Insecurities.

What I wouldn’t give to have it all taken away.

Just for one moment. To not feel that dark void, nothingness weighing so heavy. To look myself in the mirror and not see the sad, pathetic pools of darkness staring back at me. To be able to live, carelessly, without that black raven sitting in the back of my head. The constant picking, making my head ache. To not feel like the monsters gleefully stomp down the sparks of hope, coloring my entire world a gloomy shade of grey. Constant picking. Words that cut through self without mercy.

Slash. Slash. Slash.

Leaving my soul tattered and bleeding. Making everything hurt. Making it feel like this is the only alternative for me. My fate. To always lead a washed out life, marred by myself. To exist, without living.

Pick. Pick. Pick.

The raven, unnecessarily reminding me, telling me that I mustn’t forget that this is how it’s meant to be. That I’m supposed to feel this weak. My head is throbbing, an unbearable pressure is hindering me from thinking about anything else.

Don’t worry Raven, I won’t ever forget.

Pools of darkness staring back at me.  Tired. The blank expression of someone who’s lived with this her whole life. Apathy merely a weak facade, a thin wall that holds little strength.

Crash. Crash. Crash.

Tears blur my vision as I break down. Frustration and bitterness runs down my face, leaving streams of cold on my cheeks. Pools of darkness in the mirror. Now with a single, tiny spark of emotion. The face of someone who feels. The sparks, trampled down by the giants, rise and dust themselves off. Making the monsters shrink. I see the hint of a light, giving me hope. Hope for a better self.

Pick. Pick. Pick.

The black bird reminds me of its presence. Letting me know that it will never go away. Oh, how I wish it would go away.

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Haunted.

The moment when I close my eyes and fall onto my bed, letting out the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding for the entire day. When I feel the actual physical pain in my ribs, letting go hurting more than holding it in my lungs.

Letting every inkling of a thought I’ve had during the day come crashing down on me with full force. Feeling the callous winds whip at my skin, beating me mercilessly. Feeling my fingers twitch, trying to channel the pain.

Blasphemy.

Feeling my brain being tortured by black, malicious things. Breaths becoming more shallow, cold sweat breaking out, thrashing around in bed as the darkness tries to encompass me. I desperately try to find something good, to distract myself. Attempts in futility. The shadows engulf me and drag me deeper and deeper. I claw at the hint of light, a mere dot in the great nothingness. Eventually, I grow tired. Exhausted.

I give up.

Fists unclench. My body, having been so tense, goes completely limp. I succumb to the darkness. I feel a million dark figures going through my head at once, crashing into each other. I let it take over completely, taking the hits in silence. No use in fighting it. I just suffer, feeling the tears stream down my face. The dark figures, creating chaos inside me, roam freely, seemingly without a goal. Eventually, I feel it.

A change.

The crashes don’t come with with the same speed. With the same force. With the same frequency. The storm is calming. As I feel the figures going up in smoke, one by one, I start to feel the hint of hope. One or two white figures enter my mind. Soaring. Elegantly twirling around, trying to mend the damaged battlefield. At the sight of the white figures, the shadows cower, getting smaller and smaller, until they disappear completely. The white figures leave traces of light, clearing the polluted air. Once filled with sulfur and smog, it is now completely clear. Luminescent.

As I feel the peace fill me, I flutter my eyes open. Through the curtains of my window, I see a sliver of sun light. I listen closely, and hear the faint chirping of birds. I realize that I’ve made it through another fight. And even though I know it won’t be long until the black demons come back, an army of shadows that’s bigger and stronger, knocking at my mental door. When will my white force of hope give up?

Nevermore.