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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Young Adult  |  House: Booksie Classic
A short story about depression and love.

Submitted: August 23, 2014

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Submitted: August 23, 2014



Monsters don’t sleep under your bed.

They sleep inside your head.

But you don’t sleep.

Because while the monsters sleep, they dream.

And while the monsters are dreaming you’re wake, watching their dreams play out in your mind.

And the dreams.

They’re not good.

They’re about you.

And all the things you hate about yourself.

Your cuts, scars, fat, hair, body, face, eyes, and everything else.

You try to sleep.

But the monsters like to sleep too.

And their dreams are loud.

Sometimes louder than yours.

So you try, once more, to cut the monsters out.

You slash at your wrists, your thighs.

You watch the blood drip down your skin.

And you hope.

You hope that the blood is not only yours, but the monsters’ too.

And, in that moment, the monsters stop dreaming.

And you’re safe.

You feel relief.

You feel calm.

But only for that moment.

The monsters fall back asleep again.

And you’re back to where you started.

Slashing at your wrists.

Downing pills.

Drinking until you sleep.

Burning until you see new skin.

Smoking until you can’t think.

Only to make the monsters stop dreaming.

But they never wake up.

So you stay silent.

Because trying to explain to people that the voices and the monsters in your head are making you want to hurt yourself and are not letting you sleep is too hard.

So you stay silent.

Silently screaming,

Screaming on the inside, wanting to get out.

Doing anything to get out.

But nothing works.

Nothing ever works.

So you go to school.

And pretend to be happy.

And pretend that you’re okay.

And pretend that nothing’s wrong.

While in reality, day after day, you’re getting worse.

And no one is noticing.

And the monsters are getting louder.

And more creative.

And no one can see the plea in your eyes.

For someone to notice.




Just notice.

You’re breaking.

You can’t do this anymore.

You can’t do anything anymore.

You just want to stay in bed and sleep.

But the monsters want to sleep too.

So you just lay down.

And think.

Not sleeping.

Just thinking.

Thinking about ways to get out.

Ways to get away from the monsters.

But how do you get away from your own mind.

Because you realize that the monsters aren’t just monsters.

But they’re you.

They’re all the thoughts you have about yourself.

There are only a few ways you’d actually do to get out though.


A rope.

Slicing open a vein.

Taking a gun to your head.

But there are people.

People who need you.

And I am one of them.

So no matter how easy any of this may seem.

Please don’t.

Because I love you.

Always remember that.

e. k.

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