kaiia-archive

[kaiia-archive]

Mentally conjoined with girlfriend. Any help welcome. [ Update 2 ]

TW: Self Harm, mental-illness, religion, loneliness

I don’t remember every single detail. It feels like years have passed since then, even though it’s only been a couple months since it all started. Time gets strange when your circadian rhythm is off. It’s not that I don’t see daylight, I do. In fact, I prefer gauging time by peeking through the blinds. Digital clocks stress me out. They make me wonder where the day went, and by extension, how many hours of my life I’ve wasted.

Anyway, the day after my sister called, I was actually woken up by that sunlight peeking through the blinds. The night before had been a haze. I wasn’t sure when I’d drifted off, so I couldn’t say for certain whether some of the things I remembered had actually happened or were just a concoction of anxious dreams.

I do remember, at the very least, spending a considerable amount of time trying to convince myself I wasn’t going insane. And I mean, I wasn’t. I’m still not. I wouldn’t say I’m anywhere close to insane. What I’m experiencing is just the result of a different approach to reality. Not less normal than dreaming, considerably more natural than those who take that psychoactive, heebi-jeebi, stuff.

Anyway, sometime during the night before, I stumbled across a new article. I wouldn’t call myself religious by any means, but it was a historical bibliography of saints and other believers’ accounts of encounters with the spiritual. The author, cant remember his name at the moment, but had one of those Scandinavian-sounding surnames, was a professor in religious studies. Now I wouldn't consider myself religious by any means but his approach to the subject was something I could really get behind.

He argued that the realities we construct for ourselves aren’t any less real in a physical or experiential sense. That caught my attention, especially since I’d been navigating what might be considered my own distorted reality.

It might sound sacrilegious to some, but reading that made me realize something; the daydreams I’d been having, almost daily by this point, weren’t necessarily less legitimate than, say, a saint’s visions of an angel.

The article explored how spiritual visions and sensations outside the established religions are often dismissed as madness in Western culture and how that dismissal shapes the experiences themselves.

I don’t know… I just felt seen, I guess. Like I wasn’t entirely alone in this. Maybe even a little motivated to keep exploring this part of my life. Next time I got the impulse to clean my room or change my bedsheets to make the space feel more welcoming for her, I wouldn’t feel that self-doubting shame creeping in.

I carried on with this newfound confidence in myself for a while. I let myself get completely wrapped up in the fantasies. I even started buying her hair products, realized pretty soon I probably had a thing for those sweet, flowery scents during this time. I was at peace, kind of. My life even felt like it was moving in a good direction for a while. But then… I got bored, I guess? Smelling her shampoo, imagining her cold hands slipping under the covers at night, it was nice. Comforting. But after a while, it wasn’t enough. I got used to it and started wanting more, something more tangible. I wanted to see her. To really talk to her. I wanted to be impaled like Theresa of Avila by my own personal Jesus.

I’ve never been great at art, but I don’t think that’s why nothing I drew of her ever felt right. It was like I knew it was coming from me, from my head, not from her. The frustration kept growing in me until I decided to try and seek solace in the place where it began. I went back to researching. I wanted to know how they did it, how people throughout history felt it, how they communed with their so-called ”gods” and ”spirits”.

Most of it didn’t sit right with me. Wouldn’t say I agreed with most of what I found. So eventually, I returned to the religious studies professor. Luckily, I managed to translate a version of one of his later essays through a portal using my old student login. This time I wasn’t sure if he really believed what he was writing. He hadn’t struck me as particularly religious in his earlier work.

But this paper was different. It read like an instruction manual almost, showing how to establish a connection with a consciousness severed from your own. He claimed that certain people had a stronger natural tendency to build these connections, but also that anyone could make themselves more attractive to these other consciousnesses with the right preparation. He refused to name these “others,” saying it felt wrong to reduce them to a single label, that they were more than beings that fit into one name or one shape.

Before, he would link to other articles and scholars discussing spiritual connections. This essay, however, was almost completely void of that, barely any generalized terms or other philosophies to back up his claims. Though I guess I kind of trusted him at this point, in a weird way. His other works had really lit something within me, and I think that’s why I let it slide. I wish now that I had just discarded it as the writings of a madman and gotten on with my life.

There were different ways, he said, to contact this “other.” First of all, you had to make yourself susceptible to the idea of sharing your existence. He emphasized that this “sharing” would not only be physical but also emotional and existential. He warned that if you weren’t prepared to give up your autonomy, you might find yourself in a cognitive conflict after the conjoining, one that could spiral both of your minds. Still, he was careful to also highlight the positives; that these “others” had found a true peace of mind, and that they were not malevolent in any way. According to him, they were born cured of the human condition.

This “other” he spoke of, I reasoned, was just a metaphor for your subconscious. Maybe he had just started using more poetic language because of his religious interests. Maybe all the religious stuff had rubbed off on him and he was starting to become a believer in… something, I guess. So, I figured the warnings didn’t really apply to me. I wasn’t going to be stupid enough to let this “other” boss me around. I mean, how would that even work? Bossing yourself around?

Second of all, you had to establish contact. The less conscious you were, the better. He offered different tips to reach this state like dreaming, meditation, sensory deprivation, so on. For some reason, he kept bringing up singing, which I found odd since, in my limited experience, I hadn’t heard of that being associated with meditation before. He said this was the hardest step, but not to give up. Eventually, he wrote, you would know when the other had heard you.

I think that’s as far as I got that time. I let the essay sit on my home screen the rest of the day, unsure of what to do next. But as the rest of my day was filled with total boredom, children screaming in the grocery store, and strings of passive-aggressive texts from my sister about Easter, I decided to try something, anything, to relieve the tension.

It had been hard to even fantasize about her lately. All I could think about were her shortcomings, which I’m not proud of, but it’s true.

So I started with meditation. Hated it. Tried to clear my mind, but only succeeded in spiraling into irritation over the fact that I couldn’t clear my mind of the thought of the action of clearing my mind. Then I tried guided meditation podcasts, but GOD their squeaky hippie voices only annoyed me further. Maybe I was doing something wrong? There had been pictures of him in the paper, standing in the forest, maybe my flat wasn't exactly the place for meditative practices.

Next, I visited a few forums on lucid dreaming and astral projection. Absolute morons. But one thing they said made sense to me. I had to really believe in it for it to work. Which was harder now that I realized I was surrounded by idiots.

Honestly, and I’m sorry if that offends anyone, your stuff is probably great if it works for you and so on, but this thing that I got myself into is NOTHING like what those platforms describe. So I don't want anyone suggesting anything about ”your higher self” and stuff like that. This is real and not a dream, you're reading this aren't you? you're awake, right?

Frustration was getting the better of me, and I don’t think I saw much light or fresh air during that time. Unfortunately for me, I’m not the type to just give up, especially when it comes to my own mind. In college, I got myself hooked on cigarettes for half a year just to prove to a classmate that quitting was really just a matter of persistence. (She still hasn’t quit, as far as I know.) But you get my point. I was determined to succeed, especially now that my fantasies weren’t cutting it and my flat felt emptier than ever.

After the first two days of what I’ll call tamer options, I turned to some more… alternative methods I had found.

I ate nutmeg, way over the recommended dose. Ended up with an upset stomach and had to spend a full day in the bathroom, filled up the tub with shampoo water afterwards, just to make the smell bearable.

Considered contacting a medium, but decided that would only make me more suspicious that none of this was going to work, and in doing so, pull me even further from my goal.

I even tried a ritual I found online. I’d rather not talk about it. Partly because I don’t want to accidentally inspire anyone to try it, and partly because it felt like an absurd waste of perfectly edible meat.

Then there was my least preferred option; sleep deprivation. I got the idea from a discussion about ��natural psychedelics.” Same fuckers who suggested the nutmeg.

The first 36 hours went okay. The next 24, I had constant alarms on my phone going off every five minutes. The following 18, maybe it was less I’m not sure, I had to resort to more extreme methods to stay awake.

I set myself up in the kitchen, and as I made yet another cup of coffee, I got an idea. Knowing that sleep deprivation was a common torture tactic, I figured I might as well torture myself a little more, now that I’d made it this far.

I started searing the tip of my finger on the hot plate of the coffee machine. Once every five minutes, whenever the alarm rang. At some point, i realized I’d watched another full episode of some dating show without even registering it. I’d angled the monitor so I could see it through the kitchen doorframe. That’s when I moved on to searing my entire palm in short intervals. The smell of coffee actually masked the pork pretty well. When the heat from the coffee machine wasn’t enough, I switched to the stovetop beside it.

Once every five minutes. Over and over again. I lost track of the time, my only reference being how freshly the burn stung.

Still, nothing out of the ordinary had happened. No visions. No breakthroughs. Just a body on autopilot, following pain. But this, this is where the loneliness really got to me. I was desperate for anything at this point. I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream, scream so loud that anything out there would be forced to listen to me. But in my sluggish state, I could barely open my mouth, only gasping when the smell got too strong for my nose to handle.

This is when I blacked out.

And I saw her for the first time.

She looked nothing like what I had imagined. Sure, there wasn’t much to look at if I’m being honest, but the dissonance was still jarring. I was enveloped in utter non-existence. Not darkness, exactly, because there were shadows. What surrounded her wasn’t black, just matter, void of anything.

She peered at me from above, her presence only made visible by the shifting shadows that hinted at her features. Everytime I tried to gauge her likeness to anything it was like her features shifted. Sometimes the curve of her jaw would remind me of someone I once knew, but older, younger perhaps? Maybe someone I had only just met in a passing dream. Still I knew it was her, she existed with the mutual understanding that she was the one I had called for. She never spoke, but I heard a hum, like a dial tone pressed against the inside of my head. Kind of like the vibrations that a dentists drill would sound up in your skull. Looking up at her was like realizing something awful and beautiful all at once. In that short blink of time I fell in love with her all over again.

I was brought back to a massive pain coursing through my head as it hit the kitchen floor. Realizing where I was and the origin of the screeching alarm, I hurried up to turn the stove off. Not even attempting to pull the batteries out of my smoke alarm I smashed it against the floor. I fell asleep shortly after.

Talking about my first time meeting her kind of makes me choke up. Sorry, I’ll have to end it here for now. I’ll probably continue at a later time but at the moment I just feel hopeless.

(AN: second part of shorter novel, parts will be released separately for now but after second editing will be released in full, please note the trigger warnings for every post since they vary.)

[kaiia-archive]

Mentally conjoined with girlfriend. Any help welcome. [ Update 1 ]

TW: mental-illness, loneliness

Okay, so I don’t really know what to do anymore. I don’t know who to reach out to. If… somehow she knows I’m trying, it might upset her. Still, I feel like I have to do something. She’s made me more aware of my own mortality, which I mean, in a strange way, means she’s made me feel more alive I guess. But it was never supposed to turn into this.

She’s gotten more unpredictable lately. I can’t see her now, but I have this feeling she’s still around, maybe not physically, but somewhere hiding in between my thoughts.

First of all, I know this is kind of embarrassing. That’s part of why I haven’t said anything until now. I don’t get offended when people call me a loner or whatever. This is the life I’ve built for myself, and honestly, I don’t see a reason to change it. Sure, a steady income might be nice, but I get by, you know? People get so caught up in their idea of how life is supposed to look like, that they forget what makes them feel content might be completely wrong for someone else.

That’s part of why I moved out of my college dorm last autumn. I couldn’t stand the way people looked at me, like they felt sorry. Knocking on my door to “check in” just because I hadn’t been out in a while. It might seem like a kind gesture to them, but to me it just says they think my way of living is sad enough to illicit some form of social-charity. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate people. I’d call myself an introvert, but I’m not socially incapable or anything. I managed to meet one guy I thought was alright, and who seemed to think my way of living was just alright too.

And I know this might sound contradictory to how I’ve described my view of life. But after spending this past Christmas alone, something started to shift. It’s one thing to talk to people online, to hop on calls and send messages, but I realized I was missing that extra connection. I wanted someone next to me. Someone who could pat me on the back. Someone whose laughter I could hear from the kitchen while I scrolled through my timeline in the mornings.

About two weeks ago, I came across this article about people living with some kind of personality…”disorder” feels like the wrong word but yeah. I wasn’t exactly unfamiliar with the topic, but this research was unlike anything I’d seen before. I spent the whole day going down a rabbit hole. Apparently, it’s possible to train yourself to react to certain stimuli, something the media world likes to chalk up as “manifesting” but at its core, it’s about reshaping your cognition. Conditioning your mind to mold consciousness itself.

Why did this appeal to me? Because I found stories of people who had managed to separate themselves from their own consciousness. Not in a meditative, “clear your mind” kind of way but in a way that lets their separated consciousness form a new being within them. What this paper I found showed was that it actually works, like on a physical level. They apparently put people in MRI scans and could prove that their brain activity altered when they let in this presence they had created.

At this point it was just a fascination, but the idea had cemented itself in my mind. In a way I despised myself for even thinking about it but during the following week, when the thought crept in between the cracks unnoticed, I found myself calmed by the fantasies. One morning, it was always the worst in the mornings, I sat down at the kitchen table. Across from me, a faint ring from a coffee cup caught my eye, still wet, like someone had just been sitting there. Strangely, I felt comforted. I found myself imagining her in the bathroom, getting ready. I could almost hear the shower running, the quiet rustle of movement behind the door, and the smell of fresh shampoo drifting out. I was snapped out of it when I spilled the scalding coffee on my hand.

The call from my sister was the breaking point. To most people, she probably came off as a concerned older sibling. Just checking in! Just wondering how life’s treating me! Just curious if I’ve put my degree to use yet! But if you had even an ounce of critical thinking, you’d catch on pretty quick. Every seemingly caring question she posed always came bundled with a monologue about how she was doing herself, glorious details and all. Sometimes, I’d even pull up the timer on my phone to measure how long she could talk without taking a breath. I know that might sound petty, but honestly, it was the only way I could keep myself from snapping at her sometimes. She’s not a bad person. Just… someone a little misguided by her newfound success. Since I liked to believe her calls weren’t just a chance to state her position in our unspoken sibling career-race, I usually let her go on. But this call would be different.

She started off in her usual manner. Apparently she and Elias had just put down a deposit on a house, tipped me off about a position at her friend’s new startup, and so on. I had mostly zoned out by that point, just humming in response, but that’s when she asked if I wanted to come over for Easter.

“Maybe you could bring her with you?”

Confused by what she meant, I stumbled over my words, asking her to repeat herself.

“Yeah, well you know! I always forget her name,” she laughed through the speaker.

At first I thought it had been a cheap jab at me for being single, but she sounded too genuine, proud of me even.

I sat there, dumbfounded, thoughts churning in my head. There was no way she meant Lisa, we broke up in our second year of high school and she definitely knew that.

She continued.

“Oh wait, something beginning with like… ‘J’? Jacota? Dakota?”

“Can you stop?” I cut her off.

She fell silent, just as confused by my sudden tone as I was. Slightly offended, she muttered some excuse to end the call. But her voice kept repeating in my head, circling like an echo and it stayed with me throughout the day.

Unable to sleep, I stared up at the ceiling. I came up with two…no, three, possible explanations for what had just happened.

One: I had simply misheard her. She could’ve been talking about something else entirely. Maybe I tuned in at the worst possible moment and made a stupid assumption.

Two: She had me mixed up with someone else. It had happened before, although I wasn’t exactly the type to casually date. If I had mentioned someone, it feels like she would’ve remembered.

Three: Somehow, I had mentioned my delusions to her. Maybe just in passing. Something careless that implied I was living with someone. I hadn’t been feeling my best lately, and it wasn’t impossible that I drifted into one of my daydreams mid-conversation, gave her some half-baked answer without even realizing what I’d been implying. That would be the worst-case scenario. It would mean I’d let my delusions go far enough that I, or at least some part of me, considered them reality.

Honestly, for once, I hoped she was just being mean.

Thank you if you have taken your time to listen to me, the ringing in my ears is back and I need to go try and dampen it before it gets any worse. I’ll continue in the morning

(AN: First part of shorter novel, parts will be released separately for now, after second editing all will be re-released in full, please note the trigger warnings for every post since they vary)

[kaiia-archive]

[AN : WIP but no major plot elements will change after posting, feel free to have a read and do reach out or comment if you have questions or thoughts! Critique is welcome, however note that there will be grammatical errors since this is a work in progress. Posting mainly to motivate myself to continue as well as a way to become more comfortable in putting my work out there since its been an issue for me past years! Original work]

Orn - The singing trees - [CHAPTER ONE ]

It began in the shapeless hours between night and early morning when the piece clicked into place. I suddenly opened my eyes up as if summoned, reaching into the half-awake haze of my mind to feel it again. Nothing concrete, but alive and of great importance, pulsing, breathing. Similar to a hum, distinct yet indescribable like a dream you forget upon waking. I had remembered that feeling and I knew where I had felt it before. It was that strange, impossible song behind the cabin where I spent my adolescence. Emanating from the trees or maybe it had been dancing in between them, perhaps it was sung from a part of the earth that only opened when nobody was watching. I couldn't see it but I knew it was there for I had felt it once, and now I was determined to feel it again. This was the missing piece to my installation that I had been searching for, if I could harness this feeling it could breathe life into my creation. My methods were based on intuition and it was the way I preferred to work, still being left in the dark by the creative part of you was hard. Now a guiding light had shown on me and as I awoke I felt as if I was willing to follow it until the end of the world.

Now in retrospect I think the idea might have been carried into my dreams by the early spring birdsong. I always seem to forget how early the sun rises in the spring here, and somehow always forget how to sleep through it. Being awoken by birdsong and sunlight sounds great but it really isn't, at least when you're extremely dependent on keeping a planned sleep schedule. However the events of the days following would steer me away from comfortable sleep regardless of the early spring sun.

The soft illuminating streams of light that poured through the window reflected on my phone screen as i brought it up to my squinting sleepless eyes. 5 am, 15 % battery, two unread messages and a notification from my calendar. Realising trying to go to sleep again would be fruitless I crawled out of my bed, emerging as a cocoon into the kitchen still wrapped in my cover. After realizing i was out of any kind of caffeine i sat down defeated by the kitchen window. I twiddled with the box of half empty lentils as i pulled out my phone again staring blankly at the screen. I was stalling, i knew i was but that feeling only made the task at hand more difficult. I thought multiple times to just scrap the idea and find some more doable, less mentally tasking solution. Opening up my messaging app I tapped search, it stayed like that face up on the table for a while like a beacon shining up at the broken kitchen lamp above. Obviously i already knew at this point that the whole thing might stir up unwanted emotions or put me into situations I had been trying to stay out of for my own benefit but the temptation of finally solving the final piece of my project deterred me from just turning my phone of and leaving it. Maybe it was the thought that he'd never answer that help me take the next step. I typed his name in the search bar and he appeared as I knew he would. Going into the chat log i saw a message from 6 years ago, from when he last tried to reach out. I inhaled, strained, and held my breath as I sent the message.

“Hi sorry for contacting you this early but I was wondering if you still had access to the cabin on Orn? or if you know who I should contact:)”

I exhaled, satisfied i had fought my doubt and not let this end up another endless procrastination. The dopamine of the whole ordeal had at least made me slightly more awake. I stood up and decided to check if perhaps my roommate had an unguarded bag of coffee I could borrow from. Fortunately for me, less for him, he did. I reached into the sink, careful to not touch the sink slurry at the very bottom and pulled out a cup. Right as i did a buzz startled me making me drop the cup that landed with a not so satisfying twomp, instinctively i tried to catch it but only managed to drag the palm of my hand against something sharp.

“fuck”

After almost putting my hand in my mouth I took the kitchen towel and hastily wrapped it around my now bleeding palm as I hurried to the kitchen table. I stood over the display leaning over the table supporting myself with my non wrapped hand, i don't know for how long I stood contemplating my next move.

05:13 “Hi, happy to finally hear from you! No need to contact anybody else, i'm actually at the cabin right now so when do you want to swing by? Ill tidy up a room for you, do you want your old one or maybe you can take my and moms old bed? I'm available whenever! /Lots of love Dad”

It felt like a betrayal, like I was secretly conspiring against my mothers side of the family. I mean I would let them know but I also knew they wouldn't be happy about it, but I wouldn't cower and hide from them, even though I sensed that it would bring them more pain than good. I picked up the phone.

“Oh good to hear!” I hesitated but I clicked send.

“I was thinking i coul-” I contemplated an appropriate response. Deepening my frown I tried to come off as nonchalant as possible as to not try to make a big deal out of it. As it wasn't the first time we would see each other since they took me in.

Before I had a chance to figure something out a new message popped up.

“Sorry if I came off too strong, replied to fast haha. But its really no pressure if you want we don't even have to talk about, you know everything, Ill stay out of your hair and you can do your things”

Rex jumped up on the table beside me and nudged my hand, sometimes I swore he could sense my emotions before I knew I was experiencing them myself. Still fully focused on crafting my reply, I stroked him along his back to which he purred in response. I took a moment to just ground myself with his presence.

“I was thinking some time in the week maybe? Are you out there by yourself or with Filip?” I finally typed out and sent.

The thought of contacting Filip had crossed my mind, but somehow contacting my estranged father seemed like a more reasonable choice. Filip, dads brother, was the only family i had left on my fathers side and unlike my father i was certain he wouldn't go along with my request. The few times we had met he always had something unreadable in the corner of his eye and I don't ever think he had spoken to me directly. It reminded me a lot of how Granpa treated me when they first took me in to live with them and I suspected that Filip, like grandpa, blamed me for what happened that night in the woods. This of course was something completely unspoken, but if im honest, somewhere i blamed myself too although i didn't have the faintest idea of just what it was that would blame myself for. I was five when it happened, and even then I didn't seem to know.

My screen lit up “OK! Check the ferries, they only go all the way on Monday and Wednesdays out of season, write to me when you know when you're coming! / Love dad!”

I put a thumbs up on his message and looked over at Rex who leaned on my arm looking up at me as if he too was wondering what to do next. I gave him an inquisitive look.

“Yeah I know, i don't know what to do about that either. Monday wont work, and i won't be able to get a catsitter for you tomorrow on such short notice” I tried explaining to Rex, although I knew he wouldnt indulge me with an answer.

I stretched my arms and put the phone in the lining of my underwear.

That night I had arranged with grandma to come over to them for dinner. I made a point to myself to have that conversation with them before i left for the cabin as to not feel more guilty about the ordeal. Although the guilt was something i knew took root in their opinion which throughout my childhood was something they had, as guardians to, made me inherit indirectly. Maybe it is because i knew the feelings for my dad stemmed from them that i was willing to reconsider them, or at least try to form an opinion I knew was entirely my own. This is what churned in my mind as i sat on the buss with my eyes fixed on the sucsessions of the stations counting down toward the one id unwillfully get of at.

Grandpa opened the door and i stepped onto the woven hall carpet, he offered me a hanger for my coat which i took with a smile.

"I’m in the kitchen dear!” I heard grandma call accompanied with the clanging of a pan.

”She's glad you came over, she grows more worried each day since you moved out.” Grandpa said as he aligned my shoes with theirs on the hall mat, something he always made a point to do and something I never remembered too. He was orderly in that way unlike my grandma, and although it sometimes felt like a passive aggressive jab, i had chosen to view it as a form of unspoken affection.

Of Course i was glad i had moved out but sometimes when i sat alone at night i missed the smell of her herbal tea blends that would seep into my room. The walls were thin and she would always put a kettle on after she had heard me crying. That was her way of reaching out a hand, showing her presence, and although she wasn't the best at advice she just had a way of listening.

As I came into the kitchen she got up of her chair where she was sitting in front of the stove.

”It's good to see you again!” She said embracing me.

”And your hair, its so long now!” She took a step back and swept her fingers through some strands careful not to entangle her hand in a knot.

”Oh but deary are you getting enough sleep?” She moved her hand towards my face and just as I was to discourage her grandpa stepped in.

”let her breathe Agnes” my grandpa interjected as he made his way into the kitchen.

She met his gaze and then looked back at me. ”Yes yes, of course, sorry!”

Agnes had been raised to be a housewife in the traditional sense, and although it is nothing she would outright admit the dynamic between them had come to mirror those values. Grandpa didn't talk much but when he did voice an opinion agnes would be quick to agree. This wasn't necessarily a bad thing as i never saw it leading to any bigger issues but i sometimes felt that she was hesitant to speak thoughts of her own, especially if they would oppose those of his.

”It's okay really” I assured her as I sat down at the kitchen table.

She quizzed me as she made the final preparations for dinner. As if she had a list prepared she managed to squeeze every last drop of information about my current life out of me.

To me it seemed trivial but to her i could tell she lived precariously through my reaccounts, I guess she hadn't gotten out much recently. As she finished up setting the table we had ended up talking about my current project. She was the one who had introduced me to art and thanks to her that seed she planted in my childhood was starting to grow into the beginning of a career.

She had made this french stew with mushrooms, bacon bits and chicken. I dont remember what its called now but she gave me the recipe a while back. I think it was French, it had a french sounding name atleast.

”So how do they grade you? It must be difficult, grading personal works, I mean” She sat down at the table as grandpa joined her.

”I mean I guess they grade how much you apply yourself in a way? Motivations and process and that kinda thing i think but I don't know really” i answered looking out of the window at the short end of the table.

Outside a moth bounced around the streetlight casting a soft haze on the street below. I read somewhere that they mistake them for the moon, unable to fight their instincts to fly parallel to it trap themselves in a perpetual loop. Betrayed by their body to bash into the cheap imitation again and again until their wings gave out.

I felt like a fraud too, grandma had kept me from remembering what i came here to do. As much as i would love to sink back into the distraction i needed the weight that mauled within me to lighten, even if it was only for my own benefit.

”I’m going to the house.”

The clattering of cutlery seized in an instance, stale silence lay heavy between us. Grandpa appeared inhumanely still with his eyes still fixed at the plate. Grandma looked at me lips pressed tightly together, transfixed at me as if she was searching for something to decipher behind my eyes.

”What do you-” Grandma broke the silence but I cut her off before she could finish. I already knew what she was going to say, I had heard this conversation in my head on repeat since this morning.

”I’m going to the house, the house on Orn” I said again.

Grandma closed her eyes and took a deep breath, when she met my eyes again they were softer than before. A few long seconds went by before she spoke again.

”We're just worried…” She spoke softly.

”I know that and I understand you want what's best for me, but at some point you have to stop sheltering me. I almost feel like it's more for your sake than my own at this point” I stated determined, not trying to let on the frustration that i knew was at risk of bubbling up. Though i know she knew me too well not to notice.

Her eyes searched my face yet again, she was assessing me. Grandpa still sat unmoving faced down, avoiding my gaze as to not loose his composure. His hand still steadily gripped the fork with a small, but noticeable quivver.

”Im just visiting for a short while, I need it for the project im working on, you know the one I told you about? and…” I continued

”Do you remember what happened last time you brought this up?” Grandma spoke.

I unwillfully recalled to the best of my ability but barely remembered more than what had been written in the doctor's notes.

”Yes” I lied. Pausing to choose my next words carefully

”I have been working through a lot of stuff as you know. Last time they basically said there really wasn't anymore they could do for me, and that was last year i mean- I know what's real” This was a half truth. Maybe I played up my psychiatrist's words to be slightly more in my favour, but not enough for it to count as a lie.

”We really just don't want you to fall back into that place again sweety, we can see how much it hurts you” Grandma retorted.

”And like I said; I understand where you're coming from, but I'm 21 now, I've moved out, I have worked through stuff. And honestly your inability to even talk to me about this kind of- it doesn't really fucking help me either!” I really didn't intend to get worked up but it was proving more difficult than it did in my head.

Grandpa put the fork down slowly laying his hand flat on the table, at the slightest movement grandma had turned her attention to him as a dog awaiting command.

”Tone.” He said in a strained but clear voice.

My frustration sizzled inside me like a glowing ember trying to burn its way through my guts and escape out my mouth.

”Im going” I said now looking directly at grandpa, staring daggers into the baldspot of his downturned head. I wanted him to look at me, I needed him to see me and not disregard me by diminishing this to a childish tantrum.

”And since you wont tell me anything about dad either im going to go hear it straight from the source!” I knew it was unfairly put as soon as the last syllable left my lips.

He stood up abruptly with a force that shook the table. Stew spilled painting the tablecloth beneath, grandma let out a surprised yelp. For the first time since we sat down, he met my gaze. I expected to meet something aggressive coated in resentment but what I saw was a warning, he had made his point but it was clear it was rooted in something other than hate. Something he couldn't, or didn't choose to communicate lingered its way in between the cracks of his facade for just a split second. Then he was gone, I heard a door close down the hall.