Monsters

How long has it been now?

How long have I been in the darkness?

Water surrounds me. It feels so… heavy.

Freezing my body, paralyzing me. At moments I think I’m floating, but then I realize I’m sinking, and the realization hits me over and over again, stuck in this seemingly endless cycle.

I gasp for air, but my lungs fill with murky water.

There’s a monster lurking in the depths; it pulls me down further and further. The torment continues.

How did I get here? Why am I a prisoner? Why am I stuck beneath the thick ice of this frozen pond within my mind? Why is this monster so determined to take me for its own? What good am I to it?

I am a meal.

It picks at me, crumbling me down, snacking on me bit by bit, day by day, eating away at my mind, never satisfied.

It has my mind firmly in its grasp, but it wants more. It wants my heart. It wants my soul.

It’s one of those days where I can’t get out of bed. Where I can’t bring myself to care. So, I wallow. Stuck in the depths of the frozen pond, holding my breath as long as I can. I lay in the darkness, doing my best to ignore the light peeking through the blinds. With the light though I know I must rise. I must force myself up, make my body face the day, even if my mind cannot. Today I will be a shell of myself. Physically where I need to be, but my mind will still be a captive beneath the ice. It won’t be fun or easy, but I will force myself to function, just enough to get back into my bed tonight.

My partner says I’m weak minded for letting the emotions in. For letting them take over my life. But have they? After all, I still manage to do the things absolutely required of me. And how can I be weak when I face my terrors head on?

He has demons too, but he finds it better to numb his own with alcohol, constantly running from his pain. He claims that it takes a certain mental toughness to ignore them, but I’ve seen my partner lose his careful façade. When he indulges too much in his numbing elixir, he loses all control, to the point that his defenses fail and his monster bares its teeth, causing him to cry out for all the reasons he keeps well hidden from the world.

When morning light comes again he claims no memory of the encounter, stating only to be dying of a hangover. And perhaps it’s true. Forgetting the terrifying thoughts and carrying on doesn’t sound so bad, but is it true? How could it be? To feel the pain in its extremity and to be numb to all else at any given moment? Does he also miss out on the joy in life?

I choose to embrace the pain that haunts me, acknowledging its presence. Sure, it may ruin my day, my week, or more, but it somehow makes it more bearable, living with this disease, building up my tolerance with each day that passes, knowing that it will not last.

One day, his monster will catch him without his armor. And when it grabs for him it will waste no time in devouring him whole.

When my own extends its claws toward me, I choose to grasp them and accept the emotions it wishes me to feel. I greet them as an old familiar, knowing they wish to accompany me for a short while, though some visits are longer than others. But when it finally releases its hold and recedes into the depths to sleep I am able to kick upward, following the trail of light peeking through the opening in the ice.

I break through the surface.

I breathe the crisp air and emerge from the frozen pond, shaking, chilled to the core, but alive. I’ve tried avoiding the pond, but no matter where I go the monster finds me and punishes me for running away. So I stay, living at the edge, basking in the sunlight while I can.