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This is post 13 in @dragosroua's January 30 day writing challenge.

Notes From an Amateur Writer #45

This Blog series is an exercise in creative writing. Sometimes expressed in short story form, sometimes as a journal, or just my thoughts written down. It is a nursery of sorts for the stories that are on their way, or yet to be written.

When Madness Came Knocking

“You have to take seriously the notion that understanding the universe is your responsibility, because the only understanding of the universe that will be useful to you is your own understanding.”
― Terence McKenna

Something was different. I had a vague sense of what it was. But not completely. There was certainly the obvious. Like the fact that he normally came barging in. No invite, no casual greetings. I never usually had time to prepare for his arrival. That was the norm. That was how it had always been. Since I can remember. But not this time. And it left me confused. Concerned even. And I shouldn't have been feeling this way. I had always longed for such a change. But I felt suspicion. Regrettably so.

This time there had been a knock at my door. This time he had announced his arrival, and requested a meeting. Why so formal? Should I be concerned? Or was I being played? He was a player, as that was his usual modus operandi. But no, something smelled different about this whole thing. A sweet aroma, not an offensive one. It felt right.

"Do you remember when we first met?" he asked me. I gave it some thought. But no, I actually couldn't recall that first time. I had several instances mixed up in my memories. Perhaps I did have the right one, but I lacked certainty. There was too much ambiguity in my recollections. Time had seeped into them and left a mess, like a thief in search of something specific, and unable to find it. And what had that been? I had wanted to remove him completely from my mind. From all that dwelt within the hidden parts of my brain. Trauma can do that. He had hidden himself too well. I gave up the search, and did my best with life, resigned to his regular visits. Unannounced as they were, it's what I knew, it's what my life had become.

"No, I don't. It's been buried too deep."

"Yes, sorry about that. Survival tactic on my part. And it worked, perhaps a bit too well."

"And you have survived," I said, observing his blank expression. He gave very little away at the best of times. I had always been called aloof, but I got that from him. He placed that within my genetic code. I'm sure of it.

"As have you."

"I would prefer to have done it without you. Without your regular visits." He nodded as he heard my words. Something is different. He was expressing empathy.

"It's the nature of the beast, these cycles and swings. You've coped, though I understand you have had to pay a price." He's goddamn right I have had to pay a price. The memories of that last attempt at self removal are still scarred into my brain and soul. But he wouldn't leave, nor would he let me go. I had only wanted peace, even just a taste of it. Was that so much to ask?

"I've paid all that I have. You know that, right?" Of course he does

"Yes, I am aware."

"And you've had a change of heart? Is that it?"

"I guess you could put it that way."

"Is that how you would put it?"

He paused, a moment that seemed to stretch as it filled the void around us. His heart seemed heavy. Was he dying? Is that what was happening?

"Something about you has changed," he said. "Some core part of the relationship you hold with your past has been resolved. It's left me weaker than I once was."

"Are you dying?"

"I'm not well, no."

"And I'm responsible?"

"Responsibility doesn't lie with you, no. It's fate. We have a symbiotic relationship that requires one of us to fade for the other to flourish. Seems the scales have tipped in your favour."

"And that's why you knocked, why you asked permission to enter?"

"I'm too weak now to just barge in."

"But you would, if you could?"

"Indeed. I'm no saint. I do have my own best interests at heart, like any sane being." Reality had finally caught up with him, it would seem. He appeared to be like an old prize fighter coming to terms with the fact he couldn't land the punches he once could, nor with the same ferocity. And diplomacy may be needed after all.

"We've known each other for a long time," I said.

"We have. And we will know each other for more time to come." His eyes met mine. They had lost their intensity. I had never had the courage to meet and hold his gaze. But now I could. It felt good, that's for sure. But it didn't make me feel complete. Not like I thought this would. He needed to go. He needed to leave my life. That much I had always known. But in a way he was me. A part of me, that is. It made no sense. Left me feeling horrendous at the implications of what all of this meant.

"So you will still be around then?"

"If that's alright with you?"

"I'm sure we can come to some kind of understanding." I had already come to a degree of understanding. It was seeping into my veins and synapses. Traversing my internal pathways. Presenting itself at my core. A sense of madness had been with me for so long that I knew no other way. Sure he would come and go. And I would ride the roller-coaster that he'd throw me upon. What choice did I have? But I never thought a day would come when I'd be smoking the peace pipe with my nemesis.

And now I understood – that day had come.

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