Violated. The monster rises without consent. I sit, knowing he won’t ever pass. I took 2 pills instead of 1. He goes back to sleep, without intimation. Any triggers? Yes. Different every time. He has been a frequent visitor throughout my childhood. When he came over, I would lock my room door and yell and cry till I got dizzy. Papa would knock. Dadi cry. Nothing made him leave. Then something did.
How do you feel?
Embarrassed. Next time I will not hurt the people I love. I will leave, live in the mountains, me and my monster. I won’t smash coffee mugs. I will not sleep with pieces in my bed. How do you feel? Tired. Like a spirit occupying my body left. Hollow. Drained. Violated. Scared. I am always looking at the door waiting for it to return. Exhausted. I recently read a post asking people to not offer help, a listening ear, or a helping hand online. I panicked. What if S who sends teapots and letters, and P who calls and comments retract their virtual shoulders? I would continue needing them in the mountains. Insecure. You will be fine. You are a wildflower.
I am a teapot. Here is my handle and here is my spout. You were hurt as a child, so tiny she could not define pain enough to point at it and ask for a cure. Don’t try to solve this like an adult. Are you eating enough? How is sleep? You are not broken. Have faith in me, you are a beautiful person. Be around people.
How do you feel?
I had a bad dream. I got my periods in my sleep. I was late for the office. I forgot to carry my medicines. I might be rejected from Harvard for what I write on social media.
How do you feel?
Like a balloon. To be written songs about, colorful, that can burst anytime. To be careful around. Like creating joy. Like wearing the big blue earrings, today. Like a wildflower, that will grow in this marsh. With the monster. Like rewriting the DSM. Like hot chocolate, please. Like a teapot. When I get steamed up, I just shout. Pick me up and pour me out. Like autumn, downhearted, colorful. Warming up.