Monique's Voice.
Comments 3

The Beast In Me

It seems strange to me that for some people, today is just like any other day. Waking up to the same sky, the same noises, sipping the same cup of tea.

Today, for me, is not like any other day. Today I wake up with my head running a million miles an hour. No matter how many spanners I try to throw into the spinning wheels, the cogs keep on turning. I can feel the grind in my head and I’m all too aware that if the noise continues, the beast inside me will stir.

She’s always there, lurking in the background, reminding me that what goes up, must come down. Today I feel her tired eyes beginning to open. Though her lids are heavy, she fights the goodness that I am trying to latch on to, but she is stubborn and without reason her eyes fly open like a tired child refusing to sleep.

She has been paying me visits more often these days. She drags my racing heart into my throat and I feel my insides explode. My lungs no longer serve their purpose and my ribs crack open and fall into my stomach, the sharp ends piercing me like shrapnel. The heat rises from my throat and the blood stains my cheeks, my face, and it pools behind my eyes. Rising up like a tidal wave and rolling down my back, straight to my finger tips. The blood rises endlessly and I drown in the knowledge that not one person on this earth can anchor me down. In the end, I always find myself sailing away.

The beast is a part of me and I know she will howl through the days and nights and eventually cry herself to sleep. I am ashamed that the beast has been woken but this time my fingers won’t stop writing because I think perhaps somewhere out there are people with their own beasts wreaking havoc, just like mine.

I feel tired. I feel sad. I feel everything. My skin is so thin that the innocent words of others burn holes right through me. I feel like I have exhausted my own words though. That they have been said too many times and the people who love me don’t deserve to hear them anymore. I don’t want to take any passengers with me on this ride because I know they eventually tire of me after I’ve beaten them down and they timidly ask to get off. I know this because it happens all too often, so I use every ounce of strength to keep the beast at bay until I am alone and no one can see just how ugly I can be. It is here that I set her free and as I watch her flying above my head she swoops down, ripping apart my old scars and puncturing my insides until I no longer resemble a human being.

I hang my head and I let myself be flooded with grief. Who will love me after I have introduced them to the monster inside? I smart from so many broken promises of safety and somewhere to call home. I remember the innocent, unknowing voices speaking of growing old and making our grass the greenest of all. What they didn’t realise was there was never any grass there to begin with. Just a pile of dirt. A graveyard, where I have buried the pieces of me that I don’t want to remember.

(Illustration by Saadah Kent, my Mum)

This entry was posted in: Monique's Voice.

by

I am a writer, a lover, a daughter, a sister, a friend, an auntie, a derailed artist, a comic, a traveller, and a person living with BPD. I hope that my writing and my experiences are a reminder that you're not alone. Just one day at a time.

3 Comments

  1. Regina says

    Your not alone at all , there are a lot of us out there , always trying to hide that beast or I say my little girl inside that is always terrified and never feels like she deserves to be loved or is good enough , this is a constant battle just to get through everyday , most people would never understand or really even care , I do understand what you go through on a daily basis , Jesus does help me a lot but it’s what your brain keeps telling you , it’s very difficult

    Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s