The Naviverse

Original Image

The same guilt lingers over nothings and simply fixed things. The same inability allowing me change or give up on any task. The same unwillingness to let them slip away or contain sadness just sits there, grinning. The lack of comfort when it's my fault and the blow to the ego when I have to admit this over and over, it’s all there.

I'm tired. No, I'm half alive. Nothing is functioning at full power. Nothing has been so for a long time. A Cruse Control button must exist somewhere in my system. Somehow I keep going.

I hate the onset of depression. It'll probably be gone by morning when I've actually gotten sleep but for now it nestles calmly behind my belly button, making me feel ill and self-conscious; causing thoughts to form a cartwheeling crown around my head, screaming at me, shouting out all of the things I hate worst about myself and reciting anything that could remotely be considered negative. They mock me. They speak the thoughts that lay behind my friends and family’s eyes. ‘Your friends don't really miss you. Your mother doesn't really care if you come home. Your father still wishes you were your brother, or that you at least had the common decency to have died during your birth.’

Tiny metal clamps pierce my skin. Their small, pointed teeth grab any flesh they can find and begin to pull outwards. I scream at them, tell them it can't be done; whimper that it hurts. But this is mechanical and there's no way to stop them. The dancing halo begins to chant and cackle about weakness. The best I could wish for would be sleep. Uninterrupted sleep and a hand to hold that is covered in daemons blood and the residue of small wings and hooves.

But I need to go to work first. It’s time to put on the mask. It itches and causes pressure points that become bruses. One of these days I’ll be able to throw the mask away. Hopefully I won’t have to get a new one.

Away I trundle.