The World isn't Kind to Little Things
I don't know who he is or what he is. He's just been around for as long as I can remember. Constantly following me wherever I go. His wintry embrace suffocated. His bitter honey dipped words choked. The licks of his every breath against my skin stung.
Every day I become more aware of his presence. Sometimes he leaves for a while. He always comes back. I think he likes it best when I'm alone. He strikes, draws blood. He laughs. Laughs as I struggle to stop the bleeding. Laughs as I struggle to stop the joy from escaping. He doesn't care. With him, there is no such thing as reason.
I'm out of it. Disassociated. Lightheaded with loss and unable to identify what it is that I am missing. The others, the people around me, they move along. I need to be strong like they are. I can't let them leave me behind. I have to pull myself together. I start to ask myself the funny question. Why? Why do I continue? Why persist to fight?
I remember vividly how it felt before. The feeling of uplifting power, of control. I want it to return so bad. And so I try things that should do it. Pressure, stitches, bandages. Yet nothing works for me anymore. The blood is all soaked up but the hurt keeps flowing. I can hear the echoes of his voice. He's taunting me. Mocking me.
Reaching out, my mouth opens to form pleas for help. Nothing comes out. I can't speak. The others look at me with worry but they don't come back. They know what this is. But they could never know how it feels. Berating myself, I realize that I cannot burden them with my pain as they are nothing but amazing. I do not deserve them. I am unworthy.
The wound is still present. Raw and bleeding steadily. It reminds me that I could very well end here. I remember how all those times I had insisted that he wouldn't get me. He is triumphant, roaring with undisguised glee. He has got me this time. He knows it. He scares me to the bone.
I'm frustrated. I know I am perfectly capable of getting past this – I have done so before. However, I think things have kind of changed. I just feel tired. There's an ache to my joints that I never knew was there. I think that maybe I'll just wait for a while. My senses are deteriorating. I can't feel anything. Smell means nothing. I'm hearing but I'm not listening.
The bleeding is slowing. Time is limited. He's destroying me. It's alright because if I'm going to go, then I was going to take him with me. I choke him with my efforts, my blood soaked – pain filled bandages. I watch as it sears and corrodes his tarry flesh. He won't breathe another breath. He won't latch on to another. I make sure of that.
I think it's alright if it's like this. My limbs grow heavy. I stop trying to prevent the inevitable. I've lost.
I wonder if I can start again. In a different place. Without him behind my shoulder. A blank canvas.
I'm still alive, although barely. I feel hollowed out. Empty. It's hard to breathe, and hard to think. I'm on the edge of the end, and god do I wish that it'd just end.
Like a flame burning on an old candle, I flicker aimlessly in stasis.
Then I'm gone.
DFTBA: Hopefully that wasn't too confusing for you. I just felt a little 'bleh', pulled an all-nighter and wrote to my hearts content. 'He' is supposed to represent all the negative emotion/depression that eventually takes the main character down.
All feedback appreciated!