Cptsd, Books, and Created Spirits

Today, I discovered something. Namely, that I do not particularly like living in other people’s worlds.

What do I mean? I mean reading. But not the usual kind of reading. I mean, there comes a point when the reading is too engrossing, that you start feeling the story live around you. I hope im not the only one to experience this, because it is unsettling. Even more unsettling is the fact I have no control over where the story or setting will go. So I try and read faster to rip off the bandage and get it over with. But that usually just engrossed me more, and I sink deeper into this world.

It almost feels like a mist around me, today. The feeling, the aura of this novel I’m reading. In an esoteric sense, I suppose one could say the created soul, the Grigori of the book has been summoned. But it bothers me.

It really, truly, bothers me because the only stories where I want to live and feel myself in and around me are ones I can control, at least to some degree. Where I can halt the pain. Where I can truly enjoy myself without too much fear. There is uncertainty in every writing or true artistic endeavor, I suppose. But I like to imagine that I, the author, am in control of the art.

But in the past few days I have sprained my wrist rather badly, and so have been reading others novels instead of immersing in my own. In fact, I’ve done more reading in the past 24 hours than I have in a month. It has been fun, but rather unsettling. I feel like if I push the envelope, I will be bridging two worlds, that one I live in and the one I am reading about.

Thinking of it in terms of a created spirit, a Grigori, makes sense to me now, but it is still unsettling. I sort of feel like the silver tongue in Inkheart, who could create things by reading them aloud (or so I recall of the story). Truly, I am sure, there are many spiritual ramifications to this, from the neopagan perspective as well as an authors perspective. But I dont want to go there too much.

I like reality, but I also enjoy my own fantasy worlds. Today, while being all cozy, I realized that I truly enjoy immersing in my fantasy worlds and half living in them. I say half living, because they are all I think and breathe for half a day, or a quarter. They fill my mind and obsess me. They bring this aura to me, this presence of joy. It makes me feel accompanied, loved, and surrounded by magic. But it saddens me to realize, as I did today, that the only tasks I am truly successful at are ones that involve sinking into these fantasy worlds. Tasks related to reality and observing it, like cleaning, I am terrible at.

Maybe I am looking too much into things, but maybe I am not. Cptsd makes me often want to escape, to run away, to forget. It has made me sensitive, I suppose, but also makes me… unreal at the same time. I feel, because of my memory loss, a disconnect from the past. Like it didn’t actually happen to me. At the same time I feel a void where my memories should be. In a sense, I feel forever young because I am not aging because I have so few memories and ties to reality.

Anyways, I am writing this purely because I wanted to share. If you are out there an have lived something similar, this bridging of worlds between books and reality, please let me know. I’d like not to be the only one. If you read this and find it curious, I’ll admit that it is! But please don’t just think “oh thats weird” and move on. Entertain me a little, and think on what ifs and ramifications with me. Discuss with me, I’d greatly enjoy it.

In any case, I wish you all the best. Have a lovely day 💗

Wherein Nothing Gets Explained At All ~ Lage’s Game: Chapter Seven Part One

“The police are coming,” said Kayla hastily, looking from the medieval man to the man on the floor

The goon began cackling. “Think that’ll stop us?”

Kayla’s face turned into an angry, closed, shape. To me, she turned and said crisply “Get another shirt on. Wipe that blood off your face.”

The sirens were getting closer.

“Go!” she ordered. I ran.

Over the unconscious men, I raced up the stairs, then into Kayla’s bedroom. It felt like an eternity as I dug out a shirt, raced to the bathroom, and wiped my face down. Then, I changed.

When I ran back downstairs the goons had been moved out of view of the door, stacked into the living room. They were all unconscious now.

I skittered into the kitchen just in time to see Kayla wipe the blood off the counter. Blood I had drawn with the knife that was now in the sink, water running over it to wash it clean. The medieval man was nowhere to be seen.

Knock knock. The police had arrived at the door.

Kayla turned around “Where is he?” she whispered.

“He’s gone,” I said, looking around.

Frowning and not understanding, Kayla went to the door. There she put on her best smile and opened the door.

“Nightmares,” I heard her say. She gestured me over, and I glumly walked near the doorway. The police officer was blonde and blue eyed, and had a big frown on. Kayla began going on about how my mother had had this accident and I was staying with her for now.

The cop left, frowning deeply.

Kayla kept that smile on, marching into the kitchen. Out came the vodka, and the green man was at the table now.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ!” hissed Kayla at him. “Do you always disappear like that?” She poured out a glass of vodka and drank it straight. Then she eyed him, looking around the kitchen. “Where did you go?”

“In Gwenevarnia,” he said stoically, hands resting on the table. His eyes flickered from Kayla to me, and I sensed… apprehension. Like he was looking at something dangerous. Kayla? No, me. I was the dangerous one.

“So,” Kayla set down the vodka. Then, rethinking things, she offered it to the man. “Want some?”

“No thank you,” he said softly.

Kayla poured herself another drink. Then, she sat at the table. “I want to know what’s going on,” she said.

I joined her at the table. Oddly, the man was on the right, Kayla on the left… and I had taken the head of the table. It felt prophetic somehow.

Indeed, the man looked heavily at me. Then, he turned to face Kayla squarely. “How much do you know? You are the girls guardian now, I suppose?”

Kayla nodded. “And I don’t know anything.” To me, she turned. “Do you know anything?”

I didn’t answer. I stared from her to the man. What was I supposed to say? Was he worthy of trust? Was he – would he cause more trouble? Was it betrayal to mother and father if I told him of the board game?

My silence took too long. He returned to looking at Kayla. “There is a board game.”

Kayla glanced to me. “Wasn’t that – you were talking about that once?”

The man nodded. “She ate a very important card.”

Kayla frowned, nodding. Again, she glanced to me. I waited in silence, hands folded in my lap and back straight. I silently dared the man to say something new. Tell me something I didn’t already know.

The man hesitated. Again he looked to me. “How much do you know?”

I held my silence. Instead I tilted my head to the side. He wanted to be sure not to tell me more than I already knew? Well, two could play at that game.

“How much do you know?” I asked tartly.

He smiled in a flicker. “How much did your parents tell you?”

I held my silence again. He looked to Kayla. “There was a boardgame.”

“So? She ate the fucking card, it’s over with! What more do they want?” Kayla burst, her words slurring slightly. She ran her hands through her hair, messing it while trying to smooth it back.

The man frowned. “It was a very important card. It possessed – powers.”

Kayla squinted at him. The man let out a breath. “The boardgame was magical.”

Kayla squinted some more, tilting her head to the side, like one of them was a chimpanzee doing a magic trick. The man looked to me. “You ate something very precious.”

“Sue me,” I snapped.

“Yeah, well, okay. She did. So now what?” Kayla reached for the vodka bottle. The man took it gently from her grasp and set it farther away.

“Now, is entirely up to you. You are her guardian. She can come with me, into my world. I could keep her safely,” and he hesitated. “Until the situation calms down somewhat.”

“What situation?” asked Kayla. “Who are these people – who would hurt a kid over a fucking card?”

“A precious card,” said the man.

Kayla shook her head. The man continued. “You need to take her somewhere safe. They are after her. She will have inherited the cards’ powers.”

“Powers?” Kayla had dropped her head into her hands and was now peering out of them at him. She looked at her rope’s end.

The man looked to me. “You feel different, don’t you? Since eating the card?”

I didn’t answer. He raised his eyebrows. Then, reaching under his cloak, he drew my rabbit out from his side. He presented it to me with a smile.

I glared. I’d purposefully left that rabbit upstairs when the goons arrived. How had he gotten it?

Kayla caught her breath. “The rabbit on the front door. Was it you or them?”

“Me,” the man said calmly, adjusting in his seat to face Kayla again as I hugged my rabbit.

Kayla looked at me, her face crinkling in disbelief. “How did you-” she looked at him. “Do you work with the police?”

The man smiled. “I’m from Gwenevarnia. Not the police.”