Monsters in My Head

There are monsters in my head.  I call them my demons, but they are more like monsters.  Longtime readers are well-acquainted with my demons because I talk about them quite often.  They have taken several guises over the years, but their constant goal is the obliteration of me.  I had one I called the Dictator for several years.  He would tell me what to do, and I would be compelled to do it.   He had minions, too, but he was in charge of all the compulsive, destructive shit I did.

He’s been gone for awhile, but now other demons have taken up residence in my head.  They are all male, and they are a conglomerate.  It makes it easier for them to come at me from all sides.

I have had friends tell me to treat them as if they were FOX news or batshitcrazy rightwingnutter pundits.  I wouldn’t trust anything, say, Rush Limbaugh would have to say, would I?  Aw, hell no!  I wouldn’t trust him if he told me it was cold outside my door.  So, say my friends, why do you give any credence to the demons in your head?

Precisely that.  They are in my head.   I can deal with the monsters in the closet (except in my nightmares) or under my bed, or even the one who killed me in my dream.  Those are external, so they are not part of me.  However, my demons are creatures that I created, many years ago, and like bacteria that is repeatedly dosed with antibiotics, they have mutated and grown stronger.

They know me better than anyone else.  They know my weaknesses, and they know how to go for the jugular when I am feeling low.  And, make no mistake about it, I am feeling at nearly my lowest right now.  *Cross fingers* I seem to be over the worst of the cough with only a deep, abiding fatigue lasting (plus a sore throat and constant nausea, but that is neither here nor there), but my body is pretty fragile right now.

I cannot eat much.  I am trying to figure out what my body wants and eat accordingly, but I get nauseous no matter what.  It’s so frustrating, so then I don’t eat.  Or, I throw up what I eat because the bile rises in my throat and I have to get it out, damn it.  Or, I sit there feeling queasy for hours after eating.   Then, I get mad at my stomach for being so damn ornery, even though I know it’s not its fault.   And, I hate the way it looks.  I avoid looking at myself in the mirror in general, but I caught a glimpse of my stomach, and I immediately was filled with loathing.

It’s too easy for me to go there.  It’s too easy for me to start picking apart my body, my face, and everything I hate about my appearance.  Then, it’s just a hop, skip, jump to thinking about all the shit I hate about myself in general.

Here’s the thing.  The demons are telling me partial truths now, so it’s easy to think they are telling me the truth all the time.  They are saying that I am lazy (true) and that everything is falling apart (true).  They are saying, “Why bother trying when everything just crumbles apart, anyway?” (true), and, “You’re falling into the same patterns again” (true).  The one that hurts the most is, “You’re being stupid” (true in some things).   They get louder and louder until I can’t hear anything but the cacophony they are making.  They end up saying, “You’re worthless”, and I find myself agreeing.

Worthless.  Useless.  A waste of space.

Intellectually, I know this isn’t true.  Emotionally, it gets to me every time.   It speaks to my deepest, darkest fear.  I should not be alive.

On my best days, I can simply just revel in being.  I don’t think about why I’m here or what purpose I serve.  However, these are from my best days.   I can’t think of why I’m alive.  Everything is falling apart around me, and I am not equipped to deal with it.

My sleep is even more fucked up than usual.  I am sleeping way too much, and it’s not restful at all.  It’s fragmented, filled with bad dreams, and in general, more of an escape than anything else.  I don’t want to be awake.  I don’t want to get out of bed, so I sleep.  Yet, it’s tortured as always.

When I go to bed, I put in my earplugs and pull my sleep mask over my eyes–after turning on my white noise machine.  I sleep with a mouth guard because I grind my teeth.   Even in the winter, I sleep sans clothing (except fleece socks, sometimes two pairs), and I usually French braid my hair before going to bed.  Then, I lie down.  I lie on my right side with my right arm under my pillow.  I have a second pillow on my head (down to my nose) and one under my knees.  I pull the covers up to my nose…and I wait.  After about ten minutes, I switch to the left side, arm under the pillow, blah blah blah.  Ten minutes later, I lie on my back with the sheets tucked under my body so I am wrapped like a mummy.  Then, I start it all over again.  Once in awhile, I will lie on my stomach, my head under both pillows, spread out like a starfish.  Then, back to my right side.

The whole time, the voices in my head are saying, “You might as well kill yourself.  Do it.  Kill yourself.  Why are you still alive?  Just kill yourself.  Do it.  Kill yourself.  Kill yourself.  Kill yourself.”

When I finally fall asleep, the nightmares come.  One night, I woke up every two hours, and each segment was filled with nightmares.  Every time I wake up, I have to go through the whole ritual to fall asleep again (see aforementioned sleep ritual).  When I wake up, I am more tired, more fatigued, and more bone-weary than I was when I went to sleep.

I don’t want to sleep.  I want to sleep forever.  I have experienced death three times, and each time, I felt profoundly at peace.   I could let go of the burden of life and just–be.  When I am in a funk, it’s hard to fight to stay alive.   Why bother?  I know what my friends and family would say, but here is the ugly truth.  When I am deep in the depths of my pain, I cannot hear the voices of my friends.  All I can hear are the demons whispering, “Do it, do it, do it, do it, do it.”   That, and, “Kill yourself.  Kill yourself.  What are you waiting for?  Kill yourself.”

During the day, I manage to stave off the demons with a lot of effort.  At night, however, I don’t have the strength or the will to fend them off.  Like I said, they know my weaknesses.  They know how–and when–to hit me where it really hurts.  During the day, I can find reasons to at least endure if not live.  At night, all those reasons seep out of my brain one by one as I lie in bed, awake, the demons whispering in my ears–from the inside, no less.

So, I sit here at one in the morning writing this blog entry.  I should be in bed attempting to sleep.  I should eat dinner–well, no, I shouldn’t, not this late at night.  I should I should I should.  I should be getting ready for my trip.  I should clean the goddamn house.   I should finish up my mom’s project.  I should have practiced my taiji (sorry, Choolie!).  I should eat something.  I should start my exercise routine.  I should stop obsessing over the things I should be doing.  I should stop talking about sex so much.  I should start having sex more.  I should stop thinking about sex.  I should be a better friend.  I should have my Xmas shopping done.  I should lose a million pounds.  I should be a size zero.  I should have my shit together at this point in my life.  I shouldn’t I shouldn’t I shouldn’t.  I shouldn’t be goddamn stuck in this fucking loop again.  I shouldn’t be obsessing over what I should and shouldn’t be doing.  I shouldn’t be so goddamn lazy.  I shouldn’t be so intense.  I shouldn’t be so moody.  I shouldn’t be so goddamn broken and ugly and damaged and ruined.  I shouldn’t be so wimpy.  I shouldn’t be such a goddamn pussy.   I shouldn’t swear so goddamn much.  I shouldn’t be so…me.

I am so tired.  So fucking tired of them.  So fucking tired of me.   I hate this.  I hate them.   I hate me.

P.S.  The first video is Blue October’s Black Orchid.  The second is And Then I Turned Seven’s (now Jamestown Story) Goodbye (I’m Sorry).  The third is Simple Plan’s Perfect.  I decided to go with emo boys for this blog entry.