I have fallen into an old routine. Exposed to the same torment that I so proudly beat. But now, It has returned with a vengeance. It has given me two months of happiness. How sly It is. How cunning. Amazing, how It can vanish without a trace, but still control your every breath, weighing it down with Its hatred. It may not always be visible. You may not always be able to feel It. But It is always there. Watching. Waiting. A slow, silent killer. It takes away your pain but just briefly. Rids your life of any scum that dare deny you happiness. But then, as if without warning, It returns. It brings back the people who hurt you, convinces you they will never hurt you again. It sits back and watches, laughs, as your lungs fill with Its poison.
It watches as It kills you.
I thought that finally, I had rid myself of this menace. That I had overcome It, and for good, that It would no longer attack my life using weapons of self loathing.
I was wrong. It is back. It made me do this. It made me go back to him. The abuser. And It has handed me my razor that I had locked behind the walls of my prison. The razor that now holds the guilt of hundreds of scars. Hundreds of memories. Hundreds of regrets.
Into the fat It drove that razor. Powered with so much hate and despair that my mind went blank. It took over. Drove that blade directly into my leg. Into the flesh. Into the fat. It’s amazing how such a deep wound causes no pain. The pain was missing. It wanted me to hurt. So It drove that blade into my leg again and again and again until the blood flowed so thick that my carpets became soggy.
It has won. That demon. That monster.
It watches. Waiting for the perfect place and time to kill me.
But It won’t kill me. Because if I die, I will not suffer, and that is what It enjoys the most.