I like to write about stuff. Mostly movies, sometimes a collaboration with friends who've experienced spooky shit. Lately I've been writing a story, something very personal and dear to me. Some people I've spoken to about it have more or less figured out that I go to a very dark place in order to come up with ideas for this story (no, I'm not secretly a serial killer). I get to grab hold of those dark feelings, the anger, the rage, the sadness, the depression, my anxieties, and put them into a story, something entertaining, something creepy, something dark and maybe a little disturbing. But sometimes, those things do become a reality for me (again, not a serial killer). Last night was a rough one for me. I've been sick for the last few months, and then my depression got the better of me yesterday.
Every once in a while, I go to that dark place where I draw my inspiration from. To understand that place, I have to go back to when I was a kid. I wouldn't say I had it rough, my dad was strict when it came to school, but he was always fair. Was I a bad kid? Yeah, I did some stuff I'm not proud of, and I understand it was probably very frustrating trying to get me on track. But the worst of it? The bullying. When I was in school, the bullying would turn violent, sometimes dangerous. I was almost killed once. A classmate jumped me, got on top of me, almost choked me to death. If it wasn't for two other people who noticed who got him off and chased him away, I probably would've been dead. But that's still not where this darkness comes from.
When I hit high school, it only got worse. The way I looked, the people I hung out with, my interests...everything was judged, everything was a joke to these people. So, I went somewhere...I found my inner demons...and I made friends with them. It created something dark, something angry...I wanted to die. I felt like no one cared, like no one wanted me around, so dying seemed like a good option for me. Thankfully, I had some really amazing people in my life who brought me back from the edge, whether they know it or not. But that darkness? It's still there. It lingers in my soul. It lingers in the back of my mind. Every once in a while, I go there, I get those thoughts, those feelings, and it takes every ounce of my being to take back control…and once in a while, it gets hungry, and I have to feed it…just so I can find some kind of inspiration for my writing.
Last night, I got caught off-guard. I was in that dark place, and the monster that resides there took a big chunk out of me. I was stuck in a nightmare world as I tried to sleep. My thoughts kept drifting to those who've wronged me over the years. I kept thinking 'maybe tonight's the night'. I tried to push those things away...but then something worse happened. I guess the thing that's been haunting me all these years decided it wanted to mess with me, too. Maybe that thing is something that I manifest all on my own? I don't know, I don't understand it. It felt so real...I struggled...I tried to scream...no sounds came out. I was aware of my surroundings, that much was real. I was struggling to move, to open my eyes, to wake up and get out of that place, but I couldn't move. I felt my wife hold me, even kiss me, but when I could finally see, it wasn't her, it was something else. I screamed, I screamed as loud as I could, but I couldn't make a noise. Then I couldn't move. It held me down and was trying to consume me. I felt my life leaving me. Then the lights in the bedroom came on and I was pulled from that place...like I was stuck underwater.
I've had nightmares before, I've had waking dreams, I've dealt with night terrors, I've dealt with this...thing that follows me around, and I've dealt with the dark thoughts of depression, sadness, and anxiety that have plagued me since my youth, but it's never felt so real to me before. I felt it, it held me down, and it took a piece of me. Today, I feel exhausted, like I've been through 12 rounds with Tyson or something. I'm trying to understand this, to figure this out. I'm even trying to find inspiration from it, to put it into words and add it to the fictional world I created, but I couldn't do that without getting this truth off my chest. I couldn't let go of that world, that place, that monster...without explaining myself, without revealing what happened and without trying to make sense of it. I feel like I'm going crazy when I try to think about it.
But I can feel it…crawling around, scratching at the back of my mind…whispering to me. It wants me to let it out, to use its strength, to finally get back at everyone that put me in this spot in the first place. Maybe it wants to help me. Maybe it’s not trying to kill me. Maybe it wants what I want. It left me a gift the other night, something I guess I don’t remember putting on my dresser. A white mask. And a knife….
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