She looked up into the mirror, face blurry, no shapes where shapes should be. She closes her eyes and looks again, the mirror is cracked. Crawling bugs escape the fissures, hissing words of praise and love. She can feel her body quaking, her blood jumps inside as if to say “run”. Her mother's voice floats to her through the fog, she follows.
Down a hall she finds her, her vision clears, the fog fades. Her mother speaks, she nods, not sure if she actually nods or not. She must not worry her mother, she must be okay. She finds distraction in books, if nothing outside is real then everything inside must be real. Even if it’s wrong inside. If she reads of heroes saving the world then maybe she can save her own. The world in view now exhausts her, the vague sense of sleep numbs her.
When she awakes her love speaks of acceptance and appreciation, she is warmed and safe. She closes her eyes again and when they open the face of her love is swarmed with shadows, the darkness peeling off flesh leaving a sea of red.
Her breath comes short and labored, a hand touches her own. She is relieved to see it is a hand, a whole unnlemished hand. She nods to her love sure that she has nodded. She must not worry her love, she must be okay. She finds distraction in the glow of a screen, if she can play the hero in this world maybe she is the hero of her own. The words of her love ground her, give strength and confidence that she is here.
She is real.
This is real.
It’s a false sense of security that will shatter after a time. She knows, she allows the comfort to wash over her anyways.The world inside her will always leak out. But she will always fight it.
She is strong.
The shadow comes to swallow her. She sinks to the floor, covering her wet eyes.The maze of fog engulfs her, she reaches out but there is nothing to reach out to, she reaches out but there is nothing to reach out with. She has fallen, she is lost. Cracking of bones and screams of joy flood her ears. Everything is wrong once again, the things that saved her do not matter. The things that saved her do not exist in the shadow.
But she will always fight.
This will pass it always passes, the shadow isn’t real, she is real. She can escape without being saved. She is here she is not lost. This will not defeat her. The shadow will give way to light. But she will always feel the shadow inside her. It waits for her to fall. The shadow whispers promises of rest and relief, she will always be tempted.
But she is strong.
For now.