What I Remember

Some days I find it hard to believe I'm not a monster. Some days I want to pound the walls and floor until electric shocks run up my arms. I am too numb.

I know I am not supposed to be this way. Something went wrong. Something recent. Was it one thing? They were always kind, always sweet, never pushed me, these outbursts they happened but they always found something else to blame them on. Were they the only thing keeping me from believing the worst in myself?

Last night I dreamt I was staying at an old hotel. I woke to the sound of banging on the door, and lay frozen in fear as the ancient hardware buckled and wood splintered freeing screws and bolts as whatever was on the other side forced its way into my room. Eventually, I could no longer hope it would lose interest and assume I wasn't there, and rushed the door to hold it closed shouting "stop! stop!" - - - and it did. A soft scared voice asked if I was okay, and the clerk informed me I had just called the desk in a flurry of fear, begging for help. He could not find the key and, assuming that time was of the essence, decided to break the door in - - - I did not remember calling. But then, I did. A late-night fit of delirium. A dream within a dream? I am no stranger to delusions and hallicinations late at night. Then I awoke.

Some days my claws and teeth itch and I cannot push back the visions swarming in my head acting out in painful detail the pain I am capable of causing. I never have. I never have. Superficial things. I punch the carpeted floor at most I am rattled. I slam my head into a pole without bruising, only tears. I walk barefoot on ice and gravel and hold my breath for a little too long. None of these are good.

There are two worlds in me, one tells me I am created for joy and light. Nothing more complicated than that, that is all we owe the world. Nothing is real etc. The other says, but what if. There is no scary serial killer offensive multiple personality disorder stereotype (don't they know we say DID now?) only a jerk who thinks being mean is funny. Or thinks its hilarious to watch me squirm under the fear of what harm my body and my words are capable of.