My Friend, Annie

You know at school, you get that friend who follows you around, annoying you, and you can never get away from them?
Well, that was Annie.
I met Annie when I was 12. She introduced herself, and said she wanted me to be her best friend. She said no one else would talk to her. 
Her best friend. She made that very clear.
At first, I felt sympathetic. I didn’t have many (OK, any) friends. She seemed nice, even if she was a little forward, so I agreed. What could go wrong? Having a best friend never hurt anyone.
It was nice having someone who wanted to be best friends. I felt special. She made me feel special.
We went everywhere together. We were unstoppable, willing to take on the world. She was there to give me advice and answers. She told me I could trust her 100%, and I did. 
Annie always had my back.
Whenever I would make new friends, Annie would overhear them talking about me. Making fun of me. Mocking me. She told me they just wanted someone to laugh at. She would tell me all they had said and done. 
Annie always had my back.
When I would hang out with them, little things like taking the mickey out of each other spiralled in my head afterwards, wondering why they would say things like that. I tried to reason that it was all in fun, like friends do. But Annie told me it was malicious. “I told you, they aren’t your real friends,” she said, “You don’t need people like that in your life, you have me!”
I decided she was right, I didn’t need any other friends. I had Annie. Annie would never do the things those so-called friends done. 
Annie always had my back.
When I met my first real girlfriend, Lisa, at 16, Annie was furious. She told me she knew Lisa had been with other people, even though she told me it was her first time. She told me most girls were manipulative and would say anything to a boy to get what they wanted. She told me she was just using me to “have her fill then dump you for the next one”.
I quickly left her, before she used me or caused me any pain. I didn’t need anything else, as long as I had Annie. 
Annie always had my back.
Annie didn't get along with my family. When she was there with me, they wouldn’t even acknowledge her. But she was there for me, 100%. She would hear my family, the people I loved most in the world, talking about me behind my back.
She would tell me what they said about me; that I was a hindrance to them, that they didn’t want me anymore, that I was a mistake.
Ever since she told me, I noticed things, like my mother saying “You get on my nerves”, or my dad shouting “Why can’t you just behave like a normal child?” and my sister saying “Why don’t you have any friends?”.
Annie confirmed my thoughts; my family didn’t want me anymore. Screw them, I don’t need anyone or anything as long as I had Annie. 
Annie always had my back.
When I moved out of my parents’ house, Annie was right there by my side, every step of the way. She would talk about how I made the right choice, and I didn’t need to rely on anyone for anything, as long as I listened to her. And so, it stayed that way for years, just me and Annie. Thank God I had a friend like Annie. 
Annie always had my back.
Eventually, Annie started changing. She would snap at me for no reason, telling me I was worthless. Telling me the reason I had no friends was because I pushed everyone away, that it was my fault. Telling me I was scared of women and commitment, that’s why I could never settle down with anyone. Telling me that I pushed my family away, and they would never take me back after the way I hurt them.
I told her to leave, told her I would patch things up with everyone, but she persisted. She would wake me in the middle of the night, screaming at me, telling me I'm useless. "Why are you even here? No one cares. If you died tomorrow, no one would miss you!" 
I used to think Annie always had my back.
I grabbed a flight to the USA to get away from her, but there she was, apologising for her behaviour, holding my hand in the flight. "I go everywhere with you, you can't get rid of me that easily".
Unfortunately, I believed her. I couldn’t get rid of her THAT easily.
The screaming and abusive language became more and more frequent. Anything that went wrong in my life, she was there.
I maxed out a credit card once, and she was there, “You could have spent that money on someone other than yourself, you’re so fucking selfish. Did you really need that? I think you just like wasting your life!”
I decided to have a night out on the town, see the sights and sample the drinks. I met a girl, and we hit it off. The alcohol managed to subdue Annie for a while. We ended up in bed, and it was the best experience of my life.
Right on cue, Annie was right there the morning after. “I hope you enjoyed yourself, because I heard her telling her friends it was the worst sex she ever had!”
Nine months later, my baby boy, Aaron, was in my arms. Annie was there, relentless, telling me he wasn’t mine, he would never love me, that I could never be a good father.
I needed to get Annie OFF my back.
Once and for all.
Annie watched, almost with pride, while I tied the rope around the girder of the empty warehouse.
"You're not doing it right! You're hopeless! Don’t you know anything?!"
Leave me alone, Annie.
She mocked me as I climbed the chair, and sang songs as I grabbed the rope and placed it around my neck, like a thick, awful looking fashion accessory.
“Get OFF my back, Annie.”
She grew louder, shouting endlessly, in a horrible way I’d never heard. Her voice almost demonic.
“I’m not listening to you anymore, Annie.”
"You don't have the guts!" she taunted.
“Fuck you, Annie!” 
I screamed it as loud as my body would let me, emptying my lungs. I tried to shout it at her, but she wasn’t there. She had moved behind me. 
How the fuck did she do that without me seeing?
I swung my leg back, summoning all the strength I had. All my anger from the years of mocking, making fun, everyone talking about me behind my back went into that swing.
Now she was right in front of me, looking up at me. 
How is this happening?!
She had changed. Her eyes and mouth were wide and black, like Vantablack. There was no mass to them, just an empty, endless space. The leg I swung back faltered slightly, and she noticed.
“You’re not man enough to do it, you have no free will, I’ve told you how to live your life from day one! Your demise will just be a job for someone to clean up, nothing more, no one will remember you for anything, you’re a worthless piece of shit!”
I could hear her, and I stared at her, but her mouth didn’t move. It was like a voice in my head. 
Wait...
My mind raced, sorting through my memories of her, like thousands of frantic librarians. 
I never did see her mouth move, ever.
The realisation hit me like a sledgehammer.
She wasn’t real. She was in my head. 
She was a constant anxiety, telling me about everything I done wrong, forcing me away from everyone I have ever loved.
She did ALL of this to me.
A lifetime of rage was released in a split second as I brought my leg down. I kicked so hard I splintered the chair as it left the space it occupied beneath me.
As soon as my foot made contact with the chair, Annie smiled and said “Gotcha”.
The world slowed down so much, it felt like it stopped. Everything was moving like it was being dragged through a pool of tar.
As I fell, I looked to where she stood, and I realised she had gone. 
No more noise.
No more torment.
No more Annie.
Finally, silence.
Category:Mental Illness