The monster is back.
She hid behind the walls. She was weakened, but she never died. I was able to destroy enough of her to build the walls around me. While those walls were built, they were built faulty. Weak, and crumble to the touch. And that was fine for a while- I did not allow anyone to touch them. Then, I got too comfortable. I let them touch my walls at their weakest points. The foundation began to crumble, and the paint turned to dust. The Monster was strong again, and saw an opening. She crept back in without me knowing it.
Her manipulation of my entire being is entirely calculated, and predictable while familiar. But it’s like a storm; I can predict what’s coming, but I am handicapped from stopping it.
First, she twists my insides until I can’t breathe. Like a screwdriver tightening nuts and bolts, until there’s a stuck fastener. She tightens the bolt more and more. But any attempt to tighten it further is accompanied by a significant deformation; until it breaks. Sometimes, my heart beats so fast I think it may explode. With every screwdriver tighten, the pressure builds. It strips off the little bits of the bolt that hold everything together. The bolt starts to turn to fragments of metal dust and ash.
The very bits of metal that helped hold those walls together, goes away. First the walls fell down, then they actually disintegrate into nothing.
Once she has destroyed the walls around the most important, vital parts of me, she develops this hunger. This hunger feeds off of what the walls protected.
She knows the most vulnerable parts of me. The fear, the self loathing, the curiosity of all the what-ifs, the paranoia, the sadness, the disappointments, the desires, and all the dusty skeletons that I thought were gone.
She never dies. Sometimes she waits for openings. But she never dies. I’ve never felt so powerless against myself.
Crimson Vengeance 