A - Understanding the mind of Seth Kingsley (PT2)

Story written by common on Tuesday 30, June 2009

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To Know Who I Am, First You Have To Understand Why I Am.

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Understanding the mind of Seth Kingsley To know who I am, first you have to understand why I am.... Session one I lay there feeling the coldness of leather against my skin. Surrounded by books of intelligence and insight. Most likely pure bullshit. The steady ticking of the clock on the wall signaling the passing of time till I can get out of here. The gentle glow of sunlight filtering its way through the slats on the window. A small light on the desk to my left softly illuminating the room, perhaps to give the feeling of "your safe here". Safe I did not feel. To let someone into your mind, to try and understand you. Makes you feel naked, like walking down the main street completely uncovered for the whole world to see. Perhaps this was different. But it still carried the same kind of feeling. I was about to be, uncovered. 'Name?' 'Seth Kingsley' 'Let's Begin' I lay there for a second preparing myself for what is to come, the endless drone of questions for which I am meant to have the answers for. So i thought to myself. Why not just start at the beginning. "I remember it was about 11 am. A mild sort of a day, summer, gentle breeze outside. Inside was different though. I remember sitting there watching people go past, typing away at computers, quiet talking in closed rooms. White coats. Stethoscopes. I was in a Hospital. Today was the day my youngest sister was to be born. I was soon to be the eldest of three, I was 21, my sister 16. I remember feeling different about the situation, not happy, not sad, just...blank. That's when it happened. Doctors and nurses rush to the room. I stood outside the room and look in the window. And there she was, my now little sister. That's when I walked away. For some reason I couldn't stand the sight of happiness, I had to escape. I remember walking outside and feeling the sun hit my face and for a few seconds I felt completely alive. I leant up against the brick wall, the feel of it making the hairs on my arms stand up, sending a tingling through my body. I lit up a cigarette, draw back and exhale. It was my escape". "Why didn't you stay inside?" "I couldn't, I couldn't take in all the happiness and warmth of such a thing when all I see is the darkness and complete opposite of it". "Why do you feel that way? What has made you think this way?" "I guess" I pause for a minute to try and pick my words. I've never had to answer anything like this, and I'm still questioning and wondering why I am to begin with. For what great purpose is it to open myself up to this person. They don't know me, all they see is the dollar signs laying on their Italian leather lounge. Maybe I do need to answer these things, for my own good. But do I even have a problem? No, of course I don't. We are all entitled to our opinion and view on the world. I clench my hand hard, feeling the nails dig into my skin, preparing myself for what I'm about to say. I take a deep breath, look around the room, and look everywhere, except at the face sitting patiently waiting for my answer. I avoid any eye contact. "I guess I would have to go back in my life". Funny really, I say go back in my life. I failed to mention it was only a year ago "I use to have a great life, great family, girlfriend, friends, and then one day the world just seemed to catch up to me, like being punched in the face, I stopped and realized this isn't all there could be. A monotonous fucking cycle that we like to call life, no, there has to be more. From the time we wake up to the time we go to bed we are all just playing a game, and around it goes like a god damn merry-go-round. That's what's made me think this way, does that answer your fucking question?!" "It's okay let out all your anger, your safe here. Why don't you have some water?" I sit up, take the glass of water sitting on the middle table and take a sip, calming myself down. That's when I realize my hand, a few specks of blood mark my hand from where my finger nails had dug in. I clench my hand closed feeling the blood between my hand. I lay back down and close my eyes trying to escape and be somewhere else. But it's no use. "Let's continue when you are ready". I take a deep breath. "I remember living at home. Just the three of us, four now. See, dad was never there. Always off working, he wasn't even there when his little daughter was born" I felt my chest constrict. Tightness of it making my eyes well with water, I quickly wipe them away, hoping that it wasn't noticed. "Does it bother you that he is never around?" This I had to think about for awhile "No, I don't think it did. It has always been like this, he was never there when I was a child, so for me it's never been different" By now the tightness had gone away, replaced by anger. Why was I opening up like this, letting it all out. What am I doing? "Your girlfriend, how is everything there?" I had to restrain myself, hold myself back from an outburst of anger at this question. "My girlfriend and I were fine until..." A soft ding sounds. Signaling the end of the session. For now I'm free. Free of questions and this room which feels like its sucking the life right out of me. Bringing out all the things I had so deeply concealed and locked away for fear they would take over my whole being. "That ends our session, same time tomorrow" Session Two 9 A.M and I'm back here already. I was still trying to figure out what the great purpose was to being here. I wasn't being made to come; perhaps it was just me finally trying to answer some of my own questions. But if they were my own questions should I not have the answers already? I was already 30 minutes late, I didn't want to go in there. Back into that room, the cold leather sofa, the gentle ticking of the clock. Which felt as if it were mocking me. Letting me know that till it rang I was but a prisoner. I slowly walked the steps, knowing with each one I was heading for an hour of self questioning and perhaps, enlightenment. Nothing was said as I entered the room and lay myself on the sofa, nothing until: "Let's continue" I took a deep breath, steadied my mind and tried to relax myself as much as possible. Only one session to go after this, that's all I could think of. Then I'm free. Free from this room, free of questioning. Free from life. Or what we are made to believe is life anyway. "You were telling me about your girlfriend, why don't we pick up there?" Again I felt my hand clench, the single thought of this felt like it had enough power behind it to destroy everything inside me. But I had to calm myself. I steady myself again. "You should say ex-girlfriend. She cheated on me and left me with nothing" "Nothing? What about your friends? Family?" They always take to deep an approach when someone says "nothing' "What I damn well meant is nothing, nothing inside me. I felt I had nothing left to give. Does that make it easier for you to fucking understand?" "What happen between you two?" Ten minutes here and I already felt like I could explode at any minute and take the world down with me. Perhaps one's mind does have the power for such a thing. Who knows. "I was happy once. With her. I remember looking at her and feeling as if nothing could go wrong. But it turns out it was a fake smile, hers that is. I was being told what I wanted to hear, all the "I love you' and shit. I remember this day down to the detail. Now looking at it, it's like looking at it from a third person perspective and looking in at her and myself and finally being able to put my finger on the fake smile and the bullshit lies, as if it were all there to see in plain sight. But how was I to know? If only we could read peoples thoughts. But we can't. All fucking lies". With that I actually felt a little relieved, was this the big thing holding me down and making me question everything? Or was it a mixture of that and just finally having some of the pressure off my chest. But this was far from over. I lay there for a bit, listening. The tell tale sound of a pen scratching on a note pad. My mind in writing. All being jotted down for analysis. "So, tell me about your friends" Why this? As if the question prior had been closed for discussion. I can't say I was to bothered, just a little surprised. Had my short answer given all that was needed to be known on the matter? For what it's worth, I hope so. "I don't have many friends" "Why not?" "I knew some people from school, that's it. To call them friends would be a lie. I just knew them on a small level. I'm not much for people" "Not much for people, why is that?" "I find people get in the way of things. I guess I prefer to take the role of an observer. Someone that isn't meant to really be here. I just watch and observe the world and its people" "Not meant to be here?" I was growing restless. This journey into my mind was putting myself into a position I was not comfortable with: vulnerable. I need to get out of here. "People just don't fit into my life, ok?. Every time I let someone in they either fucking die or leave me. So why let people get close to you, in the end we all just get screwed over one way or the other. We live, we love and we die. It's all a damn cycle. As soon as we let people get close to us, we are leaving ourselves open for pain and being let down. So what is the damn point" "You mentioned someone dying? Who?" I sit up, have a drink over water, place the glass back down and take a deep breath and lay back down. Close my eyes and like last time, try to escape, again it's no use. I lay with my eyes closed and crack my fingers and think back on my life before she was gone. It's as if I have been looking at my life an all around me from a third person perspective. Not just with the ex-girlfriend. But as if I am detached from myself in a physical and mental way. To look in on myself. It still doesn't help me understand things any better. "My".sister" "Sister? "My 16 year old sister, I say the four of us, I say that just so I can still try and hold onto her as if she is still here with us" A quiver runs through my body as a few tears well in my eyes. This time I don't care if my tears can be noticed. I never cried when she died. I just remember feeling numb and pissed off at the world for taking someone so dear to me. "Why don't you tell me about it?" "She committed suicide. Jumped off the top of a building. I remember that day. She had always been quiet. Dad not being around always affected her more than it did me. She told me once "I think I've seen all I want to see, I'm ready'. At the time I didn't understand completely. She had always been the depressive type. But I was always there to help her through. I never, I never thought she would do that" That's when it happened. I cracked. Tears welled and streamed from my eyes. I never cried for her, so I guess it had built to this. Upset and angry at the same time. I sat up, clenched my teeth, picked up the glass of water and threw it against the wall. It smashed into pieces, it seemed so much like my life, broken into pieces and now laying on the floor. "Its ok. Lets leave it at that. Take the rest of the day and I'll see you tomorrow" I stood up and walked to the door. Stopped and half turned. "Who says there will be a tomorrow" I walk outside, take my pen and small note pad from my pocket and write: "Who Was Seth Kingsley?"

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    Nicely done again. I think this is better written then Part 1. Just a few areas need some puctuation clean up.
    Agreed, better than part one, and better written.
    This is easier to follow, and flows smoother.