The way out of emotional darkness

 This is what it took to make me semi-happy this morning, going from a dark mood upon wakening. Coffee n music of Die Antwoord. A bit of YouTube and now all the animals of the house around me: my brother in law's dog, my sister's cat Buster and most important of all my cats Easter & Ladybug. I've got to remember there's ALWAYS a way out of the darkness. The company of nonhumans is, to me, essential.

Really? Are you certain?

 Did Biden really win? Do we know for absolute certain that January 20 will see him in the White House? Don't tell me it's safe to come out of my hole then smack me upside the head when I do. This orange-asshole of a nightmare had better be over!

Friday. I still don't want to know anything.

 Until we know for absolute certaint who will be in the Oval Office on 20 January 2021, I'm cutting myself off from the news. Until I hear the results from trusted friends that is. I can't stand the stress. 

Don't tell me who won before we know who won.

 November 4, 2020, Wednesday, the day after election. I don't want to turn on the news, receive news feeds, nothing. Not until we know, for absolute certainty, how the electoral college will vote December 14. I don't care who won in this state, that state. Polls are meaningless, as are educated guesses. I have enough anxiety in my life. Too much. Don't jerk me around, play with my emotions. I don't know how I'm going to cope if Trump wins, and I can't even think about that. I'm registered as Independent but the sad fact is, the US political system is so stunted that voting Democrat is the only way to vote against Republican. Although I've got to admit the Lincoln Project gives me hope. They're Republicans against Trump. 

Anxiety. Constant, mind-warping anxiety. If it's not that it's depression. Fuck my life is meaningless! Okay now I'm babbling. Just don't tell me anything before we know, for absolute certain who won. Biden, great! Trump, I'm living in the woods with my two cats and am never coming out again. 

It's what cats do.

 This morning my Easter and Ladybug, mostly Easter caught a mouse. It's what cats do, I know, but I hate the playing part. It got so I couldn't take it anymore and promptly terminated the poor little guy's existence. 

That didn't help my depression. didnt make it worse either I don't think. Cycling between that and anxiety, which lately has gotten severe. I don't know how much longer I can take it. 

I still love my cats more than I like most people, always will. RIP Ladybug's brothers Snowball and Dude. My four cats, my family. 

Trade my depression for cancer.

4:30am Right now I wish I had cancer instead of depression. Then there would be an end.

6:45am I'll be fine if I can just crawl my way out of this black pit. My cats Easter and Ladybug are a big help but not enough I'm afraid. I can't stand to spend another day in darkness. Goddamn hydrophobia, I haven't showered in days. Chalk that up to benzo withdrawal. 

 I'm not going to write this out so if anyone out there turns this idea into a short story, or even a best-selling novel without giving me credit, fine. And if any of you are familiar with the novel/AMC series adaptation "NOS4A2" by Joe Hill, that'll help to understand my story idea.

Years after the events of NOS4A2, Millicent Manx discovers the hood ornament to her father's Rolls Royce, Wraith model. It was where she dreamt, buried in the river near where the Wraith exploded overhead as it was crossing the disintegrating Shorter Way bridge at demonic speed, killing her father. She limped her way back to... Home? Halfway house? She's injured from previous suicide attempts, a tragic but common condition of some of the children brought back from Christmas Land.

The hood ornament is eventually bent back into shape just from Millie's obsessively polishing it over many weeks. Then one day she sees "her" Jaguar, a vintage sports car. She easily knocks the Jag ornament off with her dad's wraith one, sets it on the hood, fusing it with the car. The passenger door opens for her. Soon after the owner plops himself down behind the wheel, slams the door before noticing the girl. When he yelps in shock at her the car starts without his key. She smiles lazily at him as it pulls into gear, then casually talks about that poor girl that died in the seat she's occupying, an unfortunate reaction to the roofies he slipped her. "What was it like fucking a dead girl?" she asked him. She now knows the crimes he committed with this car because after all, it was Millie's car all along. He screams "WHO ARE YOU??" then notices the impossible, that they're on the road where he dumped that girl in a ditch over a thousand miles away. Slowly a static blizzard overtakes the scenery. He's vaguely aware of her talking about the other three girls he drugged and raped with this very car, the "passenger" that's now becoming healthier, more beautiful...

They stop at the end of the road. Static blizzard fills the sky, extends down to the road all around. Beside the road is one lonely sign, "Christmas Land ahead." Millie gets out, slowly walks to the drivers door which opens for her, the mummified body of the man falling out. She slips her hand under his right armpit, easily lifting him and throwing him into the static, vanishing forever. She gets in, makes a 3 point U-turn and drives back to the physical world. 

Her mission is now to find the former children of Christmas Land, bring that place back to life, make it into something bigger. This is where the bulk of the story is, with teenagers and young adults who were taken from their former lives throughout the 20th century, occupying the inscape of Christmas Land created by the mind of Charlie Manx where they existed as happy little immortal monsters then suddenly dumped here in our 21st century when Victoria McQueen destroyed Charlie while rescuing her son. btw I don't care about grammar or overly long multi-compound sentences I'm just sitting on my bed scribbling this out thankyouverymuch! There are some very personal stories to be revealed. One in particular is a 19 year old dying of the cancer that was killing him before being rescued by Charlie in 1954. Going along with Millie will save his life but he refuses. He's in his bed at the home of his adoptive parents, petting his best friend, a Maine-coon cat. He always adored cats, until Christmasland. That was a time when, like all of Charlie Manx's other children, he would have happily lit this very cat on fire and laughed with delight as it thrashed around, eventually dying. And besides, how many people did they kill with their Scissors-for-the-Drifter games? No, he's staying here. He's dying, but he's also saved by his humanity.

There won't be a Christmasland in this story. Instead there's another inscape already existing long before Millie starts out on her quest. Let the reader assume it's built by a secret society that's been waiting for someone like Millie to come along, giving it the final solidity it needs with human occupants. It's really a place formed unconsciously by individuals scattered throughout the world, an emergent phenomenon they all unknowingly created with psychic abilities they barely knew they had. Millie stumbles onto it, she and her recruits, makes it real, turning what could have been a village into a nightmare-scape. What this particular inscape started as, eventually gets turned into, I don't know. Anymore than I know how this story concludes.  

I'll leave all the rest up to you. I highly recommend reading NOS4A2. That might help you to flesh out this story, imagine your own conclusion.