>The Darkness

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
An emotional piece about inner turmoil and desperate attempts to escape it.

Submitted: January 20, 2013

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Submitted: January 20, 2013

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The Darkness

 

The darkness is surrounding me. I feel its steely grip—its relentless power clutching at my every weakness. I’ve been fighting it for so long; I feel whatever strength I had left shatter beneath its weight. I let it take over. I watch as it seeps into my very core. I feel it fighting its way through whatever walls I had put up. I don’t fight back. I watch as my defenses crumble at the hand of my enemy. I watch it consume me. And yet, I feel nothing. I feel no anger. No sadness. I feel nothing. I’m numb.

I wait in silence for the darkness to consume me. Time passes without notice. I stare at the ground without a thought in my head—just waiting. Who knows how long I knelt on the ground like that. Hours maybe?  I don’t know why at this very moment I decided to stand up, but I did. I had nowhere to go. No intention of walking. But for some reason I felt it necessary. I needed to prove to myself that I could. I may have lost my mind to the darkness, but I still had my body.

For weeks I went on like that. My only comfort during the mental warfare was the control I still had over my body—I could do with it as I pleased. For weeks I suffered as the darkness devoured me from the inside out, its jaws tearing at my mind’s weakness. I stopped the suffering with the only weapon I had: my body. It needed my body to host it as it tore at my mind each and every day. Each line I drew across my wrist, each drop of blood that dripped down my arm, would stun it. For those few moments, I’d regain control of my mind. I could feel. I could feel satisfaction at having conquered my attacker even for those few minutes. The brief flood of emotions was more than enough incentive to cut again. I didn’t care what I felt as long as it was there and it was my own. And, for a few minutes, it was.

I knew the darkness was getting stronger with each line I drew. Its anger would grow deeper. Its grip would grow tighter. But I couldn’t stop. I had to feel something. I needed that hit of emotions no matter the consequences. I lived for those moments.

As the darkness strengthened, the shallow incisions became less and less effective. I started making multiple cuts, then deeper ones. Then finally, it just wasn’t enough anymore. Nothing could stun the darkness. Weeks went by without a hint of feeling. The numbness was too much. I just couldn’t take the nothingness any longer...


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