The Dark Place

>> Dec 20, 2009


The foul smell of incense fills the air and music, too loud to be heard properly, pounds through the room.  I lie there on the bed of my childhood, stoically ignoring pleas from my parents to turn the music down or open a window, and frown up at the ceiling.  Brooding.  Running through imagined arguments and injustices in my mind.  Fighting the good fight, facing up to the bullies, righteous, triumphant and proud, but only in my head.  A fairly typical, hormone filled, teenage pastime.

Fast-forward 15 years and I still know her so well, that malcontent adolescent.  I know her well because every now and again she comes and sits in a corner of my mind, legs crossed, cigarette in hand, badly made-up face formed into a petulant, self-pitying frown. 

Nobody likes me,
Everybody hates me,
They all say I eat worms.

She sits, she sulks and she takes over.  She fills my mind with a dense fog that distorts everything, making me a vicitm in the pathetic soap opera that she replaces for my life.  Every comment made to me is a barbed insult, every glance in my direction a violent attack.

She takes over my facial expressions and where once capable of delight or happiness I am now only able to roll my eyes cynically or shrug in an unhappy fug of indecision.  Everything is too much trouble and nothing is interesting.  Television programs I normally enjoy seem badly acted and stilted.  A book I was until now enjoying, dull and lifeless.  Websites and blogs seem nothing more than vapid, airless blah, leaving me feeling empty and grey.


She makes me want to listen to depressing music.
Read angst filled novels.
Cry.

I do wish she'd fuck off, I've got stuff to do.

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