your head has made a home for demons

you don't really know in retrospect what the worst case scenario was. what if you didn't turn? would he have kept looking at you in the shower? moved closer? what if he had, in that moment, decided to move towards you instead of duck away? what if he became physical? what if he simply wanted to watch you the entire time? does anyone know?  he was twice your size and the hospital would never believe you. he was the security guard who had to suffer by sitting in the bathroom while you showered. no words were spoken. it could have been worse, you tell yourself.

the two men push you down onto the cold hard surface and begin to violate you. one has reached around and the other is using an object. you are thrashing and screaming for help, anyone, you are outside after all. it continues like this for some time, unable to escape, when suddenly, darkness. you are awake. the nightmare is over.

you see the blade reach skin and draw quickly across, blood works immediately to fill in the gap in skin, dribbles down onto the bedsheet. again and again, multiple quick cuts, not as precise as you'd hope. the blood is running down your arm and then onto the floor as you hold your arm out to the side, as if willing gravity to make a mess of your room.

days later you see the terror in your sister's eyes as her head is decapitated, you hear the screams from your wife as her car goes up in flames. you see your dad come to terms with his imminent death as the blade crashes through his chest and into his heart. you see your friends fall off the cliff they so glumly said they'd be safe to bike along. you see the bloodied, demolished corpses, hear the screams as torture is wielded wantonly against everyone you know. suddenly, darkness. you are awake. the nightmare is over.

the years and years and years of fighting back the thoughts of self harm, of gory suicide and racing violence, of a bloodied wrist or head or body lying on the tile floor suddenly seem quaint. you lie down again at 11:30 pm, heart racing. the years of fighting back mental illness may never come to and end. but you know the next seven hours are where the real demons wait.