Alone in the Dark

I sit alone in this little room I've built to hold all my broken parts.  I pet my demons and feed them treats, showering them with love and acceptance.  I breathe in the rotting stench of fear. I inspect each one of my wounds.  I hold my broken, but still beating heart in my hands.  Alone in the dark.

I feel completely isolated, like I'm the only one, ever, who has come to this place.  Face to face with the broken parts. Alone in the dark.

I don't want sympathy.  I don't want reassurance.  Please don't tell me how strong I am. I don't want platitudes and pleasantries.  I am broken and broken is okay.

I dive deep into my wounded places to make friends with them.

I sit with fear, rage, grief. Emotions rising up, no longer willing to be quiet.  But there is no way to express them outside of this room.  So I sit alone, in the dark.

The darkness presses down on me.  It feels like a weight crushing the life out of me.  Crushing the joy out of me, until there is nothing left but darkness.  

Every day I go through the motions.  Trying so hard to be all things to all people.  Yet all I want to do is return to my solitude and my silence. I want to be alone with my wounds and my demons.  I am consumed with exploring the vast expanse of refuse left behind and unacknowledged.

The demons rage.  They roar and thrash, begging for attention, no longer content to be contained, to be silent, to be ignored.  I listen to them and stroke them.  I tell them I love them even though they rage.  Rage is okay I tell them and it soothes their anger.  The demons just want to be heard to be accepted.

Alone in the dark, alone with the demons and the stench, there are no pretenses.

Slowly the dark becomes my happy place and the demons become my friends.