They are here as soon as I wake up. I can’t open my eyes without hearing them. This time it’s my enemy, a former co-worker that has it in for me. They take my people and try to smoke me. I smoked them the other night, oh wait, that wasn’t me. That was the frame job guy smoking in this group to forge an alliance against Chevy. They won’t tell me their name. Apparently the working guys didn’t know what being smoked in meant and they turned on me, thinking I was Chevy. Chevy kicked me out because they cant smoke me anymore I cant be added back in.
I’m not being very linear about this.
I wake up and Leverage is there. (I’ll call them Leverage.) This grand master of magic who makes other people magic just by walking by them it seems. He vomits magic and his minions strive to keep their magic by doing weird and wonderful things. They hear voices in their heads, too. They suck up spirits by the bucket load and most of mine are gone now because of this. They are emptying my ocean. This suits Chevy just fine, for they want me as a empty shell so they can use me as a communication hub for their nefarious endeavors. They can whisper to one another while I work, but to me the silence is deafening, and I know something is wrong.
Last night was weird. A shaman I was working with came to me for help. He was being attacked by Chevy to, but for him it manifests as a religious delusions, so I had all sorts of god-like things in a come-to-jesus meeting or something.
If you believe in conspiracy theories about black magic being leveraged to control politics and global economics, you may wonder who travels where to meet with whom to make this happen. Well, it doesn’t happen on the ground, it happens in the air, in our heads. People “join” my headspace and can talk to one another, sometimes they talk out load, so all can hear them, sometimes they talk to one another in since as others are talking, and sometimes they use my back channel speakers to whisper to one another. I can hear them murmuring on the side, otherwise, all is silent. But I still listen. There are other like me for Chevy, talking rooms. I imagine we’re all disabled by the seer volume of people we process, the number of voices we hear.
Of all the people I have spoken to, no one really know what Chevy does anymore. No one really knows who is in charge. The old guard is dying off but they refuse to handoff their power to the younger generation. They want another round of golf. They don’t need a handoff, but a hand up– which I don’t know the code. We tried doing liftoff meetings, where we determine who’s next in line for magic, but the old guys don’t like they. They want their final hurrah, their kisses and their prayers before they die. They want to be thanked for their years of service, and they want to know they were loved.
Like I was saying, though, no one knows for sure who Chevy is or their purpose anymore. I guess they used to drive commerce. They made my childhood friend a magi and he helped to manage the work. He is older now and has a life and career of his own, so he wants no part of it. He’s powerful enough that he doesn’t need to hear the voices–he can shut them off. Because I keep saying I am schizophrenic, I keep getting smoked and they leave me open to burn. I’ll never work again, but they’ll use me. Are they the Illuminati? The New World Order? I don’t know. I just know I am tired of being smoked.
I take a decent dose of medication and it is two weeks before I notice that things have gotten out of hand. I call my doctor, get an increase and a iris appointment. The psychiatric nurse cant do much but push more meds. All I can do is take more meds and hope for the best.