Just when I think the demons have retreated from the light I’ve been basking in, they slither back through the murky corridors, their menacing whispers echo.
Not thin enough.
Not pretty enough.
Not good enough.
They grab tendrils of my hair as I try to run from them, they tug to halt my shaky steps. They tell me I will burn in the light; the dark knows me and will comfort me.
I don’t want to feel; drink to drown it, cut to bleed it out, withhold food to starve it, overeat to stuff it deeper, overspend to dress it up.
Still the same fucked up person.
Remember how far I’ve come – hell, this time last year I was living in my brother’s basement, every cell of my body threatening to dissolve into a puddle of tears that never seemed to end. I was barely able to endure the pain in my heart let alone breathe in the life I’ve been given.
Courage to love again is beyond scary. With every sigh of contentment, every soul-searching gaze, every embrace, demons threaten to take it all away from me.
Demons make sure to filter the good. Words such as “Beautiful”, “Amazing”, “Sweet” come through as (lies, not me, he’ll abandon you).
SHUT THE FUCK UP.
I love every moment.
He leaves me breathless.