The Monster

******TRIGGER WARNING******

Fighting The Monster that lives in my head is like running a marathon that never ends. Mostly, I can’t run. Most days, I can barely even walk so I have to crawl. As I crawl, The Monster calls out to me; it tries to pull me back to the start of the race. I hear insults that would make me fall lower, if it were possible to crawl beneath the earth. Some days, it drags me right back to the start. It scratches me, claws at every fibre of my being. It kicks me and punches me until I can no longer fight back. There are no words for me to shout; there are none that I can form. I cannot move. The Monster has me trapped and there is not even an inch for me to move. All that is left for me to do is to glare at The Monster.

Sometimes, there’s a reprieve and I think that I am okay and The Monster has finally moved on but this doesn’t last. The Monster is cruel. It has a cunning plan. It lets you think you’ve got somewhere to go and something to do; a purpose in life. It allows you to believe that you have something or somebody to live for. I’m always fooled by The Monster; that’s just a part of its plan. When it comes for me again, I fall further and harder than before. It let me go so far to watch me come back with such a thud. That’s how The Monster thrives; it thrives on pain and power. You know that The Monster is in control. The Monster allows those other people who hurt you to be the winners in this game called life. Over and over; again and again; like a bullet to the chest with every bad memory you recall; it drags you back and beats you down and so begins the struggle again.

Today; The Monster offers me a choice. It is not a life or death choice today. The choices on offer are extreme; this I know to be true. The first choice that it offers to me, like the devil tempting Jesus, is to give in to the overwhelming feeling of sickness and make myself sick until there is nothing left in me to come up thus causing my body to reflect the hollow feeling of my emotions. I do not like this option. The act of making yourself sick isn’t a pleasant one. I don’t know why people would think that people choose this disorder. Would you choose to make yourself sick? Would you choose to feel so worthless and fat that you would do anything you can to not be this way? I don’t think you would. Don’t assume it’s a choice people would make lightly. Option number two that The Monster offers to me is to dismantle my shaving razor. My body is the book and my blood is the ink; words that are to be unwritten, unworthy of a place in the book,

He tells me, “You must remove the bad blood. You have dirty blood. Nobody wants your blood in their life.” I try to argue with him, to reason with him somehow, to find a way to make him see that I am worthy of love. I shout back to him, “I have friends! They love me for me and they’re not leaving me.” The Monster laughs at me. His laugh hideous, like nails on a chalkboard, making me want to claw my own eyes out.

“You are alone. Nobody loves you. Nobody cares about you. If they loved you, they would want to talk to you but they have all gone. You are alone. You are alone because you are worthless. You sap the energy out of people and you make them hate you so that they leave you. Why would anybody love you? What do you have that they can’t find elsewhere? You love them? Love isn’t strong enough to make people stay. They didn’t love you so they all left and you are alone. You are not good enough and now you’re alone with me.”

I am scared of The Monster. My Monster. Me. I am scared of me. There are two choices but I am scared of both. I am scared to be alone because The Monster is right. I am not good enough and I do not deserve to be here. I can hear you out there telling me that there is a third option. I could choose not to listen to The Monster. I could simply say no. It isn’t that simple though. There is nothing simple about a monster living inside of your head. It is My Monster and it belongs to me but it hates me all the same. That’s okay. I hate me too.