The creature

There is something inside me…but I can’t seem to find it. It is elusive; sliding in and out of my thoughts. I feel it yearning to breathe, to find words and clarity to its existence. It seethes and writhes and fuels some still unknown fear and hurt and want. I need to touch it, to feel it upon my fingers and tongue, to speak the name of the demon inside yet I fail to wrestle it down, to contain it within a single idea or event or person.

I hurt so badly sometimes and I am so afraid at others. My voice has fallen silent; blocked by this unknown adversary that I feel inside dropping weights into my stomach, bringing tears to my eyes, and wanting to be heard. Trying to bring my journey to life, I am impeded by this sensation of longing the creature instills in me. I read the words of others and feel as if I will burst at the seams if my voice stays pushed below. The monster insists on being the first story told…yet I cannot find the words to do so. The walk I have to share, of loss, of fright, of triumph, of the smells and sounds and fatigue of death, threatens to be lost to the need to continue on while this demon silences me as it pushes actively for freedom from my soul. How can I fight with words that which remains nameless and isolating?

I’ve tried to appease this foe into submission, to lull it to sleep with soothing words of denial. The lies used to cover up its existence prove to enrage the beast, feeding its fires of dissatisfaction and pushing it more quickly towards rebellion. The creature gnaws at my dishonesties and attempts to force my wholeness. The creature fills the void that I refuse to recognize; that I cover up with niceties. I keep the creature inside to protect myself and others from its very being,
        from what it means that I must live without,
                and how I must slowly rediscover who I am.

So the first truth uttered; that which will release both the monster and myself, is this…

I have a hole that cannot be filled but I continue to breathe