Death growing inside of me

I’m locked up in my squalid life because I don’t want others to come in and look at me with that look I’ve been avoiding mirrors for. I’m locked in darkness because the dark protects me, covers me, buries my existence, and with it, the painful reminders of my life. I don’t see much that is redeemable. All I see is what’s wrong with me. All I hear is the muffled wails imprisoned in my throat. All I feel is the jagged edges of my being. All I know is the echoing of my thoughts.

Some days I feel very optimistic. On very good days I can catch a brief glimpse of a brighter future, catch a whiff even. But it quickly dims to black. I have all these overwhelming evidences stacked wall to wall, floor to ceiling, making convincing cases for why I should not waste my energy hoping to get out of this maze. That’s when I notice my trembling arm, exhausted from holding on to a thin thread. Below me is an abyss of oblivion. A bottomless pit that seems so much more inviting than the light above that only tantalizes me with vague hopes, but never showing me the edge, the end of the tunnel of misery. It’s like the horizon or like chasing the moon. You’re always close, but never there. You’re torn between naive hope and utter despair.

 

I usually don’t entertain these morbid feelings because I know what happens when I stop holding on, looking up at the light. The darkness envelopes me like waves in the ocean. But tonight. I don’t know. I’ve been ousting some old demons I hadn’t approached before, to my chagrin. I didn’t know that painful memories had a life of their own in the basement of the subconscious.I didn’t know they could metastasize and invade the rest of me. I thought repression would starve them to death but alas how wrong was I! Turns out, they were starving me to death, feeding off my will to hold on, my hope to reach the light.

 

So here I am, scrawny, insecure, tired,closer to death than living. Then there’s my opponent; strong, convincing, compelling, full of vigor to take me down.

 

Is it worth it ? I mean the fight? What’s the point in being beaten and tortured if my term is fixed and my end is certain? If I’m doomed to this place… wouldn’t it be wise to get along with the demons so that at least, I could die gently?

 

If I get weaker by shutting parts of me down, I guess that means that the only way  I’d survive this is to keep open. I’ve made mistakes in relying on the evidence of my opponents, but not doing investigations of my own. I made the mistake of losing sight of the forest for the trees. I made the mistake of looking to graveyards for proof of life. I made the mistake of trying to look for gems in the dark.

°°°

Even if I’m subdued in the waters, I’ll keep my mouth open. Even if I’m buried underground, I’ll keep my eyes open. Even if I’m on the battlefield, mutilated, on the cusp of death, I’ll keep thinking about the morrow. Perhaps by keeping myself open to the universe even while it seems like everything is conspiring to plug me, I’ll burrow my way into new worlds where I don’t have to remain suspended over my worst fears, where every day isn’t a walk on a tightrope, balancing between despair and hope.
Perhaps my fears of letting in others is a fear of annihilation. I think I need whatever that fears annihilation within me to be annihilated.
Tell me,what say you? Will you love me in the dark? Will you defy death to live with me?

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