It’s been a while since they visited me. I usually serve out the coffee and blades for them. But they hadn’t come in a while. They stick to phone calls, every now and then. During these calls that go on for about 20-30 minutes, sometimes less, they do their best to get under my skin. They taunt and scream and scratch until I remember. Until my skin gets bruised with their message, until I hang up.
Growing up, you convince yourself that you’re strong. That you don’t need anyone to be there for support, because you are all you needed. Repeat something for long enough and you’ll eventually believe it.
During their continuous random checks via call, I was almost always strong. I’d be lying if I said they didn’t succeed at getting under my skin.
They visited me last week. I was all whiskey and beer drenched, high heels and sore feet. A terrible combination of poison and fatigue, which turned into open doors for them. They jumped the walls and strode past my worn-out guards. Strength as it turned out, was not my friend tonight. She had left about 5 hours earlier. I would not see her again for a while.
They set up camp and lit up a bon fire. I was in flames and 1000 fire brigades could not stop me.
Victory. My demons cheered and popped the champagne.
They won.
You see, even though I thought of Strength as a friend, she was not. She just convinced me to hide them in the back of the closet. She never once told me to kill them instead.
Demons don’t stay hidden for long. This I learnt as a child. This I am still learning as an adult.
Yours truly,
Imperfect Picture