Crazy by Default

By Deborah O' Neill

With the authority and permission from the voices in her head, she threw the lamp on the front door of the hut and stood there elated; as she watched the flames climb the stairs and unto the front door. The fire began to spread quickly, and so her excitement...

She stood there in a trance as the flames climbed higher onto the hut, the voic

• Language: English
• Publisher: Maple Publishers
• Release date: Apr 19, 2024
• ISBN: 9781835380611

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Crazy_by_Default_Front_Cover.jpg

Crazy by Default

Author: Deborah O’ Neill

Copyright © 2023 Deborah O’ Neill

The right of Deborah O’ Neill to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

First Published in 2024

ISBN 978-1-83538-060-4 (Paperback)

978-1-83538-061-1 (E-Book)

Book Cover Design and Book Layout by:

White Magic Studios

www.whitemagicstudios.co.uk

Published by:

Maple Publishers

Fairbourne Drive, Atterbury,

Milton Keynes,

MK10 9RG, UK

www.maplepublishers.com

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or translated in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system without written permission from the author.

The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the publisher’s opinions, and the publisher, as a result of this, disclaims any responsibility for them.

Chapter 1

"Is there any record of mental illness in your family?" the Doctor asked my Grandmother. This was not the first time those exact words were used in a situation where I was the main subject. The word mental, mad or crazy was always mentioned whenever there was an issue or anything to do with me and my behavioural patterns. What was it with everyone I thought to myself? After all I do not look any different to the other girls my age. Well, not my age. I had no idea how old I was. I had a vague idea of how I looked, I never really looked at myself in any mirrors without breaking them.

I did glance at my image twice before and had a fight with that ugly girl that was staring back at me from inside the mirror. It was not my fault. I was sure that girl in the mirror started it first; it was not me. That was my story and I stuck to it. She called me ugly, I broke her face. I had no friends, most parents would never allow their children to play or speak to me anyway, just in case I happen to bite or fight them. I have never before bit or fought with any of the children. I guess I just had that outlook.

What people thought of me meant nothing to me. It was my family that suffered the most. As for myself I had no idea of what or why they suffered. All I knew was what was right in front of me, their faces said it all. As for the kids in the neighbourhood, they call me all kind of names once they get a glance of me. I thought of fighting with them but I know that I was not capable of such actions, at least that’s what I thought. I could be wrong. No one had ever got close to me or hit me. Some kids would call me names like crazy or Maddy and I liked that. I found that very amusing, and of course, very comforting to know that I was being acknowledged by some of the kids. Whenever anyone called me crazy or mad, I thought they were being nice to me. After all, they thought I was crazy.

Perhaps I was. Because of my crazy outlook, I have caused my mother to have a limited number of friends. There were only a few people I knew of, that were friends with my mother. Miss Doris, she was plump with a light brown skin colour and an innocent look. She was very soft spoken and rarely paid any attention to me. Then there was Miss Joan, the seamstress, and Miss Pat. She smoked a lot cigarettes, and nothing seems to bother her once she had a cigarette in the corner of her mouth. There was also another friend that I was not sure what her name was. Everyone called her Dee; not auntie Dee, nor Miss Dee, just Dee. I did not like her, and as sure as hell she did not like me. I think the Dee was short for Demon, that’s what the voices in my head thought as well.

From a very early age I would hear voices speaking to me, especially when I was alone. After a while I realised that the voices were coming from me. As a child this was very confusing to me. I would say things that should not be said by a child. I have insulted family members, especially my parents, all because I would repeat things that were coming from the voices in my head. It all seemed natural to me. The voices in my head say things and I thought they were giving me instructions as to what I should say or do. I complied. Because of this I would speak to and answer these voices.

I used to think that everyone around me could hear the voices in my head as they gave me directions as to what I should say and who I should say it to. As I grew older I realised that I was the only one that could hear these voices. The voices in my head had no problem with Miss Doris or Miss Pat but for some reason Miss Dee was a problem to my voices, from the first time I saw her.

We hated each other. The voices in my head instructed me not to like her, and I did as instructed. The two of us, myself and Dee, had a mutual relationship going on without my mother’s knowledge. Miss Dee would make faces at me, call me ‘Mad’, unknown to my mother. Sometimes she would even tell lies on me, and of course my mum would believe her; all because I was a problem child. I had no idea what a problem child says and does but somehow my actions were very abnormal and misunderstood by others, Pastors and Teachers included.

Miss Dee was one of those adults, whenever she visits my mother, I would make myself scarce. One day when she visited my mum, I was in the kitchen with my mother. It was an usual thing for me to make myself scarce whenever mum got a visitor. As I made my way out of the kitchen Miss Dee stretched out her foot and tripped me over. Then pretended to assist me in getting back on my feet, whilst at the same time pressing her finger nails deep into my arm, causing me to groan lightly. I wrung my hands away groaning quietly. As I continued on my way to the bedroom, she pulled my hair really hard, unseen by my mum who was busy blaming me for being careless and ordered me to apologise to Miss Dee, which of course I bluntly refused to do. I did not like this woman and I was sure that the voices in my head felt the same way. Mum ordered me to go to my room and once her back was turned Dee began to make faces at me even pushing her tongue out at me with her eyes wide open.

This action was being done by an adult, and they choose to call me crazy. I did not find it necessary to complain to my mother, she would not believe me anyway. She never believed me. Sometimes I wonder if she was really my mother.

I hardly spoke to anyone. I was not even allowed to play with the kids around the area. My conversation was always with the voices in my head. Bite her one of the voices in my head was shouting, calling me chicken at the same time. The voices were using all manner of obscene language, repeatedly, - ‘fuck her up, punch her face, beat her up’. The voices in my head would not allow me to accept what this woman had done to me, they would not allow me to rest. I began to dig my finger nails into the side of my face, scratching and digging, with the intent to remove my ears from the side of my face. I thought by doing so, I would not hear these voices. The voices were all speaking at the same time, all trying to vent their feelings towards Miss Dee.

I could not take it anymore. I became very nervous and anxious all at once. I could hear her voice laughing and chatting with my mother. I began to pace up and down the room. The voices would not allow me to rest, they were all speaking at the same time. I became restless and uneasy and felt the need to scratch at my skin. I wanted to leave the bedroom and bite her face, but my mum was deep in conversation with her. I could not take it anymore. I left the room in a rage. I was on my way to bite Miss Dee. Mum saw me as I left the room and with the sweep of one hand she ordered me to get back in the room.

I was very upset and began to dig and scratch my arm and face all over again. This was something I did regularly, once I became upset. I stood in the room and dug at my skin until the scratches began to bleed. I had no control of myself once I become this agitated, sometimes, I would scream out loud. Today all I wanted to do was to get even with Dee.

All I had to do was think of something and the voices in my head directed the actions, to the last detail. I had my way of getting back at her. Once I agreed with my voices, I was very sure that the deed was going to be done. My arms were hurting me from the scratching by Miss Dee, how uncanny that was. I had scratches all over my face and skin that did not hurt me the way my upper arms hurt from the scratches caused by Miss Dee. Still pacing the room in anger, I found it hard to settle down. All I wanted to do was to go back into the kitchen and bite her. This was the voices’ request in my head and I was willing to obey them as I usually do.

I waited until I was sure the path was clear. Mum and Dee were in the kitchen. Dee could see me from where she was sitting. Mum was busy in front of the cooker, she could not see me. Dee had a glass in her hand. So I assume they were having a drink and a chat whilst mum was cooking. I came out of the room. Dee saw me and made a funny face at me mocking me as usual. I walked past the kitchen. I stood in the hallway that divides the kitchen and sitting room, and waited for instructions from the voices.

I had no other choice. I either do as the voices say or beat myself up. Then one of the voices instructed me to go to her bag and put a few of mum’s things inside. No one was paying any attention to me as I slipped a few of mum’s belongings into her bag including a bra that belonged to cousin Arlene, who spends the weekend with us sometimes. They were so busy chatting and drinking they did not see me put the things in her hand bag that was sitting in the hallway on top of a cabinet. I even slipped out the house and stole the neighbour’s blouse off the clothesline as a collection for Dee’s hand bag and waited patiently on her to leave.

The voices in my head were very excited as we planted the stolen stuff in her old dingy hand bag. Dee took her time before she left my mum’s kitchen. I believe she waited until my mum had finished cooking, and even ate. I had already got back into the room and stayed there until I could hear Dee leaving. All I had to do was shout ‘thief’, as she was leaving.

Thief, thief, thief, I shouted as she left our house. Neighbours came out of their houses staring at me. I ran out of the house behind her shouting, Thief thief, she stole the clothes off the neighbour’s clothesline. I continued to shout as I ran behind her, grabbed the bag from her hand and emptied the contents out in the yard, revealing not only the clothes that I put there but also some spoons and forks from my mum’s house that I did not put there. She was indeed a thief! No wonder the voices in my head did not like her.

From the corner of my eyes I could see my mother coming towards me. I ran away, running around in circles, and managed to run back into the house. The neighbours were all out of their homes because of the commotion and noise. The children were laughing and calling me Maddy. As for Dee I saw her trying to get away from the scene, as the neighbours shouted abusive words after her.

Mum was silent the whole time. Deep in her heart she knew that I was the one that did it. She knew that I had planted those things in Dee’s bag. I knew that from the way she looked at me. I even got blamed for the other things that fell out of her bag. The neighbours chased Dee. The last time I saw her, she was running up the street with the neighbours’ children behind her. That was the last time I lived with my mother and my two brothers.

My Gran & me

I was packed and sent to live with my Grandmother the very next day. Nan was the only person that understood me, or I should say, tried to understand me. I did not even understand myself. There were times when she looked at me in a very confused but loving way with a lingering tear in her eyes. As for me, I had difficulties understanding myself, so it was impossible for anyone to understand me.

Gran mumbled something in return to the question the Doctor asked. That was not a clear answer. She mumbled some words, as the Doctor asked her again. This time she spoke a little louder as the doctor repeated himself, "Is there any record of mental illness in your family?" Gran looked a bit confused and sad at the same time. She did not answer, instead she asked for me to be excused and told me to sit outside while she spoke to the Doctor. No one ever tells me anything of what was discussed about me, to me.

This was not the first time that I was being discussed in my absence. I have no idea why this was but it was normal to me. I felt important and enjoyed the voices in my head. It was as if I knew what they were saying. The voices in my head always seemed to know what was being discussed about me in details. I never had any reasons to put my ears to closed doors and try to listen to others’ conversations. I just have to be within a few feet of them. I knew everything, even though most things that people see as normal made no sense to me.

Nothing made any sense to me. Anyways, I was a crazy child. That is what I was called all through my early years. As a child I always saw things differently from everyone. Whatever I cannot see,