I spent so many hours in that dark space. Too tired to move. Too afraid to stay in bed. The lesser of two evils, I chose to stay wrapped up in that soft warm blackness. Sometimes evil disguises itself as blessed comfort in order to ensnare one.
I’ve been listening to Robbie Williams for quite some time now, and it only recently dawned on me what it meant when he sang “They’re selling razor blades and mirrors in the street.”
Such is my naivety.
I’m not asking for much. Just a little bit of peace of mind. Not chasing down the demons like a run-away train. And banishing those tormented thoughts from my mind. Forever. How can that be asking too much?
Why do they come and wage war in my mind when I have done nothing but turn a blind eye at the outrageous accusations?
So how many more tiny coloured pills do I have to take to unnumb my numbness? How much longer do I stay on these pills which are only killing me inside? Long term use of neuroleptics could lead to tardive dyskinesia. Is it worth it?
I’ve come so far and yet when I look back, it doesn’t seem quite far enough because the demons seemed to have come with me, one step at a time with the patience of a saint. Shadowing my own footsteps.
They are only illusions, I tell myself. Product of a twisted, unsettled mind, nothing more, and it shouldn’t have the power to harm me. Why am I so afraid, backed into a corner and screaming…. Why does it have that element of reality, the power to hurt me?
Maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m a product of someone else’s imagination and when they begin to dream, that line between imagination and reality becomes blurred. And I am merely a transient creature. Neither here nor there. I’m not unfamiliar with that. That explains the lack of feeling, and that vague sense of anger simmering just below the heart. Anger at a world that does not see me. And despair at having to prove my own existence.
“because I’m scum and I’m your son”