The Silent Agony

“Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.” Friedrich Nietzsche

A.N. Written in 2008, this story is actually one very close to my heart. This is the revised edition. Thank you for reading!

A single candle flickered in the darkness, pale orange shadows flickering as she breathed, the flame dancing wildly with every rush of expelled breath. Behind her, there was only darkness in the bathroom, and in the mirror she could see herself, the orange light illuminating her face, and God how she hated it. Hated who she was, what she was. The light cast her in an ominous glow of red and orange, demonic almost, and she laughed lightly, bitterly, at the irony.

In the mirror, there was only a monster.

She was a monster.

She closed her eyes, breathing in sharply and turned away, unable to bear looking at that hideous thing, that beast, anymore. Instead, she focused on her hands, hands that were worn, the skin broken along her knuckles. From the cold. From herself. And her eyes caught the scar on her left hand. It was just a small thing, that scar, barely an inch long, and yet it was raised slightly, a mar against her flesh, and smooth. So smooth. And if she looked at it closely, she could see the indentations, the two imprints, and she knew what had formed that scar. Gently, she ran her fingers over the back of her hand, smoothing over the scar. Two indentations.

Caused by her own two front teeth.

Her eyes lifted and she caught sight of herself again, so pale in the dark and the shadows. She was a monster, a fucking monster, and she was so lost, wasn’t she? So lost and broken. She spent too much time in the bathroom, she knew that. But how could she stop? Once, maybe she had enjoyed food. Once, she had eaten and thought nothing of it again. But those days were gone now.

Sometimes, she tried so desperately to control herself, to stop herself from going into this very bathroom.

It was only chocolate. Only chocolate, so little, so little, and oh how you love it so! Keep it inside. Your body needs this. Keep it inside.

But her mind, that evil demonic mind, god, over and over again. The calories, what she ate every single day, like a demonic mantra bent on destroying her.

Toast, and an egg. That’s it. Toast, egg, toast, egg, toast, egg.

Over and over again. Until she couldn’t’ stand it. Until even the tiniest bit of food became too much, and she would feel it, her stomach, so battered from so many years of destroying itself, from eating itself, would twist within her, and she would rush into the bathroom, two fingers on her left hand slipping down her throat, urging that food free from her body. And she supposed it was the mark of insanity that she enjoyed the feeling of it, how with every release, her body would feel lighter, and all the guilt would disappear. Food had calories, and calories sat in your stomach, until they were too much. And sometimes, she would stand up, her eyes red, tears running down cheek to mingle with the spit that had trailed out of the side of her mouth, and she would smile, a sad little smile, but it was all she had. That one satisfaction.

Sometimes, she wouldn’t eat at all and would test herself, seeing how long she could go without eating, and when her stomach would rumble, she would smile, knowing that it was digesting the fat from her body, searching for calories, for energy in any place it could. In the back edges of her mind, she knew that she was twisted, that maybe she wasn’t quite sane, but it was all she had. That empty feeling before going to bed, an empty stomach to match the empty heart that insisted on beating. She loved how faint she would feel sometimes, how hungry she would get, and how easily she could deny herself any food.

Once someone had told her that the biggest enemy she would ever face would be herself, and sometimes, she believed it. Sometimes, she would stand over the toilet, those damned tears blurring her vision, her body straining against the unnatural purge she forced it to endure, and in her mind, god she could her, a voice that was so damning, so haunting.

God you’re so pathetic. Look at you, destroying yourself and for what? You’ll never be good enough. You’re worthless, pathetic…

Stop it.

And so easy to let go of. Aren’t you, you disgusting pig? Everyone you've ever loved has tossed you aside...

Please stop it

They all let you go, don't they? Threw you aside like you are nothing. Because you are nothing. You’re worthless…

Stop.

Pathetic…

Stop it.

Get it all out you sick, disgusting pig. Get it out of your worthless body..

Stop it, stop it, STOP IT!

Silence.

But it would never last. Because it never did last.

No one could ever be as cruel as she was to herself.

Slowly, a tear slid down her cheek, and she cursed herself for being so weak, unable to hold herself together. She was always crying, such a weak emotion, and slowly, she turned from the mirror and left the bathroom. She slid on her shoes and left her apartment, the cold, autumn air drenching her body through the thin jeans and tee-shirt she wore. Outside, it smelled of death and decay, the red and gold leaves lay broken on the ground as she walked. But it was perfect, the cold, the death, the night, and maybe it was another indication of her quickly fading sanity that she would love it so much. It was so quiet in the night, such a sweet contradiction to the chaos, the war that waged within her, but she knew it wouldn’t last. Because soon, the voices would be back. Soon, she would cry again, and she would hate herself for it. Hating herself for hating herself. An endless circle that never stopped, always continued. Again and again. Until she was so sick of herself, so sick of all of it.

She turned the corner at the edge of the street, walking down a dark alleyway. At the end of the alley was a small, dirt path, and she followed it, climbing up the small hill that rose behind her apartment complex. Behind the hill was an ancient cemetery, no longer used or cared for. Wooden crosses had long ago fallen to decay and the stone tombstones no longer shone in the moonlight, covered with thick grasses and the tinting gray of time. She loved the cemetery, loved the quiet, knowing that no one would ever come up here. Sometimes, she would walk for hours among the forgotten tombs, knowing that here, she wasn’t a monster. Here, she was alone.

She sat next to a small stone monument, one that she had always adored. It stood in the center of the graveyard, an angel, one of cold rock, watching over those who lied buried beneath the earth. Her arms were held open, as though welcoming those who rested here into eternal afterlife, eternal glory, eternal nothingness. And sometimes, she would gaze upon the angel for hours, memorizing features that were eroding with time, arms that brought comfort to the dead, but not to monsters like her.

Eternal suffering.

Long ago, she had decided that there wasn’t an end, couldn’t be an end to it. How does one stop hating themselves, when they hate themselves so very much? How can one exist knowing that they had become a monster, something unfit, something lost, something evil, something that shouldn’t be allowed to live? You couldn’t. Death was the only way. Death was the way. But even death was too good for her.

The night dragged and it got so cold. But she didn’t move, couldn’t move, could only stare up at the angel that condemned her even in stone, her arms wrapped limply around the cold, granite feet. Dimly, she could hear dry leaves scattering across dirt pathways as the wind blew. Around her face, her hair, so brown and curly, danced with the wind, the curls bouncing even as the icy cold wrapped its death fingers around her body until she could feel the cold sapping the warmth from her blood. But still she sat, watching the angel who adored all but damned her.

Angel, why do you hate me so? Is there no hope for me? Why am I this monster? How do I change what I have become? Stop condemning me, Angel. I can’t bear it! I hate myself so much, please don’t hate me. I can’t bear it, I can’t! Please! What must I do?

More tears. More hatred, but the hate couldn’t stop the tears this time, and into the night she wailed, the hot tears stinging ice cold skin before falling onto the angel’s stone feet, a morbid sacrifice of self hatred. The wind blew again, so cold but she couldn’t feel it, and with the wind came a whispering voice, soft and melodious. It was comforting, so comforting.

The Angel!

“You must die, monster. “

And for the first time, she smiled, truly smiled. Through the tears, through the heartache, through the rage that had taken control over her body so long ago.

Salvation!

By morning, she was dead, frozen forever against the stone statue of the angel, her arms wrapped around the marble feet in postmortem embrace. The monster was dead, and the voices were stopped forever. A tiny smile grazed her lips in death.

And there was only silence.