Meditations on an Eldritch Fury

| March 16, 2018 | 0 Comments

There is a beast that slumbers beneath my breast, and I have been fighting it longer than I can remember. Its gnarled claws twist around my lungs, my fragile heart resting precariously between its fangs. At night it purrs – the sweetest sound taken from the deepest corners of my brain – an unceasing stream of suggestions into my ears. Grisly images that keep me awake and praying for the first morning’s light.

It fights with fears and insecurities. I try to quell its rage with Jamba Juice and Milk Duds.

“Do you think they really need you?” It snickers in my ear. “That they enjoy having you around? You’re a burden. A blight on every person you meet.” 

“I don’t really remember asking for your opinion,” I reply. “If they want me gone they can ask me to leave.”

It is visibly perturbed by this statement, retreating until it finds another opening for an attack. This comes as I wait to cross the street. A death-trap known as Comm Ave during rush hour.

“It’d be so easy to just step off the curb.” A yellow claw taps against the base of my throat. “Just one little step and you’d go flying.” 

“I have work in the morning.” I slap its hand away, going back to my mental to-do list for the next week. “I don’t have time to be dead.”

And so the battle continues, from the moment I wake up in the morning to when I finally manage to get to bed. Having waged this war for so long, I often forget that other people don’t typically experience intrusive thoughts. We all have impulses (some worse than others), but thoughts bordering on the violent become a safety concern if allowed to run unchecked.

I’ve long since learned how to fight back. It started off with overcompensating for confidence that I hadn’t learned to actually feel. I learned to speak to my insecurities, trying to isolate the source of the pain, talking through it with myself until I could no longer remember why I felt so low in the first place. Healing is never an instant process, and I am far from feeling 100% fine all the time. But I’ve learned that slow growth is better than no growth at all.

The beast that sleeps under my heart might not ever leave all the way, but I think I’m okay with that. As long as I have the tools to stave it off, I know it’ll only get better from here.


Featured photo credit: sam.naylor Ghostly statue via photopin (license)

 

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Category: featured, Poetry, Prose and Comedy

Vicki Saeed

About the Author ()

The brash speaking voice of a sea-hardened sailor and the softness of a velvet child. Two types of Brown and constantly talking about it. Catch me knitting in the sun and talking about social injustice/horror movie plot holes.

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