Statement of Salem Everdeen, regarding moths outside its door.
I remember how it felt. It wasn't a crawling feeling, or gross. It was dirt under my skin, the type you grow flowers in. it was scratching at my nerves and no matter how much I scrubbed, no matter how much skin I scratched off, it just dug deeper, and deeper, and deeper. It clung to my very soul.
My therapist said it was formication, bugs under the skin. I didn't know how to tell him that it didn't crawl, it didn't itch. It simply was. And that... existence was the problem. the knowledge that its there, even when I try to ignore it. It's made a home in my body and I am just an imposter.
Everyone says they understand when you talk about it. That they've felt the same before. But they haven't, have they? How could they? No, they havent felt that overarching emptiness, so relentless that it's like you're choking. They couldn't have felt that agony of ripping away at yourself trying to be rid of that grime and dirt. It is a gravel in your veins that crushes and erodes every time you move, and settles into your blood when you don't. They can't know what its like.
I'm getting off track, aren't I?
moths have begun to gather outside my door. they feed on the mold that grows in my walls. I've never been what I would call a clean person, I leave dishes out and I don't think I've seen my floor in months. when I found the mold crawling up my walls like a colony of ants swarming together in bundles, I didn't really ... care.
but then the moths came. they started small- one to five at most and it was like that for months. and then there were more. soon they began to Cluster and grow until I couldn't leave my house without being bombarded by them. and so I didn't. I stayed inside I worked from home every time I would look out my windows there they were blocking the sunlight... I don't know if anyone even noticed I was gone. I don't know if anyone cared.
and that thought- that feeling that I.. I didn't have anyone who would care? that's when it began. that sensation, that dirt under my skin. you know when you get something caught under your fingernail and you can't stop thinking about it? when you have a paper cut on your arm and it doesn't hurt anymore but you can still feel it every time you bend your elbow? that was it.
and then it grew and grew and grew until my entire body was filled with that filth, that dirt that I couldn't place. And for the first time in months, I left.
I opened every door every window I could see and they flooded the room. I couldn't see in front of me there were hundreds of them. millions. I felt their wings fly around me their legs attached to my skin... it was nice.
I still felt that filth and that dirt around me but... I don't know.
really, I don't know what to tell you. I knew that when they found me when they clustered around me in a cloud that it felt better. I was still covered in that dirt and that soot, but they helped.
they acted like friends to me [dry laugh] I don't know what that says about me. making friends with the bugs that had clouded my home, but that's what happened. I talked to them, laughed. they couldn't respond but I don't think I needed that. I just... needed someone. something.
but they were loud and they wanted something. I don't know what, I still don't and I don't think I ever will until they finally get it from me. but they want something and I don't know what they're going to do with it. that's what scares me.
it was it was a while ago that I found out. I heard their whispers. I had become part of them. they didn't know I could hear them.
they didn't speak. they communicated, but they didn't speak. No, instead it was a shrill, high sound that I never want to hear again, and that I have been hearing since that night.
I hear that sound every day. I gotten used to the dirt and to the feeling that was not an itch but that sound... it haunts me.
I don't want help. I don't need help. this isn't a problem or a condition, I'm not hallucinating you saw them! you saw them follow me when I came in here. I...
I want to become a part of them. it isn't a death that I would feel but it is an end.
I just know if I'm consumed by them and if I finally end it all they'll just take someone else, just search for another victim.
and so I sit. with the dirt under my skin as mold grows around my muscles I sit, and I keep them at Bay.
I didn't come here for help. If you try to do anything I dont doubt you'll feel that same grime. it was a warning. I don't think I can keep on like this
