I can feel them, the icy cold hands, my inner demons. They’ve taken a hold and are pulling me down. I don’t think I can fight them this time. I’m not strong enough. Not only am I not strong enough but the old doubts have risen with them as well. What’s the point? What’s it for? Why fight?
The voices of old rise in my mind, claw their way forward. You’re not good enough. You never will be. You’re not worth it. You never were. No amount of you will be ever enough.
Once, just ONCE, I want someone to fight this for me. Just once, I’d like to be lifted from the cloying darkness by someone else’s arms. No amount of weeping or wishing will make this a reality. I’m alone. There are no arms to fall into. No hands to wipe away the tears. No gentle words of comfort. It’s just me and my fears and doubts.
Hello old friends… enemies. Either way, I can always count on you. Your frigid grip is always ready for me. I know the outcome. I know the endgame. And yet. And yet. Here I am again.
I recount every action. Every word he spoke to me. Every dirty look. They were deserved, weren’t they? He was right. Damn it. He was right all along. Why did I think I could live in this fantasy? That I could be worth it? That someone would give up everything just for me? He was right. They wouldn’t. Why would they? There is nothing about me that sets me apart to make me that worthy. Why walk away from everything to gain nothing? He was right. No one would.
These tears, they flow down my cheek in a steady, never ending stream. Why? What’s the point? I’m the only one who will see them. I’m the only one who would wipe them away. They serve no purpose, and yet there they lay, silver crystals upon my skin, slowly coursing down, testament to my pain, my inner turmoil.
His voice rings in my ears. Unworthy. Inadequate. Never good enough. Lacking. Unattractive. Bitch. Mistake. Failure. Untalented. Without purpose…. Worthless.
He must have had some basis for his thoughts. I can see the reasoning behind each one. Perhaps a little twisted, yes, but with some foundation, too. How could I have ever thought he was wrong? Now that I sit back and think, really think, about it, stripping away wishes and fantasies, here’s the harsh reality before my eyes: He. Was. Right.
And so. I remain here with my truth sitting before me. Reflecting the real me. A stark reminder that dreams aren’t real and reality will come to the surface again.
The dark tentacles that encircled my ankles — I reach down, and instead of pushing them away, I cling to them. Wrap them about me. Welcome back, it’s been a long time, but it’s still achingly familiar. Pull me into your cold embrace and numb me once again.
tara caribou | ©2020
Writer and Artist
a collection of short poetry from an autistic mind
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The Lies in the Skies Exposed
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