I feel them in my stomach. Natty once asked what color. Black. Oily. Thick. She drained me out as the words came. I wore a sword those days but it's taken almost a year to get the strength back. Still now, my stomach floods with the black oil & my arms and legs tremble. Cold fluid fills me, I feel heavy. I feel electric. An ache on the good days.
Sometimes I feel I'm losing my mind. When the fire is out or so low I can't even see my demons.
I take my demons to the river and try to drown them.
I wonder how it would be to face them
Imagine a clearing in the woods - a giant black demon, panting in the early morning - cold fog breath - standing 20 sharp paces away from me. We're standing still, taking each other in.
How to fight your demon?
They latch onto the soft spots, Sarah Miko tells me, vulnerable places. Miko says she doesn't have demons because she doesn't have these holes.
My demons patch like caulk between the tiles. They are a part of me like fingernails and nose hairs. We've shared this space for so long it's hard to imagine them not being there.
Some people fill those holes with God and the demons go away.
As much as they hurt and as much as I find myself writhing in a bleak fit I know I hold onto them. I know I must take responsibility for their presence. I know I keep them. I feed them with the mean superficial victories. I let them use my power even though they take more than they give (always).
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