There’s a monster living inside me. It stays in the darkest corner of my heart, dormant until it’s time to awake. Like a Dementor, it feeds on negative emotions: anger, jealousy, sadness. Everyone has one, I know, but lately mine has been out of control.

It’s eating me alive. It’s putting dark thoughts in my head, making me feel worthless, unloved, pushing and pulling until I fall apart. I try not to listen to it, I try to think of better things, but sometimes there’s nothing I could do but succumb to it. I hide it well; no one see it unless I let myself break in front of them. My friends think I’m the positive one, the one who’s always so pulled together and calm. When my grades fall apart, my parents think I just don’t work hard enough. Even when I told them about it, they didn’t believe me. They want me to put it in a box and lock it away while I’m studying. They don’t seem to want to understand, and I’m so tired of trying to explain it.

I’m tired of feeling like a failure.

I could see my Dementor’s face sometimes. Bloodshot eyes, glaring icily; grim lips, set in a frown forever; silent sobs swallowed in her throats and venomous thoughts running in her mind. It’s me on my worst state. It’s a part of me only few ever saw, and even fewer understand. Lately it’s been floating up to the surface more and more, making me think of the most horrible thoughts: You’re not good enough. You’ll never make it. No one loves you. You can disappear forever and no one will notice. No one cares.

Writing has been my sanctuary. It heals a part of the pain, but not entirely.

Labels: angst, family, friends, thoughts

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