Demons

Many of you reading this will think this is a story about the paranormal. You'll expect me to talk about rituals gone wrong or haunted houses, but this isn't a story about possession or summons. This is a story about a demon I've struggled with since I was very young. This is a story about a demon that I'm afraid will be the death of me.

My parents told me there were no monsters. They told me there were no boogie men, no creatures in my closet, and no ghosts in the old houses I would cringe away from as we walked passed them. They told me that nothing from the stories could get me. In a way, they were right.

But I know they were also wrong.

My demon was there when they used to fight about money. He'd whisper in my ear as they yelled at each other. He would talk to me as I sat in front of the tv, trying to drown them out, "They're fighting because of you. Their marriage is falling apart, and it's all your fault."

He was there when they got a divorce. He sat in the courtroom as the judge officiated their separation. He whispered to me, "You're the reason they're unhappy."

He was there when I was six, and my mom dropped me off at school for the first time. She walked me to class, smoothing my shirt and making sure I had everything I needed. She kissed me goodbye and told me she loved me, but my demon whispered, "She's just telling you that so you won't cry. Why would she love you? Why would anyone love you?"

He was there on the playground on the first day of school. As I thought about which children to play with, he would sit on my shoulder and whisper and claw at me. I would see a group of kids and think, "That one has a ninja turtles shirt; maybe he'll be my friend" or "That kid looks nice and they need a fourth for four square; maybe I could join them." But every time I'd take a step, my demon would weave a picture in the air and show me just how they would hate me. "Why would they want to be your friend? You're a weirdo, and no one will ever be your friend."

My demon was my only friend for a long time.

My demon was there when I was nine years old. It was Valentine's Day, and I had made a card for a girl I liked. My mom had helped me, and for the few minutes we'd spent making it, I hadn't heard my demon at all. I hadn't heard him as I'd put the card into a bright red envelope and put it in my backpack. He wasn't there when I saw her sitting at her desk in class and stood up to take it to her. But when I took that first step, I felt his claws and heard him whisper poison truths in my ear. "Throw that thing away. She won't want it any more than she will want you. I told you, didn't I? No one will ever love you."

When my mom asked if she'd liked it, I lied and said I must have lost it.

He was there when I wrote the story in fifth grade. My teacher asked me to write it for a contest. The best story would receive a cash prize and admission into a summer writing program. She was so sure that I would win, my writing was really good, and I had a good chance, but I knew I wouldn't win. The demon had told me my writing was bad, and I had finally learned that he was right. But this story was so good. I loved it! It made my spirit soar like nothing else ever had as I wrote it. It was the best thing I had ever…

"It's shit, everything you write is shit, and they will laugh at you if you if you turn it in!"

The teacher was disappointed when I told her I just couldn't come up with anything.

I threw the story away and never wrote anything like it again.

As I got older, the demon made friends, so I guess I did too. Where once I'd had only one demon, I now had two or three or as many as six sometimes. My shoulders got heavier and heavier as the days went on, and they were all so loud that I almost couldn't stand it. They woke me up in the middle of the night, then rode me like a cart-horse throughout the day, and their words cut deeper and deeper as time went on.

"That's not the answer, stupid! Don't you know anything?"

"She won't want you; best to just not even try."

"Why would they want to be your friends?"

"He's so much better than you; that's why he won."

"Why would you bother going out for sports?"

"You'll never amount to anything!"

"Your father left because you're such a failure."

"Failure."

"Loser."

"Idiot."

Then one night, I really gave them something to talk about.

"Didn't even cut deep enough? You can't even kill yourself, right. Boy, you sure are a failure."

Luckily I hadn't cut deep enough, and my mom found me before I bled to death.

I spent a week in the hospital, and then I spent six months in a psychiatric facility. They gave me pills and sent me to therapy, and as I got better, they said the treatment was working. They were 100% wrong. Having something to make the voices softer, as well as people to talk to who weren't the demons, made me feel better, but the treatment wasn't all of it.

Lisa was the reason I got better.

She was a volunteer at the facility. Her accelerated program required her to have a certain amount of volunteer hours, and she had chosen to sit with at-risk patients as they recovered. She was so kind, so pure, and I started seeing a lot of her around the facility. She was shy at first, but I began to notice that she came to sit with me more and more. We would talk about anything, really. Popular movies, books, music, tv shows, anything to take my mind off the demons who still haunted my days and nights. I began to notice that when she was around, the demons weren't so noisy. I began to notice that when she was around, I smiled more and felt better about my life in general, and I liked the feeling of not being nervous and sad all the time.

The day I was released was the lowest I had been in months. Most people are glad to be released from the hospital, but I just knew it would be the end of my happiness. Without Lisa, I would never know a quiet moment from the demons that tormented me, and as my mother drove me home, I figured I would be dead within a week. I walked inside, going to my room, and just waiting for them to creep up on me again.

The noise from my phone probably saved my life that day. It was Lisa! She had tracked me down through Facebook and wanted to know everything. How was I doing? How was I adjusting? She was so sorry she had missed me, her mom hadn't gotten there in time, and she had really wanted to give me her phone number so we could stay in touch. Would...my breath caught in my throat...would I like to hang out sometime?"

We hung out every chance we got, and the closer we became, the better my mental health became. Soon we were dating. Soon we were talking about moving in together after high school. Soon we were talking about being married and starting a family and living our lives together. I was happier than I had ever been, and for once, my demons were quiet. They tried, of course, they would whisper to me about how Lisa was too good for me, about how she was cheating on me, lying to me, only with me because she felt sorry for me, but I didn't believe any of them.

I bought a ring the day before she graduated from high school, and was prepared to give it to her that night.

But when I got to her house….everything changed.

She had gotten a letter from a school in New York. Full scholarship, paid housing, the curriculum of her choice...she could be whatever she wanted to be….

But with my poor grades and history of mental health…

I couldn't be anything.

"Except a burden." whispered a familiar voice.

My demon was there when she promised she'd keep in touch. She was excited, and I tried to be excited too, but I guess I didn't do a good enough job, a big surprise since I never do a very good job. She assured me that she would call me every night, that she would skype me all the time, that we would text and email, and she would be there for me whenever I needed her.

"More like whenever it's convenient for her." whispered an all too familiar voice.

I tried to be optimistic.

My demon was there when I helped her pack. He was there when I went to the airport to say goodbye. He was there as I stood in the terminal and watched her plane fly her out of my life forever. "Good riddance," it said as it sunk its claws in deep again, "she was just leading you along anyway. I told you that I was the only one who really loved you, didn't I?"

I tried not to listen.

My demon was there for the next six months as I tried to live without her. He was there when we talked, making our conversations awkward and stilted, and afterward, he was there to assure me that she hadn't meant a word of it. "She had to go be with people she actually wanted to see instead of spending all her time with a lost cause like you," he said as I lay awake at night.

My demon was there the times when she wouldn't answer my texts, couldn't take my calls, or was too busy to video chat. She was busy, she said and had to do some work she said, but she would call me as soon as she was done and she was sorry she didn't have more time and couldn't wait to see me again. I assured her that it was fine and that I would just get up with her later, but my demon capered as I lied to her. "Listen to her; she lies with every word. She doesn't want to see you, she never wanted to see you, but now she feels bad and has to keep up the act just in case she can't do any better than worthless trash like you."

My demon was there for me on the nights I cried myself to sleep.

My demon was there when I felt too depressed to get out of bed.

My demon was there when my job called me to let me know I was fired for missing so many days in a row.

My demon was there when my mom yelled at me for losing my job.

My demon was there when I fought with her, yelling at her to stay out of my life.

My demon was there when I packed my things and left her house as she cried and screamed on the front step.

My demon kept me warm that night as I slept under the overpass in my car.

Lisa was frantic when she called me. I had to go back. I had to apologize. I had to talk with my mom and get back to a good place, if not for her or my mom, then for my own mental health. She said it as she cried, and she almost sounded convincing; almost sounded like she cared. I knew she didn't; no one cared. Not my mom, certainly not my dad, who'd never bothered to come back, and especially not Lisa. She just wanted me to stay trapped there so she could come back and see me and make herself feel good about all the charity work she did with me. She just wanted a pillar to prop herself up on so she could feel better than everyone else.

My demon had told me all these things as I lay shivering in the backseat of my car, and now they all made sense.

I didn't even tell her goodbye.

My demon was there when I threw the phone into the ditch.

My demon is here now as I sit in the backseat with a gun in my mouth. I got it from a guy who lives under the overpass too. He offered to sell it to me for "protection" before I realized that what I needed protection from was right in front of me. His price was...it was a little more than I was willing to pay, but I knew I needed it if I was going to stop hurting. He did...things to me...bad things that were made all the worse as my demon told me how much I deserved it. He sat on my shoulder as this disgusting man violated me and told me that this was my purpose.

"Your only good for being used, just something for other people to use and abuse until their done with you and ready for something better. Lisa, this guy, even me, cause once you're gone, I'll just find someone else. There are millions of people just like you, and all of them are just waiting to hear the good news from yours truly."

He's sitting here now as I contemplate the end. He's telling me I'm too weak to do it, too much of a coward, and God forgive me, I hope he's right. In my other hand, I've got the ring box, the ring I bought a million years ago when things were still good, and Lisa still loved me. She never loved me; of course, I know that, but I believed that she did, and that was just as good, right? I've never known love, never deserved love, so how would I know what it really feels like anyway? I look at the ring, and I remember her smile, her laugh, the way she made me feel, and I'm almost too weak to do what needs to be done.

My demon is there when I pull the trigger.

My demon is the last thing I see before it all fades to black.

I doubt he'll be there when they find my body.