The Real Demons

Giving is often seen as this thing where you are good and all those beautiful descriptive words anyone would want to be described with.

You give to feel, help other and maybe help yourself feel a little good, but I found myself giving to the point that I had nothing left. I had given the clothes on my back to her, and she had asked for more.

I wonder at what point does giving become too much and at what point does a selfless person say this is it. I need to put my foot down because I’m turning into a hopeless person, but the truth was I had fallen down, and my bully knew it all so well. The weakness of giving all that I was clear in my eyes.

I had left my body and mind and turned over all that I was to them. Giving all they asked because I was too afraid to stand for what was mine and why would I want to fight for what was worthless in my mind as I had drifted to the barren parts of my subconscious. The areas that are occupied with endless sorrow of darkened doom and gloom. I never expected anyone to understand the sensations or ideas that this part of my mind contained or maybe people knew and were too afraid to admit they too anchored that place.

She hands me her hand like a friend but deep within she harbours hatred and sweet malicious content. “It’s your fault that this is happening to you.”

I want to disappear so desperately to no longer exist for my body to have no molecules that the physical me can vanish just as the idea of me being human and equal had vanished.

“Please don’t do this… please!” the words at last muster up as my body finds its final will to fight my bully and her ideas of what’s right and wrong.

Why am I even bothering when I know my attempts will be met with disgust and rolled eyes my brain sparks and hisses as my body in anguish and denial tries with all its might to retrieve all the that it can without the thoughts of dignity and sense of self. I think they call this animal instinct the need to survive at any cost and with all your will.

Her voice so cold slaps rigid sense into my rambling hopeful yet hopeless body and mind to remind me that being me wasn’t okay and her bitterness is, in fact, sweetness and care for people’s space and the environment. They say the wicked spin webs of lies to justify their wicked deeds and just as the concrete floor cutting at my knees sent notices of just how mean the world could get her bras voice retreated my worthlessness.

She took all that was mine physically and emotionally. I don’t know if the prefix I can be used in such a situation when you are turned into a phantom.

“I’m doing this for you so you should be glad.” Her voice spoke once more. Is this her apologetic justification I wonder as I beg my mind to let me escape the torment that faced me in reality.

The flight that I begged for within finally began to take effect only to drag me deep into unresolved demons of my past.

No escape within my mind and no escape from reality I’m left to wonder my worth as running is no option. The world asks so much of me, and I ask for so little how my request for respect and equality is met with her violent words and actions.

It took losing my mind and facing my demons to see there’s nowhere to run but only a space to stand. The concrete floor is my foundation, and I am the formation of who and what is right and nobody can deny my existence not even my mind with all its twisted demons can eat away at the molecules that form me.

She took all that I am, but she never took all that I could become.

Words: Djemima Andre, Illustrations: JAGM