Carol, Part 1

[WARNING: Disturbing Content]

Carol haunts my nightmares. She disturbed me so deeply that during my recovery I had to avoid homeless people and little old women. Yes, little old women. I suffered PTSD-like anxiety, according to my psychiatrist… He sent me to see a specialist for it.

*March 2014. Sometime between mania and psychosis. Fired from my job, walking home*

I was on top of the world strolling through Nob Hill. Free from my job. Free to open my own business. To be an artist. To do whatever I wanted. I wanted to open an event studio for artists to come and showcase their work. What an amazing idea!

Then I saw her, draped in black shawls with frazzled silvery black hair. Pushing a cart. She was homeless. Maybe a witch too. Tormented by delusions. Probably schizophrenic. She yelled at invisible people. As I passed her she yelled obscenities not at me, but just past me. This woman was fascinating.

Passing a café I bought two salads and sat at an outdoor table, watching her. I knew we were meant to cross paths. The energy turned her around at that moment, and she meandered my way. This was my chance. I stopped her, asked if she would like to join me for lunch. The pain in her face melted into relief. Stunned, she sat down with tears in her eyes.

We ate and I listened. Carol said nobody had shown her such kindness in a long time. Then she unloaded her delusions on me. Russian satellites, betrayal, evil weapons, ghosts… torture. She used to be young and beautiful like me, she said. They said she was crazy and they experimented on her. Locked her away. She lifted her shirt to show me scars. I didn’t want to see. Part of me believed she was ill, but as she talked fear began to overwhelm my consciousness. I could feel the energy all around us. They were watching. They didn’t want us to meet. She begged me to help her. Then a ladybug landed on my shirt. Carol was in disbelief, she hadn’t seen one in so many years. I was special. I could save her. 🐞