My girlfriend's illness felt like an invisible black hand was slowly pushing her toward the abyss. Once frail and weighing less than eighty pounds, she now swelled to 110 pounds due to heart complications and lower body edema. Every step she took felt like carrying a thousand-pound burden, each movement a struggle on the edge of a knife. She frequently vomited blood, spent nights unable to sleep, and at times the world around her plunged into dead silence—no sound at all, as if she had been pulled into some otherworldly space.
Her nightmares had become an extension of reality. In the dead of night, she would suddenly awaken, crying and screaming, "There's a ghost trying to take me!" In waking life, she similarly lost control—smashing things, wailing, her voice tearing to its limits, her face erupting in large red rashes. She was like a volcano on the verge of eruption—one moment innocent and laughing, the next collapsing stiffly.
The imported specialized medication only managed to temporarily delay death's advance; it could not suppress the chilling force lurking behind her condition. Her mother choked back tears on the phone, saying, "Thank goodness you were there, or she wouldn't have made it this far." I knew in my heart that without me, she would have already been swallowed by despair.
Even more terrifying, her memory was slowly being eroded. Daily tasks slipped away from her mind as if something was hollowing it out. Fortunately, over the phone, she could still recognize my voice—as if it were her last tether to reality.
Recently, her mental state began to plummet. Nightmares, hallucinations, and hysteria dragged her step by step into an unknown abyss. She described shadows in her dreams reaching out to pull her away. Her mother stayed awake in terror each night, afraid that her daughter would truly be dragged into that unfathomable darkness.
I could sense that this was more than an illness—it felt like a trial of fate, perhaps even a malevolent curse.
What comes next? Even I cannot predict…