It's me, Dmitriy

It's me Dmitriy (2)

The voices didn't stop telling me about the consequences.

- You are going to sit in prison all your life,- one said.

- The police are going to kill you,- said the other agent.

- We are going to let you run for your life in the fields like in the films, " joked another. Finally, a nurse took me to the emergency psychiatrist's room. It was an organization of a couple of rooms behind two closed doors that opened only after calling the guard via a communication device on the wall near the door. The guard opened the two doors, and I came in. He had a gun on his heap.

- He is gonna kill you," said one of the voices. And I was terrified of the man. The man was bulky, and I estimated I could not overpower him in confrontation. So with all my fears, I resisted the intention to start a fight with him. I was still afraid of him, although he just stood there and only asked me to check my belongings. I emptied my pockets, and to my surprise, nothing followed. He had no intention of killing me. I was still nervous and asked him a couple of times if I could go, but he said I could not. I must see a psychiatrist first. That made me even more nervous. Finally, in ten minutes, the psychiatrist called me to enter his room. He was a tall man in his thirties and was very calm and patient. And he needed as much patience as he had.

- If you don't scream that you killed two police officers and sucked his d**k, we will kill you right now; the guard is going to end you,- said one of the voices.

And so I screamed:

- I killed two police officers and sucked his d**k.

The psychiatrist didn't seem to care at all.

- What kind of medications are you currently taking?- he asked.

The voice in my head persisted that I should not stop screaming.

- I killed two police officers and sucked his d**k,- I screamed again before answering the question.

- I do not recall the name of the pills. It should be written down there somewhere.

The psychiatrist looked at my medical profile on his computer and asked me questions again.

- What are the feelings you are suffering from?

- I suffer from OCD,- I said. - I have repeatedly emerging sexualized pictures in my head of people that I know.

- You should stay at the hospital for the night,- the psychiatrist said. Yet I had none of that.

- I'm gonna go back home to my father,- I said.

The doctor tried to convince me several times that I should stay, yet I was too reluctant to stay.

- It is your choice, after all, he said.

And so I exited his room, saw the terrifying guard, and exited the two closed doors to freedom. I ordered a taxi and got back home. The voices still tried to frighten me afterward, yet I knew that no one was coming after me.

After all my misfortunes, I was forcibly put at Geha rehabilitation center, which was a tiny place full of separate rooms where the patients were held. The rooms were dedicated to three patients each and contained merely a bed and a closet and a shared restroom. There was also a small shared space that I can’t name as a hall since it was too tiny to call it that way. One day at twelve, right before the dinner, I overheard a conversation between a policeman and a doctor, the head of one of the departments. The policeman was tall, high, and bold. He said:

- We should probably kill him. He gave himself up as a spy.

- Yes, most certainly, the doctor said

That was short of two sentences, but it did not terrify me. At GEHA, I got used to things that tried to frighten me.

Once, we were sitting on the cement benches with another girl who was thirty-seven years old and thought that she had just finished the army at Gollany regiment. She was bold and thought she was dying from cancer. A stream of water was running down the wall, and she saw a gun gleaming from the window. We were fast to find another place to sit, although I never had the chance to see the gun since we fled swiftly.

- I wanted to pee on you before you die, the voice said; it was a mistake.

- Try once more over there, I said; I will be waiting for my death on the bicycle machine.

I knew there were always a couple of people there, so it was dangerous to fire a gun. That's why I was not afraid to sit there. I sat down on the machine and started turning the wheel. I was listening to “A Dollar,” as the voice continued to speak:

- I’ll get you another time, he said, maybe you want to return to that place so I could end your misery?

- No, thanks, I’ll enjoy my existence as long as I can, I said to the voice.

I was speaking without moving my lips nor did I open my mouth. I had already understood that there was a chip in my head transmitting everything I thought to the agents.

It was yet another attempt to approach yet another girl when I discovered that I can speak to them without actually saying the thing. I was still living alone at my tiny flat near the midtown. I was making a present for that girl. I wrote 13YN as the code we used to open the older documentation on our computers at the recruitment center. Although I hid myself from the cameras that I had thought swarmed my flat, the voices saw my writing and repeated the code. And that’s when it struck me. It was a microchip inside my head. They could see everything I saw. Then I started talking to myself in my head and they heard everything and replied to me. Yet, I didn’t care. I took my bag, the note and went to the shop in search of a present. I saw a big plush dog of black and white dog. It was dalmatian. The shop assistant packed the present into a big pink box and I was set to go. It was evening already, sunset to be precise. The sun smoothly went over the horizon as I ordered a taxi to her place. I was crushed by that girl. She was a small cutie with black long hair. The voices said I should approach her more officially, so I struck down a message before contacting her.

- It’s me Daniil, I bought you a present and I wonder if you could collect it, it is under the building. I’m interested in starting a serious relationship with you, I said.

- I’m really, really not interested, she replied and hung up the phone. - Is that what I was supposed to say? - the question was addressed not to me but to someone else.

I never told you how I got to GEHA, and it is time to do so. It was a warm summer day; I was already living with my lonely father. He was a short, bulky seventy-year-old man. He was already awake and was enjoying his first cigarette of the day as I joined him.

So how do you feel, - he asked.

I feel normal - he didn't yet know I had voices roaming my head; no one knew.

So that woman should take you to the base? - he meant my commander. - I chatted with her before you came to live here, but I didn't get anything since she only speaks Hebrew.

Yes, it is her.

I inhaled the cigarette with my throat since I never smoked with full lungs. And I asked my father a couple of questions about his work. There was nothing interesting to hear. Yesterday was just another day for a welder. He worked on ventilation for a diesel generator as usual. He showed me some pictures of the work he had done. There stood a big silver cabin, a "home," as he called it, for the generator, and some silvery pipes above it.

My commander could not pick me up, so she sent her subordinate to assist me. I was waiting for him outside, smoking another cigarette. He was late, half an hour late, to be precise. It was not him who did the driving; another guy drove the car. Intentionally or not, he took the longest route. We hit a couple of traffic jams on our journey. Suddenly the voice said:

Everyone gets to the psychiatric clinic in the end. Nothing works out in the end. It is how the show goes.

It is funny, isn't it? The same shitshow happens on Russian TV all the time. - I uttered the words solely in my head so no one of the actual persons sitting in the car could hear.

We arrived at the base. The military base was vast, although the place where I served, the recruitment center, was not. The recruitment center where I spent a year and two months before getting hospitalized was a three-floor rectangular building. I served as an "officer not in command," as they weirdly call regular soldiers there. My job was to draft people who came from abroad or let them fly back to their countries if they were not obliged to serve in the army. I was mainly an interviewer. The paperwork did not interest me, I did not wish to check all the entrances and exits of unknown individuals all day, so the commander let me handle the interviews and some light paperwork on the side.

Then we entered the inner base. That was a vast place with many buildings and barracks. I wouldn't call it cramped, yet I wouldn't call it empty, either. The destination was a small barrack where the doctors gathered for my examination. Outside the barrack, I smoked another cigarette while waiting. I smoked a lot; whenever I had to wait for something, I smoked. Then I entered the room. There were many people there, psychiatrists and commanders. I told them everything about my OCD, about the pictures in my head that spontaneously appeared in my mind. Yet, I told them nothing about the voices in my head, which was a mistake. I went outside, and while smoking another one, the subordinate of my commander had a short chat with me along with a commander of the psychiatry department.

How do you feel? Do you wish to be hospitalized?

No, not at all; I'm totally fine.

I think you have to be hospitalized - she insisted - It may help you.

We move, get in the car, - the commander's subordinate said.

He took a pistol that frightened me. The voices said I should run, yet I stood in awe and did nothing. I hopped into the car and we started moving. I called my mother and her sister was on a call too. I told them to speak to my commander and I gave them her number. I said they should apologize not knowing what. I thought I was getting outside of the base to be killed somewhere at an unknown location. We made a brief stop at a construction site which frightened me even further. Yet I did not run.

When we got to the GEHA hospital the voices told me that we can play this game for a couple of years. That my family will also get invited to this game. They wanted to make me play by their rules by giving me a headache. So when my father came I kissed him. Not once, many times, on the neck, and on his chick. At one point the voices said I should suck him off. The pain seized for a moment only to start again in a few moments.

You are a Russian spy, you are just unaware of it, the voices said, we can play this game for a couple of years yet not more. You will inevitably commit suicide, they said. Maybe you should do it on the bridge to GEHA with your father and mother.

I entered the room with two psychiatrists, they asked me many questions about my OCD because that’s the diagnosis I thought was correct at that point. I overheard how my commander jerked the shutter of his weapon, and so I screamed.

Father, father, father.

There is no need for your father, the psychiatrists said.

FATHER, FATHER, FATHER, I repeated.

And so they let him enter the room. I cooled down for a bit. After further questioning they took me to the hall. Where the voices said:

We’ll let you choose, either you smoke a cigarette with your father and we give you a gun with one bullet or you play the game until you suicide.

The voices also threatened me with euthanasia when I sat at the hall waiting for the doctors. So I screamed again

I don’t wanna die, I don’t wanna die.

My father tried his best to comfort me. The doctors entered the hall and took me by my hands to another room where they gave me a shot of something that was supposed to calm me down. And it did, I felt sleepy for a moment. Then the father took me outside to the small locked area where we smoked a cigarette or two.

That was a show, a suicide one I guessed. The voices tried to convince me that I was a spy as I remained at the GEHA. They used the voices of my father and mother to convince me that everyone was already involved in this show. On one occasion they tried to convince me that every step that I take costs my mother a dollar. So for a day I tried to stay solely in my room.

Every step you take costs your mother a dollar. Think of that, the voices said.

Kill him, kill him already, the voice of my mother screamed.

. So I stayed in the room exiting it only to smoke sometimes. The father gave me cigarettes every day. A pack of cigarettes that is. Every day I smoked at least half a pack. Sometimes I ran out of cigarettes and borrowed one or two. Everyone borrowed from one another. The secluded area where we smoked was a circular place with two sets of wooden benches and many stone ones at the ridge of the circle. There was some sports machinery, mainly two vehicles and a punching bag.

It was a show about suicide. That is how they treat narcomania. And I was a f*****g rasta. We smoked weed with my boys, we did cocaine, and that’s why I was in the show. That’s why they wanted me to commit suicide. The voices were in my heart all the time because they wanted to conceal themselves as a heart disease. That was the rhythm of the heart they used to communicate with me. I got distracted, I didn’t tell you how I became a rasta. It started right after the SELA program where I met my friends. The first time I didn’t even dare to try cannabis, I just sat there and observed the others. They were having fun. They joked all the time and had a nice time. They just layed down on the couch and chilled. I thought it was amusing so then I tried it for myself. The effect was not imminent; it took some time before I got hit. I saw a box, and it was the box of Pandora for me. There was a secret behind the box I had to unveil. It hit me so hard I started to cough and bursted into laughter because of the box. My friends got it and started smiling at me.

Are you cool man?

As I’m fine, - I said.

You need to chill out, my friend, it hits hard.

And sure it did. The head started spinning. It is as if you are on a crashing plane, it throws your head from one place to another. I thought I was going to throw up and the thought calmed me down, negative emotions tend to soften the effect. Yet, I didn’t get the bad trip, you just never get a bad trip if it is not a magical mist from a bottle. The bottle hits even harder.

Next time we tried to be more economic in our approach so we tried the bottle. It hits even harder. It spinned me round and round. I danced before it started aching in my head, It ached hard. I cried from pain and my friends tried their best to calm me down. We tried to draw. I drawed a peculiar traffic light in the form of a scythe and a girl holding an M16 with a small toy-like tank. She toyed with the tank across the street that my friend Vladik drawed. Vladik was a tall boyish like man. It was just after the army for him, he growed a bit of hair on his head and was a bit out of shape. Then we started to make techno music on his laptop. We tried lots of sounds and it sounded like a stormtrooper hymn from Star Wars.

Next time I was already in the army, we tried coke. I was bold this time, not my friends who were already released from the army a long time ago, a year or two, can’t recall. The key was to spin the plate. It was a ritual Vladik knew. the line had to be by your right hand. So I took a thin tube and inhaled the line. The effect was imminent. It hit hard and fast. You feel chill and fulfilled.

Why didn’t we evolve to feel like that all the time, - I asked.

That’s too philosophical, - Anton said.

I don’t know, - Vladik said, - by the way you won’t sleep tonight, and your d**k will shrink.

Good to know, - I said.

I just sat in the armchair chilled and fulfilled. I didn’t need anything in the world, maybe just another line. My friends felt energized, yet I didn’t feel this way, I just had to chill out. We spoke, spoke a lot about philosophical themes, about Israel, about films and other stuff. It brings the company together, you know. You just feel the need for small chats with your friends, be it serious stuff or just joking around. We went outside, for another pack of smokes. The air felt fresh, it was the midst of February. Then the plate started spinning. Again, and again. I can’t recall how many times I sniffed. I recall that I couldn’t sleep that night for sure. Thankfully it was Friday night, so I didn’t have to go to the army the next day.

It was MOSSAD. Last time I gave the phone to my brand new friend at GEHA Baruh who was hospitalized because of drugs just like me. The distinction was that he didn’t have voices in his head and he stole her mother’s money to buy drugs. That I overheard while he was speaking with his mother. The other thing I overheard was:

Don’t take the phone from that boy, MOSSAD is after him.

Sure, he said. Don’t worry.

Yet, he asked for the phone over and over again. He was in pain I guess from overdosage of some drug; he barely moved. The only place he moved to was the outside ring where we smoked. He always asked me for smokes since he had none. His mother didn’t visit him. The only connection they had was by my phone. It was a war on drugs I guessed, although the voices repeated all the time that I was a spy not knowingly. They joked. They laughed at me all the time. It was a shot as I recall. A shot in the army they gave me. It’s nano-chipping. They infect people in order to follow them and shoot them for suicide films. I was not alone in that. The other girl said she had voices in her heart too. Yes, at first the voices were in the heart. It is the rhythm of the heart. The words were synced with the rhythm of the heart. They disguise themselves as me having a heart disease. Chewing. Also chewing, we chew in the rhythm of the words while eating. It is a war on drugs and they caught me. They wish me to commit suicide but not in GEHA. In GEHA they said they were going to take care of it. They didn’t want me to suicide there. I wanted to throw myself off the stairs, yet they prevented me from doing that.

That was the army, and I was not alone in it. Another girl told her lawyer that she had voices in her heart. She wanted to sue them for it. What a nation, they target their own soldiers. They are, Israel is a medieval commune, and they rejoice in our suffering. We were the victims of their suicide films. There was also an arms dealer boy who sold weapons to Palestinians. There was also a drug dealer who thought he was from MOSSAD.

After a couple of months I was released from the GEHA hospital and in three months the war broke out. That was the war against HAMAS. Some say it was a fraud in intelligence. To me the death toll, the atrocities commited by HAMAS were not surprising. They deserved what Hamas did to them. Medieval atrocities for a medieval nation. What can you expect from people who became terrorists because of the conditions under which they live. The prison under the open sky, thats what Gaza Strip really is. The state of Israel contains Palestinians as Hitler contained Jews in ghettos providing them with limited amount of water, electricity and food. Such an irony, they count the minimum amount of calories for Palestinians mimicking nazis concentration camps. Now they bomb Gaza. They have already killed 8 thousand people in a few weeks. The UN rightfully condemns Israel. Terrorists are terrorists there is no use in condemning HAMAS. October 7th is Israel's own ruin its own fault. It would be better for them to watch out for terrorist attacks than filming me. The army wont get me, suicide is not an option.