mousme | Evening ramble (Reply)

That lovely little voice at the back of my mind has resurfaced, and damned if I'm not finding it really hard to tune it out. Maybe the image of the black dog is more appropriate in these circumstances, because it truly is frightening, at least to me.

A large black slavering Doberman Pinscher, growling at me from the shadows: I can see it out of the corner of my eye, but when I turn to look at it directly it skulks off, keeping to the dark places. I can hear it panting, feel its hot breath on the nape of my neck, never know when it's going to leap from the shade and go for the jugular.

What are you complaining about? You're lucky to have anything at all. You have parents who love you and friends who tolerate your presence. You have a job that allows you to afford your lifestyle. You have no reason to feel anything but elation 24 hours a day, seven days a week. You have no real problems. Sure, you can argue it's a mental illness, but then what's a mental illness if not something that's "al in your head"? With a little willpower you would realise that you're damned lucky to have anything at all: anyone else who had done so little with their lives probably wouldn't have any of this. They'd give their eyeteeth to get such a lucky break. Quit whining and count your blessings, little girl.

I'm too tired to argue with it right now. I'm cold and I'm tired and right now all I can think is that the dog is probably right. And then what? Then I turn back the clock thirteen months and start all over again, and that prospect is even more tiring.

It feels like I just keep running away from the maw of one beast only to find that it's found a shortcut, or maybe I'm running in circles and all it has to do is sit there on its powerful haunches and wait for me to deliver myself unto the slaughter like a panicky rabbit.

Then when the time draws too near I start to kick and scream and struggle, digging my fingers into the earth, tearing my nails on the unforgiving rock, crying hot tears that muddy the ground beneath me, until suddenly my nervous system decides that it's had enough and I go into shock and stop fighting. And then, suddenly, the jaws of the beast don't seem so threatening anymore. And suddenly death seems so very restful...