February 12, 2013. The stark white room is rather plain, save for a small wooden table, some chairs, and a small beige couch. An adolescent girl is seated on the couch, arms crossed over her chest. Her facial expression is one of resentment. Across from her, an older man sits in a chair, an open folder in one hand and a recording device in the other. His expression is unreadable, hidden behind his thick glasses and greying beard. After a long period of silence, the man speaks.

“I see you’ve made it to your appointment this week. I haven’t seen you in quite some time.”

The girl’s face remains expressionless. Her eyes stare blankly ahead, void of any and all emotion. “I’ve been busy.” Her words are flat.

“So I’ve heard.” The doctor’s chair creaks softly as he leans forward. “I assume you know why you’re here.” He watches her carefully, noting the unemotional nod of her head before continuing. “You’ve been told that our conversation will be recorded, correct? As requested by your family, of course.”

Again, she nods.

“Right then. Shall we begin?” The sharp click of the tape recorder cuts through the air like a freshly sharpened knife. “Can you state your name for me, please?”

“My name is Mariah Fenton.”

“Tell me about yourself, Mariah.”

“I’m a seventeen year old senior in high school. I love music, art, and animals. And I am severely allergic to bs and stupidity.” Not a single trace of emotion crosses her face.

“Very good.” He ignores her obvious sarcasm. “Now will you please state the reason behind this appointment?”

“Of course, doctor. I’ve been brought to this lovely establishment because my family has an overwhelming amount of concern for my well-being. Their love for me has made it impossible for them to continue restraining their emotions.” Barely discernable bitterness laces her tone. Her amber orbs remain empty. She leans forward, a snide smirk tugging at her lips. “In other words, doc, I’m here because my parents think I’m a f*ing lunatic.”

“Elaborate, please.” The doctor is unphased. He watches as the only trace of emotion she’d shown so far disappears from her face. The only sound in the room is the soft buzzing of the tape recorder. Without hesitation, she begins to speak.

I’m not crazy. My mind marches to its own twisted beat. The remnants of rationality float aimlessly amidst a sea of paranoia, lost in the murky whirlpool. Every day, I feel them watching. The demons, I mean. Their eyes burn holes in the depths of my soul. They never blink. They never leave. This thought alone is enough to make my skin crawl. At first, I couldn’t stand it. The constant feeling that I was being watched made me want to crawl under a rock and die. I didn’t like being watched by people in general, let alone these beings no one else could see. It was absolutely torturous. But after a while, I grew to embrace them. I numbed myself almost entirely and let them run rampant. There wasn’t much else I could do, after all.


She pauses, shifting slightly in her seat. Her face remains expressionless, though her eyes glimmer with a hint of discomfort. She drops her gaze to the floor. The doctor clears his throat.


“Tell me more about these...demons, Mariah.”

It started with just one. He was small at first, like the shadow of a child against the side of a skyscraper. His stature made him easy to ignore. But, of course, he didn’t stay that way. He got bigger. Much bigger. He towers over me now, casting a blanket of darkness that envelops my soul. In one hand, he holds the key to my heart. He doesn’t like anyone trying to get in. In the other, he holds my happiness. That was the first thing he took. He tells me I don’t deserve it. And I believe him. I really do. He was soon joined by another wretch. This one slipped in quietly, like a gentle gust of wind. He didn’t stand behind me to whisper in my ear like the first. He just slithered into the back of my mind and remained silent, seemingly dormant. So I ignored him...until things started going wrong.

The doctor furrows his brow, listening intently. His glasses slowly slide down the bridge of his nose, revealing intense hazel orbs. For a split second, his gaze radiates sympathy. The fleeting moment passes as quickly as it had arrived. Fearful of losing his professional demeanor, he adjusts his glasses. Emotional barrier restored, he leans forward in his chair, encouraging her to continue with a slight nod.

Denial worked well at first. I refused to acknowledge the subtle changes in the voice I had come to know as my conscious. I convinced myself that I didn’t have a problem. I didn’t need to do what I was doing. Spending countless hours of the day with Mary Jane... Waking up in strange beds without a single clue how I got there... Frequent visits to the local pawn shop... Nurturing my supposed kleptomania... I did those things because I wanted to. I was in control. Little did I know, every one of those thoughts had not been my own. He wasn’t quiet anymore. With each passing day, his voice became progressively louder. Eventually, he was all I could hear. The voice I had once heard was silenced entirely. He convinced me that he was better. He said he knew what was best for me. He told me he could help me rid myself of the first monstrosity who took my heart captive. At that point, I was desperate enough to believe anything. So I believed him. And for a while, I thought he’d done it. I would hand the controls to him, and soon after I’d stop feeling the shadow’s presence. The problem was that the second he let me take the wheel again, the shadow would return, often much stronger than before.
Mariah’s tone is disturbingly nonchalant.

The doctor nods slowly, his bony fingers absentmindedly tapping the surface of his clipboard. He fights the urge to ask her to pick her head up. After a few moments of silence, he speaks. “I see... And how often does this situation occur?”

That happens every time. It’s gotten so bad, in fact, that I don’t take control much anymore. I just step back and let him take care of me. He’s so good to me. He knows I can’t take care of myself. He likes making me happy. He says it makes him happy too. I don’t mind having him with me. There’s just one little thing that kind of bugs me. Sometimes, when he talks, I feel like there’s poison laced beneath his sweet words. It’s really subtle most of the time, so I might just be imagining things. But there are a lot of times when I really have to wonder. Especially when he gets mad at me.

Her voice softens, revealing the slightest hint of uncertainty. Her stony eyes remain glued to the floor.

The doctor clears his throat, appearing somewhat uncomfortable. His glasses have once again fallen down the bridge of his nose. The once sympathetic gaze in his eyes has been replaced by grave concern. He clears his throat in an attempt to gather his emotions. Pushing his glasses back up with his thumb, he leans forward, his tone reassuringly gentle. “Go on, Mariah... What happens when he gets upset?”

I remember the first time I told him I didn’t want to see Mary Jane. She’s a very high maintenance girl, and I just didn’t have the necessary funds to handle her kind of date. I swear to God, I thought he was going to burst out of my skull and rip my throat out. So, as usual, I ended up giving in. That’s how things always are. He gets really upset when I don’t want to do what he wants. He doesn’t like any kind of hesitation. He says it makes him question whether or not I trust him. And that if I don’t trust him, he might just leave. I can always hear the smirk in his voice when he says that. He knows he won’t leave. He knows I won’t let him leave. He knows I need him. God, that sounds so weird, even to me. I need him... The very thought makes me cringe.

I never needed him before. But I do now. I need him the way I need oxygen in my lungs. He makes me forget things. Bad things. When he’s around, I don’t think about being abandoned by my parents. I don’t think about all the friends I’ve lost. I don’t think about the fake friends I still have. I don’t think about how f*ed up the world is. I don’t think about the life I wish I had. I don’t think about the people I’m hurting, or the people that have hurt me. The only thing on my mind is how I’m feeling. I know that sounds selfish, but I promise it’s not. Everyone deserves to be happy, right? He makes everything feel okay, even if only for a fleeting moment. And that’s what I really need. I need to feel okay. Not good. Not great. Not euphoric. Just...okay.

I would give anything to feel okay again. Hell, I’ve practically given everything already. But I don’t mind so much anymore. As long as he’s there for me, I don’t have to mind. Worrying is beyond me. He takes care of everything. I’ll never understand why people think he’s hurting me. Everyone’s always telling me I shouldn’t let him take control. My friends, my family, even the school counselor... They say he’s trying to kill me. Isn’t that something? The one who protects me from the darkness, from myself, wants nothing more than to take my life. Ridiculous, right? But I guess it doesn’t really matter. I don’t trust anyone else anyway.

“And why is that?”

She looks at him, exasperation evident. It is obvious she has heard this question more than her fair share of times. Her gaze hardens along with her words.

He says they want him to leave me, and that means they want me to be unhappy. Why would anyone in their right mind trust someone who wanted them to be unhappy? I don’t know. I just don’t get it. They all think I’ve lost my mind. But I haven’t. I may have changed my path in life. I may have embraced my inner demon. I may have given everything I have to chase away all trace of emotion. But I’m not crazy. You have to believe me. I’m not crazy.