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every day I'm like, "no carley, ur fine. u don't need help." but then something happens that sets off the voices and the paranoia and the tingling pain.

and I say, "you shouldn't have stopped your meds or cancelled your psych appointments."

so then I deal with the shit the only way I know how until I get better.

then I say, "see, now ur fine. u may have destroyed urself a bit but at least it's over."

and then it starts again.

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40

What is it about numbers that people are obsessed with? My friend Wesley believes so strongly in Numerology, that he demands to know the birthdate of everyone he meets so he can try and understand who they are as a person. Your lucky number is 6’. ‘6? How did you get 6?’ ‘That’s what’s in the numbers.’ I used to think he was crazy. How can someone understand a person through numbers? The lady at Ishka who wears an Aztec print sarong and smells like vanilla incense, recently described who I was when she signed me up for their email list. I just wanted a mood ring so I can show people how I’m feeling instead of talking about it. She told me that 9 — my birthdate — means I am intuitive. That what I believe to be real is real and to not let anyone say otherwise. I found that hilarious. For someone who suffers from extreme paranoia and obsessive-compulsive disorder, a stranger telling me I should believe in my instincts sparks a paranoid delusion that results in my compulsion to overcome it: counting to 40. 

I’m a drifting, dying star, surrounded by hot gas. The NGC 40. I float through the endless space wondering when I will fade away, leaving just a white dwarf star that was once so alive. The voice would come to me when I was alone. I was 7 when they first visited me. Sitting in my room colouring in my favourite Disney princesses, inside the line you retard. They weren’t loud, but I felt them. They would appear to me and watch me. Mocking me. I hid when I first felt their presence. As I retreated they moved in closer. The more I hid, the stronger they got.  I wanted to know what they looked like, but if I turned my head I knew they would become real. I sat curled in my chair and waited for them to stop laughing. I wondered, if I stopped moving would they get bored and move on to the next person? My mother’s voice echoed, ‘Count sheep until you fall asleep.' I counted sheep. I counted 40. At that point, they disappeared.

That same year, my mum turned 40. She planned a huge celebration. Family travelled from Italy to join her on her milestone birthdate. It was themed. Anything you wanted to be. I cried and I cried. I didn’t know who or what to dress as. I struggled that night. The dress cut off my circulation and split my body in half. My fat bulged from every angle. As I shifted in my floral dress, they visited me. You’re so fat and ugly. I turned to the windows of the grand hall and counted their corners until I reached 40. The spell didn’t work. They got too powerful. I counted again, and again, and again until finally, they were silenced.

I spend more time counting the corners of things than I do actively participating in life. The corners of windows, laptops, lines on the road. 1, 2, 3 until I reach 40, then I have to start again. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 … until it hurts. Growing up I always had this compulsion to draw. I would draw 40 lines on my fingernails as a spell to keep the devil away. He can’t catch me if I reach 40. Draw, draw, draw until it was enough to keep him from rising from the ashes and enslave me for eternity.

40 plus 8 days ago, my fictional world was threatened by the truth of reality. The world I escaped in to survive was destroyed by an unexpected life form. The NGC 40 finally exploded, shedding its hot layers, watching it float in the vast open space. The once Dreamland now covered in the debris of lost lives and wonders. I was curled up in a puddle of my tears in my bathroom, surrounded by grime, dirty clothing and used sanitary items. I was holding nail scissors, prepared to draw a line in my skin. A line, I thought. Normally one is enough to damage us, but for me, it had to be 40. If I draw one line, they’ve won. If I draw 40, I’m done.

My doctor referred me to a young but very good psychiatrist. I searched his name on Google. I wanted to know everything about him, but I found nothing. 

"The next available appointment is August 1st", "but that’s in 42 days!" "He is an in-demand doctor."

40 plus 2 days, my paranoia whispered in my ear. Nothing good happens after 40.  I waited anxiously for 40 plus 2 days. Rain fell for ‘40 days and 40 nights’ during the flood. 2 by 2 the animals boarded the ship to safety so 1 day, they can procreate and the world can start again. After 40 days, the world will start again. This was my chance. 40 plus 2 days of wondering if I would survive it. 40 plus 1 days of wondering if I could afford it. 40 days of wondering if it was going to help.

It was a warm winter morning when I counted 40 plus 2. Excited, I got to the clinic early. I sat in the waiting room and observed the people around me. A man was talking to himself as he squeezed his hands blue, on the other side sat a young woman calming her boyfriend who was scratching tracks on his thighs. The telephone rang and rang and rang until my supposed saviour appeared. He walked me to his room. A small office space with 2 large chairs.

‘Wow, you are young.’

‘I’m 40.’

40, my paranoia whispered in my ear. They’re onto you.

He talked; I counted. 

‘Do you take drugs?’, he asked kindly.

‘Ketamine. A bag of Ketamine costs only 40 dollars. So, I guess you could say it chose me.’

There’s no liberty like falling down the K-hole and finding out you’re in a valley surrounded by other life forms that share your inner world. There’s no counting, no voices, no sound, no edges. We’re just floating through organic shapes, over clouds and marshmallows. Nothing to count.  

In the car on the way home, I thought about the number 40. Why 40? For me, I know why, but in a biblical sense, why 40? In all religions, the number 40 is significant and one of the most recurring numbers. My psychiatrist is 40, so was my paranoia trying to tell me something? Is theIshka lady right? Should I believe in my intuition? 

I often think of my paranoia like Goliath and David. Goliath challenged the Israelites twice a day for 40 days before David defeated him. When I’m triggered, I disconnect from reality. I run to my safe space and hide. The giant Goliath searches for me multiple times a day, trying to fight me, normally defeating me until every fibre of my being dissipates and all that’s left is a speck of sand in the Israel desert. The only time I win is when I reach 40 and a version of me, the David, is born from the ashes and defeats the giant. Finally, I win. But what follows? It happens again, and again. Just like the retelling of the story. For centuries we perform this parable. David versus Goliath. For almost 2 decades, it has been me versus Paranoia. Numbers through time.

My psychiatrist asked me about my upbringing.

‘I was baptised Catholic, but I don’t practice it.’

‘When did you stop?’

‘I’m not sure exactly when, but I do know, Catholicism played a big role in my development.’

‘How so?’

‘I used to believe God was watching me whenever I did anything. “God’s always watching” my teachers and mum would say, “God always watches.”’

‘Do you believe that? Even though you’ve denounced your faith?’

I do. How can I not? God is watching me, they’re watching me. My mind isn’t mine. I’m a marionette doll. My strings are pulled by a faceless figure, as it moves me around the stage for everyone to watch and laugh at. 

The bible is riddled with the number 40 holding a spiritual and social significance. Maybe counting to 40 is God protecting me when the monster visits me. He is telling me through numbers that he is there to comfort me. Maybe Wesley is right. That’s what’s in the numbers. Or maybe, He’s angry with me and that’s why I’m sick.  Biblical verse Numbers 14:33–34 ‘For 40 years—1 year for each of the 40 days you explored the land—you will suffer for your sins and know what it is like to have me against you.’ 40 is a blessing and a curse. Will my life start after 40 like the saying goes? Will I have to suffer until I reach 40? Or will I reach peace? Like degrees. The only time Fahrenheit and Celsius scales correspond is when they both reach negative 40.

Numbers are older than time. The world was created in 7 days. Time is numbers. Numbers are time. We count our birthdays, the days until we achieve a goal, our age etcetera. They’re everywhere. Distinguished. Demanding. Commanding. Infinite. We draw it, we count it, we worship it, we question it, we believe in it. A number is my saviour and my burden.

Like the NGC 40, I’m a dying star, rotting from the inside while the outside thrives. I’m distinguishable from other stars, but on closer inspection, I’m blue in colour. I blink on and off when you look at me.