Those attacks. You know the ones. That feel like a tornado is swirling away inside. Ripping the breath right out of you. Like a belt tightening on your neck. The more you fear, the tighter it gets. Like chains holding you just out of reach from the only window to escape from. You can’t even see the moonlight, though the fear is just too dark. It towers over you like a hurricane, ready to destroy all in its path. You feel darkness, that everlasting blanket of black. It covers you like a warm hug; but quickly turns into madness. Suffocating you. Like going down a long dark tunnel that never ends.
You know when it comes. You feel it closing in. Like the darkness, the silence before the storm. And as it approaches all you can do is wait. There’s no stopping this big bad wolf. He huffs and he puffs until there’s nothing left. You know it will end. But when? Exactly? See, that’s the issue. You don’t know when the hurricane finally decides to slow, to release its grip on the delicate shores. It just takes its time and leaves once you’re nice and destroyed.
It has no care for the damage done. You think. Or does it? Does it know the damage it’s doing? Does it just not care? The storm taunts you. Like a flame dancing in the fire. So beautiful to look at, but deadly to the touch. Like a tunnel with the light at the end but no way to get there.
Oh man, once that storm passes…
It’s like nothing can do worse. You see the light. You feel the warmth of the sun. But the damage dealt can’t help but to make you think.
What if it comes back? I’m not ready for the captivation of my breath. I’m not ready to freeze in my moment, watching time fly by. Paralyzed from the fear. To not even be strong enough to reach out and grab the only thing; that can rip you out of that vortex. To see the rope right in front of you, to pull you back to the surface. But being stuck under the weight of a ton pound rock.
The weight is unbearable. Much like the weight you wear so miserably on your gut. But it’s your fault.
You opened the door and let the demons march on in. Knowing full and well that was them knocking.
Thank god for the comfort. The shelter protecting you from the storm. The cross above your bed. Ridding the demons from your presence. The bolt cutters releasing you from the dark, to reach that window. To see the moonlight. For the rope to keep you from drowning in the deep, dark ocean.
Thank god for the warm arms that so tightly hugged you into the light. That gave you a lift to the end of the tunnel. That shows you there’s always an end and a beginning. Like the oxygen tank was finally turned back on.
But weren’t those things always there?
Then why does the darkness keep coming back when it pleases? Ready to suffocate you once more. Waiting. Speaking “just say the words.”
Those lawful word that invite the demons back.
“Looking at it disgusts me.”
“You’re such a turn off.”
Or the words you so wish to hear, but aren’t good enough to hear them.
“You’re so pretty.”
“I like your attention.”
“I don’t want her anymore.”
“I would rather you.”
“I’ll wait for you.”
But not her, not me. You. The girl next door. The one who is everything I’m not. She takes your power away. Your comfort. Your pride. Sending you into darkness with nothing left but the demons knocking on your door.
And what’s the one thing? The one thing that you believe will fix it all? Not the slicing and dicing. No.
But the sleep that lasts forever. How peaceful it sounds. To dream in an eternal sleep until there is nothing left to dream. Until the world you left dies too. That’s the real light at the end of the tunnel.
And oh man, how I dream of reaching the end of this long, blackened tunnel.
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