When I was little, I'd named him Friend.
"Hi again. I've been waiting for you," I told him playfully.
"I've been here for a while. You just didn't choose to see me." Friend remained still, standing a few feet away from me, the details of his body and face always maddeningly concealed in the brightness.
"How can you choose to not see someone?" I wondered idly, playing with a corner of the blanket.
"You had to turn around to see me, didn't you?"
I bit my lip and pondered this, confused. Not coming to any grand conclusions, I avoided the topic altogether. "I'm sorry I have to use you as my scapegoat all the time. You must be tired of seeing me."
"I could never be tired of seeing you, especially since you created me to be so patient."
I laughed, in spite of myself. "Is this normal? Let me correct that—is it normal to create a man in your dreams as a child, and then continue to see that same man as an adult?"
Though I couldn't see Friend's face that well, I had a feeling the expression on his face was a gentle one. "Why do you always care about what is or isn't normal? You are Morgan Constantina, the one and only, the beautiful, wise, ever-illuminating spirit."
I stifled the desire to roll my eyes. I didn't want to hurt his feelings, especially because he was always so nice to me. I sighed briefly and said, "It doesn't feel that way. It hasn't felt that way for a very long time."
"You're too young to say things like 'for a very long time.' What has wounded you? Why so cynical? So you fell in love with a jerk. That's not the worst thing that can happen. You had hope for him and decided to stick by him no matter what. You can't be blamed for believing in the idea of happiness. You're young, beautiful, and alive. Most importantly, you have the courage and ability to learn what doesn't make you happy, and adapt accordingly."
"Thanks, but I kind of wish someone real would say that." I wished I wasn't whining like a brat in my own fantasy, feeling sorry for myself. "This is a terrible fantasy. Drugs and misery have left my imagination numb." I shook my head.
"Did you really think sex was the ultimate fantasy?" he asked, not in a mocking tone but in a genuinely interested one. When I didn't answer, he added, "What would be the ultimate happiness for you?"
I didn't answer him for two reasons. One, he was created by my mind, and therefore he would already know everything I knew. And two, some questions are so ridiculous that they require no answer, just a steel glare.
How could I correctly answer him? What would make me happy would be everything, but not anything in particular. Happiness without anger, mistrust, violence. To be loved simply because I was Morgan. To be accepted by my holier-than-thou family, and not because I suddenly became a saint, but because I was me, because I was special to them.
I wanted to exist without people taking a front-row seat to my life and commenting on every action. I wanted that freedom, and felt we were all entitled to that. I wasn't a murderer or a thief. I had just been walking a path of confusion, and had been taking steps to ease that confusion. Not everyone agreed with the steps I took, but I didn't ask for their permission and even if I did, I strongly believed we were all equal on this planet. This would mean that no one would have cause to rule over or judge me.
But how does one say all this? I didn't have the emotional energy to speak of it aloud. Doing so would require more effort than I was willing to put forth, effort to elaborate and provide painful details, even though he already knew all these things.
I looked up at Friend—inasmuch as I could. Perhaps he smiled, or maybe he was growing impatient with my silence. Hopefully, he understood that I didn't want to answer his question. I changed the subject instead.
"Do you want me to call you something besides Friend? Is there a real name you prefer?"
"What do you want my name to be?"
I groaned and looked back down at the blanket, which was easier on my dream-eyes than trying to see through the sun. "Please. Don't turn my questions back around on me. I would really like a civilized conversation, if you don't mind. Also…"
"Also, what?" he asked after I trailed off and didn't finish.
"Also, that's what hookers say, and that's not really what I picture for my dream man."
He laughed—a good natured, genuine laugh. "Am I your dream man?" he quizzed, a subtle teasing note in his voice.
I smiled without looking up. "I thought that once, back when I was little. I thought that since I made you, I might as well make you in the image of the perfect man."
"But are you sure you created me?"
I tilted my head, confused, not only because of what he said but also because he rarely challenged me. "Yes. I… I made you up. I know I did."
"Morgan, do you believe in angels?"
I scoffed without thinking, but otherwise didn't answer. After a moment, I realized what he was implying. I looked up at him, which earned me a bright light in my eyes, then asked, "What are you saying? Are you an angel?"
He paused, and I wondered briefly if he was giving me a pensive look—a look I really couldn't see. "Morgan…"
"What?"
He opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it, laughing lightly. "Nothing. I'd just like to enjoy your company."
"You're always in such good spirits. Is that a requirement for an angel?"
"Does that mean you believe me?"
"Um… I don't see the harm in it," I replied diplomatically. "Why don't you sit here on the blanket with me?"
"In a moment, thank you. I'm a bit busy right now."
"Busy doing what?"
Silence again. If he was so busy, why did he waste so much time talking in circles?
Friend leaned toward me so quickly that I almost fell over. He lowered his voice to a quiet yet passionate tone. "I'm closer than you realize. Every day I get nearer to seeing the same clouds that you see, breathing in the very air that you exhale. But it's going to change things. It's going to change everything."
I said nothing. It was a dream and I was well aware of it, but I could hear and feel his breathing. His face was mere inches from mine, and we both remained silent, enjoying the feeling of the other's presence.
There was something irresistibly sexy in what he said and how he said it, something ineffable, something that was seated in the core of his soul. I felt like I was being pulled to him without any trickery behind it. Like I was being drawn to him because of him, because there was something inside of him that I was incredibly attracted to, and it wasn't physical, obviously, because I couldn't quite see him. There was something else there that I couldn't pinpoint, something…
Magical? Heavenly?
"Tell me how close," I whispered. I moved closer to him, my skin suddenly aching to feel the air next to his body. Suddenly, I thought of nothing except this man, and I felt nothing except this magnetic pull to this old, imaginary Friend of mine that called himself an angel. God, I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to throw him on the ground and feel his body under me.
Did angels have sex? Did they know the kind of love I needed and wanted?
Did he even have a penis?
He chuckled again and touched my forehead with two fingers. It was such a delicate, sensual act. "It's not supposed to happen this way," he whispered. "Sleep, dream, rest."
The last thing I saw before the dream ended was a gorgeous smile on a face I could never see or remember.
Chapter 3
It's a funny thing, being in a hospital. White surroundings, not entirely conscious, your life hanging in the balance… one might think of this as a plane, as a world between worlds, one between the living and the dead. I suppose it could also be a place where you could consider your life in a full and honest manner, not unlike that old phrase of your life passing before your eyes.
But I had already been pondering my life for months. I thought about it as I heard about violent deaths on the news and religious wars, as I chose what I ate in the mornings, as I had sex with my boyfriend. Is this re
ally what I want to do? What was the purpose of my birth and my life? Do I have the courage to make a serious change? Do I even want to make the change?
I kept changing my mind and flip-flopped as elements in my life temporarily changed. When Adim and I were happy together, I was ready to tackle life head-on as it stood. When he and I fought, however, I suddenly became philosophical while writhing in physical and emotional pain. So much of my life force was drained in maintaining this extreme relationship.
I thought back to my dream memory and his reaction to what he thought was me stealing his beloved coke. When we first started dating a couple years ago, he slowly brought up the topic of his drug use—starting with how he occasionally drank with friends and smoked pot. I didn't think very much of it at the time because it seemed to make him happy and seemed like an insignificant thing. At that point in my life, I wanted to have fun and go to parties, so I drank and smoked with him.
However, for him, these eventually gave way to things like cocaine and ecstasy. Until that time in his apartment when he caught me with his baggie, I never really addressed the issue because I didn't know how. Not discussing it right away was my way of buying time to digest and understand the seriousness of it all. He had told me I was welcome to try both types, and to his credit, he never pressured me to do so, and when I gave an unsure answer, he'd leave it alone. Looking back, however, it occurred to me that maybe he never pushed the matter because it left more drugs for him. I didn't want to believe he thought that way, but I wouldn't put it past him, either.
Almost anything I'd done ignited his temper, and I never figured out what made him truly lose control that day with the frying pan. Was it the embarrassment of having been caught, that I knew he was on drugs that morning even though he obviously tried to hide it? Possibly. It had also made me wonder—if he hid this from me, what else has he hidden?
He kept me under his thumb and controlled my life, from my computer use to who I kept in touch with, which was the biggest reason why I didn't have any friends. I didn't mind that so much in the beginning because I believed, like a fool, that he was just being over-protective, and that this was how he demonstrated his love. He had complained that I was always at his place, but he practically forced me to do so, most likely because that was the easiest way to control me.
After our encounter that morning over breakfast, I had gone home in tears and did an online search for ways of taking care of the skin on my arm, which had already started to blister and become disfigured. The next morning, I tried to cover up my black eye with makeup, but it didn't work, and I was forced to call in sick for the next few days until I looked well enough to be in public without anyone asking any questions.
I never went to a doctor. I just wanted to stay home until my body healed, so that I could pretend it never happened, so that I could continue being happy, or whatever I believed happiness was at the time. Luckily, I didn't have the type of parents who would see me in that condition (not that they ever visited me), and then let all hell break loose until they found justice for their daughter.
Yeah. Luckily.
My boyfriend had become my world, because nothing had existed outside of him. He was my lover, yes, but he was also my mentor, my father, my best friend, my counselor, and even my priest at times. He was everything and would do everything I thought I needed. I told him my darkest secrets, and he tried to understand. Yes, he was an unbelievably selfish asshole, but at the other end of the spectrum, he was also very giving and thoughtful. In hindsight, he probably had to be all of those things in order to maintain some type of equilibrium, as if he wanted to be the best person he could be but that his id, his inner self, wouldn't allow it. It was as if he were two people, and I always would have to brace myself for whichever personality chose to show itself.
That being said, he didn't have MPD. I would almost say that would have made things easier, but then, I have never known anyone who has actually had multiple personalities, so that would be unfair to assume. All I know is being devoted to a person who would worship you one day and almost try to kill you the next has made my soul fade in a way that I will never be able to completely and accurately describe to anyone, not for the rest of my life and perhaps beyond.
He didn't bother trying to contact me until four days later, after my first day back at work. He had called and asked if it was okay to come over, and I said no, feeling confident that I had every right to keep him out of my Lynnwood apartment (thank goodness I never gave him the key). He appeased me and then began the official apology. He started out by saying he didn't know why I was even bothering to talk to him, that he was worthless, that he'd been doing a lot of thinking and realized he had problems, but that I was his inspiration to overcome them all. But without me in his life now, there was no reason to go on, certainly no reason to overcome his personal issues.
That was cruel emotional blackmail, and he knew it. He placed his emotional future entirely on me, and feeling the weight of that responsibility, I gave in and came back to him because I didn't want him to become desolate because of me, or because I was selfish and thought I couldn't handle being with a man I claimed everyday to love.
In the days that followed, he was especially attentive and loving. I would almost say that it was forced, just to pull me back in, and yet I don't entirely believe that. It was almost as if there was a part of him that loved me in the most pure manner, but when combined with other elements of his personality, what was left was a whirlwind of a man, confusing and unstable.
It was also around the time I decided to change my approach to Adim's choice of lifestyle. Tiptoeing around him in fear was not going to improve anything; that much was clear. I had decided that I would make this relationship work, no matter what I had to do. I had invested too much time and too much of myself for there to be any other realistic choice. I had also figured that since I kept choosing to come back to him after every fight, he and I were meant to be together.
My next attempt was that of an enabler. The next time Adim and I were sitting in his living room with a small baggie of coke, I thought about telling him I wanted to try it, but I was scared of it. I'd heard from so many sources about people losing their life savings and even parts of their nose because they simply couldn't live without the drug. I just couldn't bring myself to do it.
Instead, I cozied up next to him and told him I wanted to try ecstasy. He had looked up, surprised, with a small grin on one side of his face, as if his life just got easier (or more fun). He ordered me to wait, that he would finish this—he gestured to his baggie—and then he'd bust out the 'good stuff.' On his glass coffee table, he showed me how to use credit cards to cut down the stuff to a fine powder. Even though I didn't want to try the coke, I found it to be quite a relaxing thing to do, and I had enjoyed it at the time, even at one point believing I was good at it. It reminded me of cutting up vegetables, which I had always found relaxing, even though I didn't get much of a chance to cook in my tiny kitchen at home. I turned my face when I breathed, so as not to blow away what I'd already prepared. I was nervous and a little bit excited, happy that he trusted me with something that was so important to him.
He showed me how to make lines with the powder, so I arranged it for him, just the way he asked. He did them all very quickly so that I was almost afraid. I tried not to overthink it or even think about it at all. He asked me to get a small coin purse from a shelf in his closet in the bedroom, so I got up and did that.
When I returned, he had an open can of soda sitting on the table, which he told me to drink. I sat down and gave him the coin purse. He opened it while I drank some of the soda, which helped ease my nerves. He told me that this particular ecstasy was in a different form than usual—liquid. I looked at him, confused, and saw him hold up a little vial of stuff that looked like water.
He unscrewed the top and handed it to me, an excited grin on his face. He told me he'd wait right there and be 'ready for my reaction.' He said taking it would make you feel
like you were in the middle of an intense orgasm. I wanted to back out, suddenly feeling sick to my stomach and nervous as hell, but I was feeling more aggressive then usual, so I picked up the vial and downed the entire thing. I slammed the vial down on the glass table and finished the rest of my soda, glad Adim had foreseen my needing something normal to drink. The ecstasy was disgusting. It tasted like ocean water, and I wanted the taste gone from my mouth immediately.
Adim began rolling on the couch with laughter, confessing that he had poured some coke into my soda when I was in the bedroom, and that's why I was feeling so aggressive. Furious that he'd given me coke without my knowledge or consent, I dashed over to his dining area, picked up a chair, and threw it against the wall near his front door—screaming at him. He fought me off, still laughing, and began to pull my clothes and his off our bodies one by one, squirming around until we'd come together in a strange, angry union.
It wasn't lovemaking by any means.
Nevertheless, I felt closer to understanding Adim's vices. A small part of me weakly suggested that no man could blame any of his actions on anything but himself, that there were plenty of men out there who wouldn't even try drugs, much less do so and then consequently beat up their girlfriends. But I shut that small voice away so I wouldn't have to listen to it anymore.
The truth is often difficult to listen to.
I had spent several months in this unstable manner, hyped up on ecstasy. I don't think I ever needed it to the point where I would empty my life savings, and I never attacked anyone or ended up in jail from being aggressive or hotheaded. I just did a little bit here and there so I could be with Adim and enjoy what he enjoyed. Sure, there were times when I did more ecstasy than he did, but I don't think I ever got out of hand with it, certainly not to the extremes I'd seen in him and in his friends, and I still stayed away from the coke, even though I had no idea if he continued to slip it to me secretly. And since I was no longer sneaking around to monitor his use, there was no reason for him to become angry with me.
Surreal Ecstasy Page 3
