The Monster in my closet

Ever since I can remember, I couldn’t have my closet door open when I went to sleep. I still can’t. Maybe it’s the monster lurking in there waiting to take me over. Maybe it’s the unknown I’m scared of, not knowing what’s lurking in there.

But I don’t really think it’s any monster in my closet or under my bed. I think it’s the monsters that hide, trapped within the walls of my mind. They’re always there, in every closet, under every bed, in every “home.”

I can’t escape them. They follow me into my darkest hours. They create chaos in my deepest inner thoughts. All because one door was left wide open.

Any creature, any person, any thought, could easily have slipped in when the door was wide open. I guess it’s still not closed. It’s still an open wound, allowing anything to slide in when it pleases.

And then, they stay. They choose to never leave, even though the door is wide open. They choose to invite more inside. One entrance, no exit.

Unless it’s people. If I care about someone, they don’t have any door because they never make it inside, and if by chance they do make it inside, the exit door is open and visible at any point.

They normally exit in a destructive manner, taking me months to clean up the path they destroyed and repair all the broken torches, waiting for someone to re-light them so I can see in the darkness again.

I can’t have these monsters lurking in my mind, pushing me to stop, drop and roll and not get up once the fire went out. Because it never does.