of stairs and don't get me wrong, I was pretty banged up, but not nearly as bad as if I'd known I was going to be falling down a flight of stairs. If you stand atop a monstrously long staircase and fear that someone is about to push you down them, your muscles become tense and you would stick your hands out to break the fall causing your injuries to be severe. I, on the other hand, rolled for what seemed twenty minutes over tread after tread like I was falling into a soft, cozy bed, only to spring right to my feet at the bottom.
At least I believed I was at the bottom.
It was so overwhelmingly dark down there that it hurt my eyes to try and see. My 360 degree vision allowed me to look in all directions at one time and nothing is what I saw. My first mistake was walking without knowing where I was or where I was going. Blindly feeling my way, I became trapped in a corner with no sense of direction and no escape. Every time I would try to move forward or to retrace my steps I would bang into a wall. The brightest things in the place were the stars in my head when I slammed into something.
The more I moved it seemed the smaller my world became. The wall came faster and the pain of whacking against it more intense. The futility of it all drew tears. I even tried to give up at one point but the room wouldn't let me. I couldn't lay down without taking a blow to the chin. I couldn't stay in one place without the wall hitting me from behind.
Thinking became impossible. The sounds of concussion can drown out the little voice that tells you what to do.
The little voice would say "Turn around and go back!" BOOM. My forehead met resistance. "Try inching forward!" BOOM. The back of my head would crack. "Stay where you are!" Boom. My nose would start to bleed.
I wanted to take a minute and contemplate how I got there. I wanted to guess where I was. I wanted to be free of this prison. The frustration was intolerable, there was no place to hide, nowhere to land.
I held my hand up to my face to see if I could somehow make it visible. The wall pushed my palm into my mouth. I spit it out and the wall put it right back in.
Time lost all meaning to me. Just like the fall down the stairs it may have only lasted a second or it might have been two and a half years.
A woman's voice called to me. "Come this way Marty."
I took a step in the direction of the sound and the wall didn't strike. "This must be the way." I thought to myself and I began to step briskly in the direction of the sound. Within seconds I bashed my brains out on the wall again.
A different voice called. "No Marty, come this way." Two steps and I was feeling home free until I found myself back in the corner.
Another voice, different from the first two called. "Go back the way you came Marty!" I couldn't move. I was afraid of what would surely come next.
The first voice said. "Don't be afraid to do what you have to do Marty, it's going to hurt right now but in the long run it'll pay off."
The second voice spoke in a dejected tone. "If you think it's the right thing to do then go ahead, I won't stop you."
The third female voice sounded angry. "If you want to stay there for the rest of eternity then keep doing what you're doing. You have the power to change what's happening but its your choice to not even try. If you want to stay, mired down in your own little cesspool, then that's your choice. You are weak."
Somehow I took that as a pep talk that wasn't really working. I didn't put the walls there. I didn't choose to be plunged into black. If I could see myself I would probably be alarmed at the cuts and bruises that I had. "Thank God for the darkness!" I assured myself.
If being trapped in a total void and hearing voices wasn't bad enough, something terrible began crawling up my legs. My imagination ran wild. It felt like a combination of spiders and the cold, bony fingers of death. It surrounded my calves and slithered up to my thighs. It stopped at my crotch and refused to go any further. I tried to push it off of Mr. Happy but my hands couldn't make a difference.
I was cold and frightened. I had nowhere to go. Death had an icy grip on my manhood.
At least I believed I was at the bottom.
It was so overwhelmingly dark down there that it hurt my eyes to try and see. My 360 degree vision allowed me to look in all directions at one time and nothing is what I saw. My first mistake was walking without knowing where I was or where I was going. Blindly feeling my way, I became trapped in a corner with no sense of direction and no escape. Every time I would try to move forward or to retrace my steps I would bang into a wall. The brightest things in the place were the stars in my head when I slammed into something.
The more I moved it seemed the smaller my world became. The wall came faster and the pain of whacking against it more intense. The futility of it all drew tears. I even tried to give up at one point but the room wouldn't let me. I couldn't lay down without taking a blow to the chin. I couldn't stay in one place without the wall hitting me from behind.
Thinking became impossible. The sounds of concussion can drown out the little voice that tells you what to do.
The little voice would say "Turn around and go back!" BOOM. My forehead met resistance. "Try inching forward!" BOOM. The back of my head would crack. "Stay where you are!" Boom. My nose would start to bleed.
I wanted to take a minute and contemplate how I got there. I wanted to guess where I was. I wanted to be free of this prison. The frustration was intolerable, there was no place to hide, nowhere to land.
I held my hand up to my face to see if I could somehow make it visible. The wall pushed my palm into my mouth. I spit it out and the wall put it right back in.
Time lost all meaning to me. Just like the fall down the stairs it may have only lasted a second or it might have been two and a half years.
A woman's voice called to me. "Come this way Marty."
I took a step in the direction of the sound and the wall didn't strike. "This must be the way." I thought to myself and I began to step briskly in the direction of the sound. Within seconds I bashed my brains out on the wall again.
A different voice called. "No Marty, come this way." Two steps and I was feeling home free until I found myself back in the corner.
Another voice, different from the first two called. "Go back the way you came Marty!" I couldn't move. I was afraid of what would surely come next.
The first voice said. "Don't be afraid to do what you have to do Marty, it's going to hurt right now but in the long run it'll pay off."
The second voice spoke in a dejected tone. "If you think it's the right thing to do then go ahead, I won't stop you."
The third female voice sounded angry. "If you want to stay there for the rest of eternity then keep doing what you're doing. You have the power to change what's happening but its your choice to not even try. If you want to stay, mired down in your own little cesspool, then that's your choice. You are weak."
Somehow I took that as a pep talk that wasn't really working. I didn't put the walls there. I didn't choose to be plunged into black. If I could see myself I would probably be alarmed at the cuts and bruises that I had. "Thank God for the darkness!" I assured myself.
If being trapped in a total void and hearing voices wasn't bad enough, something terrible began crawling up my legs. My imagination ran wild. It felt like a combination of spiders and the cold, bony fingers of death. It surrounded my calves and slithered up to my thighs. It stopped at my crotch and refused to go any further. I tried to push it off of Mr. Happy but my hands couldn't make a difference.
I was cold and frightened. I had nowhere to go. Death had an icy grip on my manhood.
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