章節 199: 39. Viva Forever.
Day 42 at the Salvatore Hospital in New York City.
It was finally over - I was officially cured. Whatever this had been, it had been a rough ride. I sighed, running my hand through my greasy hair without caring about my appearance. I had done it. I had destroyed everything: my relationship with Damon, my connection with Wulfe, and even my bond with the rest of the pack. All I could feel was hatred for myself, for my weakness, for my state of being. I was in a deep, dark place with no way out and no light in sight.
I, Mimi Springcove, had finally freed myself from whatever had plagued me. But what was left of me? It was Valentine's Day, how ironically quaint. But I didn't care. I hated myself. I was trapped in a bottomless pit of self-loathing, depression, desperation, regret, and the need to find my true self. I knew I deserved this. I had almost ruined everything I had built - my future, my pack, Damon.
I sighed again. There was no love. I felt nothing for him. I felt no positive emotions at all. He was better off without me. He had his thing going on with Mariella, and it was all good. They deserved it. Wulfe deserved a good pack life, and I knew he was happy, as well as Magnum and the rest of the pack. They didn't need me.
My mind replayed everything that had happened in the past 40 days or so, but I wasn't really thinking about their future or my own life. I didn't know what I would become or what I would do. I only knew how to push everyone away with nasty words and here I was. It all kept rolling in my mind - a mind that was broken, almost sick, and would take time to recover.
I had no idea just how messed up my neurobiology was during this time. There were no neurotransmitters in my brain, and I was utterly unable to feel any emotions. Well, almost. Hate and anger for myself had been the last ones to fade away, and they were the first ones to return. They had never fully gone.
It was time for a new future, and I knew I had to leave. I had to go away and be on my own, allowing them to enjoy their perfect pack life. I didn't blame anyone but myself. I had been weak, too weak to admit that I had a problem. By the time they noticed, it was already too late. I was relieved that no one had died because of my lack of self-control and my inability to ask for help. Despite all that Wulfe had done for me over the years, I still couldn't bring myself to seek assistance or acknowledge my problem. It was better for him to let me go.
I felt exposed and vulnerable, as my pretender side had faded away. This was the real me, and I had to face the truth. Before heading to Europe, I needed to visit Lake Lanier. There had been a few casualties, not in pack-related missions, but others. I had vowed to honor them by writing their names on plaques.
After that, I would travel to different bases in Europe, helping and assessing their needs. It wouldn't be too difficult. I knew what the job required, and it was easier for me to make decisions when emotions weren't involved. I acknowledged my lack of feelings on some level, but I always saw it as a strength rather than a weakness. It was just one of my few resources to be utilized.
I was still sitting on the bed when the staff came to release me. This had been our hospital, where I had been kept. It felt like a long time ago when I had come up with the idea of creating my own hospital. I was a completely different person then. I didn't bother to go to the shower. I didn't want to see the broken tiles stained with my blood, a reminder of my anger, weakness, and emotions.
The pack would be notified that I had been discharged, but I didn't reveal my destination or plans. The staff remained professional, but like others, I had hidden my lack of emotions. I knew which facial expressions to use to appear as though I felt something.
But for me, the world was colorless. It was all black and white, and nothing mattered. I knew what I needed to do, but I couldn't feel it. I had always been an excellent actress, and without emotions, I didn't overact. I kept my expressions neutral, assuring the staff that there was no ill will. I hadn't been fine when I arrived, but I was getting there now.
I strolled away from the hospital, dressed in jeans, a tee shirt, and sneakers. The clothes hung loosely on me, reflecting the difficult time I had been through. My once defined muscles and blood-red long hair were gone. Now, I was a skinny 33 kilos with no muscle definition and hair that resembled a mix of dirty blonde and road dust. It hung limply over my shoulders, greasy and dull. I didn't care much about my appearance anymore.
I walked along the streets, surrounded by a world devoid of color. Even though it was cold and I had no jacket, I didn't mind. Time held no significance as I made my way to the nearest safehouse. There, I planned to retrieve my belongings, order flowers, and drive up to Lake Lanier before embarking on my trip to Europe. In Europe, I knew just where to find more clothes and perhaps improve my situation someday. New future, fresh start. However, I had no idea when that would be, and it was difficult to describe the numbness I felt. Occasionally, a wave of self-hate would wash over me, but it wasn't a frequent occurrence.
I didn't bother planning how long I would stay in Europe. I was simply going there to start over or fulfill my job duties. At the very least, I hoped to be of some help. I had no intention of going on missions; instead, I would focus on paperwork, offer my expertise, and save as many lives as possible. Going on missions would require me to feel something and that was something I did not want to do. Work was all that remained for me, although I wasn't certain if it was the right solution. Nonetheless, it would keep me occupied and perhaps give me a sense of purpose.
Finally, I arrived at the safehouse, a red-tiled brick house on the outskirts of town. I had walked approximately 7-10 miles to get there in the middle of February. I climbed a few steps that led to the door, feeling the icy cold buttons beneath my fingertips. The stairs were slippery under my sneakers, but I stayed upright even though my legs slipped a bit. I entered the house, greeted by stale air that hadn't been disturbed in quite some time. The lingering scent of the cleaning crew's sterilizing products filled the air. I didn't bother turning on the lights. I had a logical plan in mind, one that didn't require emotions or feelings, just clear, cold logic.
Given my physical condition, I knew I needed to address it. I headed to the kitchen to prepare a meal for myself, ensuring I consumed the nutrients, caffeine, and calories. Even though the food lacked taste, I ate it anyway. I did taste saltiness and tanginess, but it did not evoke anything in me, no pleasure, no sense of enjoyment, no dancing flavors in my tongue. I noticed how dirty I was, prompting me to take action once again. I went to the shower, washing my hair and my body. I found some clean clothes and tied my hair back into a ponytail. Due to my low weight, I had to layer enough clothes to keep warm.
Once again, my lack of emotions made this surprisingly easy. I knew exactly what needed to be done without any pesky emotions or feelings getting in the way of my plans. Meaning my need to surround myself with comfort was gone. I did not need that, not right now, so it was easy for me to dress warmly enough, and put some socks on even.
After I had warmed up enough, I grabbed my laptop and prepared to take the lead. The trip to Lake Lanier would be at the top of my list. So, I ordered flowers and gift baskets for the families. I had already made monetary compensations, but I wanted to make sure I had time to visit everyone as well.
As I completed these tasks, it hit me once again. I would experience these overwhelming moments where everything would come crashing down on me, and I felt like I couldn't handle it anymore. I curled up on the sofa, closed my eyes, and tried to hold on.
Darkness consumed my mind. I wasn't sure what I could say to Damon or Wulfe if I ever saw them again. Were there any valid excuses, or were they simply just excuses? I felt like a fraud. I didn't even know who I truly was anymore. I had been playing different roles for so long that when it came time to face the real me; I discovered a hollow, pathetic, soulless monster who pretended to be a hero and a good person. In reality, I was a beast, a predator.
Any goodness within me was merely an illusion. Regret and self-hatred consumed me. I was exhausted from fighting this pointless battle that I had no right to fight. My intentions were no longer pure. I was tired of being strong, tired of pretending, tired of realizing the monster I had become. I was in such a deep, dark place that I couldn't even find the energy to cry or feel anything beyond this endless despair.
As I write this, I can still recall the scent of that sofa, the feel of the pillows beneath my head, and the overwhelming pit of despair that engulfed me. Despite Damon's attempts to persuade me to let go of it or Wulfe's efforts to make me forget, I simply don't want to. It has become a part of me, a significant part. It has profoundly changed me and yet, strangely; it hasn't changed me at all. Perhaps it has shown me who I truly am. I am one stubborn creature who clings to shit in my past. Perhaps I have not stopped ever seeing myself as a monster, and this is one way for me to punish myself.
Mimi's brain was devoid of oxytocin, serotonin, and VA-NDMAs. Her dopamine levels were very low, but her body had learned to adjust. Her pretender side was dormant and almost depleted, while her feline side was confused and hurt, not wanting to feel anything, either.
Her body was flooded with cortisol and other stress-inducing chemicals, resulting in poor physical health. She lacked enzymes and had no desire to change her shape. The hunger Damon had once triggered no longer worked, as her body had rejected it. Her pheromone gland was small and inactive, unable to even emit the scent of strawberries.
It would take a long time for her brain to recover and during this process, a few molecules were attempting to make her feel something. Typically, the last feelings to go are the first to return, so she had lost all positive and good emotions initially. Negative emotions, self-doubt, self-hate, and even rage started to resurface sporadically, but didn't last long.
Large parts of her brain were dormant, including the ones that regulated her nightmares and negative thoughts, leaving her unable to push them away. This resulted in a vortex of pain, confusion, fear, and weakness. When the flood of NDMAs stopped, her robotic demeanor returned, and she no longer felt anything or desired to feel anything.
Her brain was in the process of recovering from the storm that wreaked havoc on all parts, which would take time and effort. The lasting effects would impact her memory, which remained sharp as ever, capturing everything that happened. It would also take time for her suffering body to gather the necessary resources to synthesize the neuropeptides and neurotransmitters needed to evoke sensations and feelings.
**Explaining these supernatural neurophysiological processes, which are partially magical and mystical, is not an easy task. - Damon Salvatore**
After experiencing my episode, I found it surprisingly effortless to detach myself from emotions. I wished for this state of emotional detachment to continue indefinitely. It was liberating to make decisions solely based on facts, without being influenced by feelings. I felt completely numb, as if the world had lost all its colors, yet strangely, it didn't bother me.
It was time for me to continue existing and living my life, and I no longer required any vibrancy in my surroundings. Deep down, I knew that if and when those colors returned, so would the pain that accompanied them, and I simply had no desire to experience that pain again, not anymore.
每周推薦票狀態
-- 推薦票
榜單 
-- 推薦票