April 6, 2013
I admit. I had been slightly hysterical yesterday, and it affected the things I wrote in my journal. Under Dr. Carrion's advice, I decided not to remove the words I have written for April 5 as a reminder of what sort of illusion my brain can do to me if I am in an unfamiliar environment. I spoke to Dr. Carrion today outside of her working hours. She very graciously apologized to me for suggesting that I should attend such a sizable crowd on my own when I am obviously under such a tremendous amount of stress. She's not the one at fault, of course.
I wish to re-write my journal entry yesterday and remind myself of my current limit. Possibly, I hope that I can read these words in the future as a reference for how far I've grown as a person. Dr. Carrion told me this to me. I agree with her 100%. Today, I told her about how I committed my first murder. Dr. Carrion asked me to recall every detail about it from start to finish. Thus, in this journal entry, I wish to retell the same event I have confided to her and recount just how silly I was the whole time.
Yesterday, I went to a large-scale meeting of like-minded religious people. Like me, they all wish to have their woes healed. However, the only difference we have is that they want to better themselves through the power of faith. In my limited understanding, I believe that they are an independent association that moves on their own accord with no support from any religious associations like the Vatican or something like that. The gathering is called Plural Heights. They are very proud to call themselves a church far bigger than any other church that grazes the universe. They call it a megachurch. I Googled that term earlier and saw that it perfectly matched up to what that place is.
A megachurch is a church with an unusually large membership, which also offers various educational and social activities. At least that's what Wikipedia says.
As I'm writing this, I am trying to recount what happened to me in that event. It has all been hazy ever since that murder illusion occurred. I cried myself to sleep last night. Most of my memory about my visit to Plural Heights has been flushed away from my system, along with the countless tears I shed.
The basic idea of Plural Heights is simple. They wish to unlock the inner potential of a person's soul. That's what I understood when I read their pamphlet. I'm not even sure if I really understood it.
Through countless activities, forums, seminars, and so much more, Plural Heights claims that they will use the power of spirituality to heal the wound inside of people's minds, hearts, and spirits. Know that they use the term 'people' a lot as if they're saying they own the miracle pill to heal the human race.
The thing that I remember the most about that place is that it was loud. The person who moderated the entire day-long activities in Plural Heights was a tall Caucasian woman who has long black hair and a pair of strikingly high cheekbones. I remembered that very well because the enormous TV screens all over the stadium would always show her face whenever she spoke. I couldn't follow what she's saying because of the surrounding chaos, though. Everyone around me is just so loud.
Shouting with their hands high up.
Singing like the world is about to end.
Dancing like their lives depended on it.
Jumping with broad smiles all over their faces.
And I remembered very vividly what they were all proclaiming out loud in perfect unison.
Faraqha und sharvhaza dheze.
Every time the woman says something, these words would appear on the TV screen along with her face.
Faraqha und sharvhaza dheze.
Everyone knows this world like it's etched on their hearts of hearts and deep within the tiny crevices of their brains.
Faraqha und sharvhaza dheze.
I have already forgotten most, if not all, of what had happened during that time I was in Plural Heights. However, I cannot quite forget these words. These were written in black font on the many colossal TV screens all around us. Words so powerful and profound. These cursed, wretched, abominable words that may or may not have originated from the mouths of an antediluvian evil, lurking deep within the arcades of antiquity.
Ruin spread throughout my spirit, until finally, it thwacked my brain in brutal fashion, sprawling throughout my veins as I looked around me. A Mecca of deplorable wretchedness hiding within a thin veil of happiness.
Finally… My senses failed me until I could only hear nothing but these words.
FARAQHA UND SHARVHAZA DHEZE.
FARAQHA UND SHARVHAZA DHEZE!
FARAQHA UND SHARVHAZA DHEZE!!!
The thought of this whole gathering alone is enough to crush my spirit into countless, disgusting, maggot-like pieces. I sat on my hardened chair throughout the Plural Heights event. I was sweating profusely. The only thing I could do now is to cover my ears with my hands. I was so distraught about what was happening. I couldn't move even an inch of my muscles; I had no way of escaping that place.
For what seemed like an eternity, I just sat there with my tears flowing out of my eyes, and none of the people around me ever thought of checking up on me. I know it sounded pretentious and spoiled of me to ask these people to help me out. I was acting so paranoid and scared. I just felt like they were deliberately doing everything that they have been doing all this time to break me. I feel like they created the entire event to make me feel like the worst version of myself.
Stupid. I was so, so utterly ridiculous. While writing these words, I slowly realize how dumb I am for even having such thoughts. I cannot believe how pompous I sounded. These people are not obligated to stop whatever they're doing to help a nobody like me.
I remembered that we're inside a huge, huge stadium with such a long and complicated name; I already forgot about it. The language used sounded kind of like French or Dutch? I'm uncertain, but it seems European. The stadium looked like one that I would see in the NFL. It may not look just as massive as those football stadiums, but it was just as loud and just as chaotic based on the NFL halftime shows that I saw online.
I remembered the middle of the stadium; it was this humongous and well-lit stage. All the beast-like and barbarous audiences are encircling it, which made the hosts even more excited.
Thus, while I'm crying the entire time this is happening, everyone just went on their merry ways. It's not that they're ignoring me; no, that's not the case here. I feel like they're ignoring everything else other than the people on the stage. None of them cared about the surrounding people; heck, they didn't even care about themselves! They wish to project their energy towards the people in the middle of the stadium.
I must have puked twice throughout this ordeal, but not one person directed their gaze at me or even looked at me with disgust. I remembered accidentally puking on this one guy's shoes, but he didn't even care! He just kept on smiling with his hands high while screaming as loud as he could, hoping to be noticed by the woman at the center of the stadium.
They were screaming.
They were laughing.
It eats me up so fucking bad that I could feel my insides emptying up every second I spent there.
After a while, I started feeling weak and drained. I remember the very instance my consciousness left my body. It happened when the woman on the stage whispered to her microphone, "Are you ready?" Then, my surroundings just turned into darkness.
The only thing I am thankful for about losing consciousness is that I heard nothing and felt naught but emptiness.
My senses returned after what seemed like an eternity. When I looked around, I realized that everyone else who was once crowding the stadium is gone aside from a few old janitors. I left right away. As I ran as swiftly as I could, a thought came across my head.
I do not want to return to this megachurch thing anymore.
I didn't get to understand what was happening or what they were saying. Thus, all I know about this megachurch place is the bare minimum.
They're called Plural Heights.
They have a lot of loud members.
They seem to be very passionate about what they're doing.
I remembered how I swiftly took my bag on the floor. The damn thing has been drenched with bile and what seemed like a black liquid—I think it's soda. I ran out of the stadium as swiftly as possible as I felt my breathing tightening, and my mind began to break once more. When I finally left that dreaded place, I found myself in what seemed like a narrow street with a flickering orange streetlight, only one.
I reached out to the nearest wall I could find and started puking profusely again. Every time I felt this hot and tingling sensation escaping my throat, I could sense the nutrients being drained away from my body. It all came crashing down with my worries and my sadness. Once again, I'm starting to feel... okay-ish.
That was when I met him.
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