I was trapped. I was lying on my bed, limbs stretched out as far away from my body as they could possibly be, and the traitor body wasn't obeying any of my frantic commands, telling it to get up. The air in the room seemed thick and moist, like jungle air, and it was only making things all the more difficult. I pulled at my body again, and this time managed to make it move a little, but it was as if I were tied hand and foot with ropes to the corners of the bed. That was exactly how it seemed.

Little slice of my brain thinks this is kind of kinky. Hell of a time for good humor; I don't even have any idea how this sudden paralysis came about. Actually, I might have an idea. It was probably the panic, from the thought that there were thousands of creatures in the room with me; vile, evil things, and they were all after me, my hands, my feet, my face. And then there they all were again, materialized out of the thick jungle air: squirming, dark masses of shadow, they were everywhere and my body continued to disobey the commands I was throwing at it, telling it to get up and protect itself. They were everywhere, all over, and they all wanted me...

The phone tore through the air like a scream, making my body forget about its refusal to do anything at all. I shot up into a sitting position in the middle of the bed and grabbed a pillow to cover my face. Once the instinctive panic wore off, things were okay. I could move again, and those blasted creatures were gone, disappeared into the night again. Well, if that was all it took...

But there was still the matter of the ringing phone. As much as I felt I should answer it (it was my phone, it was my duty), I didn't want to. There was really no desire present in me to talk with someone right now. Then I remembered the answering machine. That was why you had bought it, wasn't it? Let the machine pick it up.

After solving that, it seemed like everything was fixed for the time being, until something else came up. That felt okay. No, it felt better than okay, it felt good. For now I could try to relax. Relax, ha, that was nice. Those damned shadow creatures had been plaguing me for about a week now, and I never knew when they'd come back. But no, no, don't think about that now. Put on some music instead. And at least the phone's stopped ringing.

I took a few deep breaths then got up and made a few tentative steps. When I sensed that everything was safe, I made my way to the bedroom door and left the room, on a quest to reach my stereo.

I put in Tori Amos's Little Earthquakes, a nice album though I had only listened to it a few times, and hit the random button. The song 'Girl' began to play, and Tori Amos's voice filled the room, singing:

"She's been everybody else's girl, maybe one day she'll be her own."

It was surprising that every time you listened to a song, you could still uncover new things in the music. I had never heard that lyric in there before, and in hearing it for the first time I related.

For as long as I could remember, I had always been the listener. People would come to me and talk and talk, seeking advice (that I really couldn't give) but not really wanting it as much as they just wanted someone to listen to them. I used to enjoy it, I would sit and be the caring ear, helping them with what I could and telling them honestly that I didn't have answers for the things that I couldn't.

But after a while, I started seeking my own caring ear, because I had my own problems, and I found that there simply wasn't one there. I was the caring ear's caring ear, and my big neon sign that drew people to me seemed to be stuck eternally in the 'on' position. If I started to talk about me, the other person would be reminded of something and be off and running before I had even realized what happened.

No matter what, though, I always listened. The people could count on me for that, and that was all most of them really wanted. But it made me angry sometimes, mostly at myself for being what I am.

This whole issue was the reason I talked to myself. I could be my own caring ear, no matter how inadequate. And that's what I found myself doing, sittiing in a chair, listening to Tori Amos by my dim lamp, trying to relax and having a conversation with myself. Not a conversation as much as a long, rambling monologue. But a monologue was all you could realy do with yourself unless you wanted to find yourself doubting your own sanity even more in the late hours.

After a while, I took out my London travel guide I had bought from a thrift shop some time ago, and started flipping through the worn pages. How I longed to go there, to escape all this and go somewhere new. Shart a new reality for myself. One where I had the strength to be and didn't have to consatntky be afraid of those damned shadow creatures coming back again.

I wanted a new life.

more later...