Mind Mansion

A Short Tour

If you came to my mind mansion, you’ll probably need to visit a therapist. The drive is unpaved, or, well, it used to be paved but is so overgrown now that you can’t really tell. Some bits of hardball here or there, but no, it’s a trail. You’ll be mindful to watch for spider webs as you cross under the canopy of pines towering over the trail. Once you get through those timber thickets, you’ll find yourself face to face with a couple of weathered old mansion doors.

I’ll meet you on the front porch of this dilapidated structure, welcoming you in with a smile. I’m the butler, after all, here to show you what I’ve lived through, what I’ve done, and how insidious it all is. But—don’t worry, part of the prerequisite to being hired as the butler was having my ducks in a decent enough row prior to my start date. Let’s have an open house as I disclose the abuse explicitly. Oh, how I never thought I would be here. My apologies, we’d be a bit tidier around here if we have more visitors, but truth be told, we haven’t had any in years.

I’ll guide you in, but first, the 2nd butler will attend the walk with you. Now, unlike me, there were no prerequisites for the second butler position. It’s sort of like an unpaid internship, but, with some benefits. He doesn’t really have his stuff together like I do.

Are you really going to introduce me like that, bro? You’re such a dick. I’m trying my best. I’m only at 270lbs and I haven’t had a beer in about eleven hours. I’m going to get through day one, just like I’ve told you for the last four months, man. I know what it means to be tough, bro, I was a firefighter too. I got through the ringer at SDPS and you couldn’t have done it without me. Besides, this gets me out of the cage a little bit. He’s getting some serious views man, you feel that ego?

Perhaps, you’re getting a little confused. I should probably explain. My propensity for metaphors might have rusted a little bit, just as an unsheathed blade under a damp sky. I’m trying to describe the place I keep all these memories. Part of the mission of awareness and being a survivor advocate is exposing sunlight to things you’ve buried for years. I’m good at digging holes and so is the other guy. This place I live in, within my mind, was once a beautiful mansion beaming with rays of sunlight. Then, all the sudden at around four and five years after its construction, the weather changed. Most days the only thing I could see out of the window was beneath a glum and gloomy overcast.

Then, there would be brief moments of sunlight. I felt so lonely here. I started painting the walls with my sexual abuse. I put my fists through the walls out of anger as the years went. It all got worse as time went on. Darker, less moments of sunshine, the ghosts started showing up, and I felt I could never escape. I never thought I would really need to repair it; nor did I plan on being alive long enough to. But each time I walked out the door or went to the window instead of retreating into thought, the outside world just seemed less appealing for someone like me. After all, there are things here that will put a bad taste in your mouth. There are things here that I will have to live with for the rest of my life. There are things here I am not sure I will ever heal from, and there are things here that still crush my soul to write about.