The Secret (a short story) Part 1

NOTE: This is CRAZY! I wrote this in my mid 20’s, years before I was diagnosed with BPD (never knowing what THAT meant). The story was very reflective of my life at the time. Reading it now, I’m amazed at how reflective it is of BPD. It’s  really freaking me out. I did this for a class. I wanted someone to see my pain and to help me. People saw. No one helped. It scared them.


As usual, I had been feeling depressed. The car was away being fixed, the mechanic was avoiding me, and Joe would be home late – again. So  much for the romantic dinner I had prepared in hopes of seducing Joe, something rare in our marriage. And as usually happened, the more depressed I was, the more I thought about drugs, acid. And then I was searching for a lost stash.

Halfheartedly looking through cupboards and the drawers in my bedroom, I found a small glass vial which held three tiny squares of paper. My stash! I knew I shouldn’t trip. I had promised Joe, but I wanted to. “I can’t, I can’t. Think of Joe.” My mind raced against temptation remembering the last time Joe had found me tripping. “But he isn’t the one sitting here depressed, bored, and frustrated to Hell with life. If he was me, he wouldn’t stop. But the last time he threatened to make me see a doctor.” I couldn’t get his words out of my mind.

“Britt, I love you. But you have to stop taking these drugs or you’ll get hurt. I’ll do anything I can to help, but you’ve got to stop. Maybe it would be best if you say a doctor. That really might be the best thing to do.” There was no way that I would see a doctor. I had pleaded and promised for hours before I had convinced Joe that I could quit on my own. I thought that I could do it. Well, three long months had gone by since that night of promises and now I had a choice. It was quickly made – the tiny   squares won.

It was 4:30 when I took the three trips; a very large dose for even an acid head like me. I thought, “But this might be my last trip for l long time.” Only once before had I taken such a large dose and that was a trip beyond control. But I felt safe in my house, alone with my secret.

Slowly, the drug began to take effect and as it did, so the lines and patters of objects began to waver, blending into beautiful designs of motion that refused to stand still, however hard I concentrated. I smiled to myself, happy with thoughts of what lay ahead. Deciding that the house was too quiet, I glided into the living room and put “The Dead Movie” into the VCR. “Yeah,” I thought, “This will make me feel great!” The music began quietly, expanding with emotion as it grew louder, Why did I promise to stop? Joe knows I need to do this once in awhile. I’m not addicted or anything. It’s just that life’s a bummer sometimes, and I need help to get through it.

By 5:45 I was feeling great! That’s when the trip began to really take off. I was dancing wildly, with abstract motions. My arms and hands were waving as if I was combing cob webs from the corners of the world. Time held no meaning. Watching the movie, I remembered the last Grateful Dead concert I had been to. I had taken four trips that night. It was unforgettable how detached I had felt and I wanted to feel that way again. The movie ended and I played it over and over again – I think.

Dimly, I heard the phone ring and found myself answering it. “Hello,” my voice echoed in my head, “Hello?”

“Britt, Britt, is that you? It’s Megan.”

Her voice held as much meaning for me as time did, none. Trying to understand what she was saying, I felt illiterate to the sounds of speech.

“Can I come over and borrow a movie? Sam wants to stay home tonight.” Megan chatted on, assured by my vague acknowledgement of, “Yeah, o.k.”

When I realized that I couldn’t hear her voice anymore, I hung up the phone and returned to my dancing and The Dead. Time again stood still. I felt as if I really was at the concert; my heart was pounding with excitement and the acid, my face frozen in a smile. Slowly, I became aware of someone banging on the side door. I couldn’t figure out who it could be, all memory of Megan’s call had faded away. Annoyed at the intrusion, I tried to ignore the sound. It eventually stopped and I felt better, safer.

In my whirling dance, I suddenly found myself gazing into the frightened face of Megan. “Stop, Britt, please stop.” Megan shouted, grabbing for my arms, I was puzzled. What was she doing here?

“Huh? Megan?” This was rapidly turning into a bad trip as I dimly began to remember her call. My mind raced looking for words to hide behind. Scared at what looked about to happen, I hoped it was just a bad trip. THAT would end. Turning away from Megan, I tried to forget she was there and continued my frenzied dancing.

When I next turned towards her, she was gone, For a moment I felt a little better. It must have been an illusion. But then I caught glimpses of Megan on the kitchen phone. Paying no attention, I danced on. My trip was peaking then and even reality wasn’t real. When the movie ended, I didn’t even notice; I was absorbed with the images in my mind. Time stood still.

Abruptly. there came the hard pressure of arms pulling mine tightly to my side, strongly reaching from behind me. I started crying. Without looking, I knew whose arms they were and I became limp. Even the trip couldn’t cover up what was happening. I felt as if my life was about to end and there could be no hope in the future. The strength of my trip ended and I was alone.


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