I feel cold arms wrap around me,

 A possessive grip, not one of love or comfort.

I've struggled for so long to get away,

But now, there isn't enough energy left to fight,

So I just sit apathetically,

Staring into spaces as everything loses its meaning.

 

"Why do I even give a shit anymore?"

I ask myself again and again,

Watching those around me go on their merry way,

None noticing the dark figure standing behind me,

Clutching onto my shoulder as though It may lose its hold at any minute.

 

I push my food around the plate,

Taking small bites,

Making it look like I'm at least trying to eat,

Even though it simply hides the truth.

 

When people notice, I laugh it off,

Say something about having a big meal earlier and not being hungry,

And like that, they stop pushing.

 

"One meal." It whispers to me,

"Choose carefully."

I know its important to eat, 

But, It is persistent.

 

It never shuts its mouth,

Always saying no.

It won't let me do anything anymore,

Yet I still can't find a reason to care.

"Be still," It tells me, "Smile, laugh!"

 

Nobody can know about it.

It doesn't let me talk about it.

When I slip up, it puts me into my personal hell,

And everything begins to pass by slowly.

I become unable to react,

Just an observer in my own life.

 

When It gets loud,

I try and drown It's words.

But even with the volume at the highest setting,

It can still be heard,

Whispering It's idea of sweet nothings into my ears,

Until I'm sitting in a haze.

 

There is no escaping It. 

It holds tightly to my heart,

A nonverbal threat to shut me up

As It welcomes its friends.

 

It throws a party, and I am the venue.

I feel the rager playing out in my head,

And It is enjoying Itself as it treats Them to its palace in my mind.

To me, this is simply another day I wish I was dead.

 

I feel nothingness descend upon me,

Even as I write this description.

It is upset with what I am writing,

 and They are with It now, making things worse.

They turn my thoughts to ways to make me pay,

To make me make myself pay.

 

They know that I cannot stop their whispers,

And they make good use of that.

 I fear It has told Them how to get past my few defenses.

 

It has teamed up with Them now,

and I see fear color my black and white world,

The only color I can see,

Showing me everything They could use against me,

Every good thing in my life they could fuck up,

But I need to say this.

 

They are frantic to shut me up now.

I see their own fears,

It is afraid its losing me,

So I must keep writing.

These shitty poems keep It at arms reach.

Not gone,

But far enough away that I can think without its influence.

And I can turn to the people who remind me

That there other colors,

And I can see again.

 

The price I pay to see is worth it.

Every emotion is important, even sadness.

The tears that leave my eyes are proof,

Proof  that I am still here.

Even if I'm still lost, 

I can have hope to be found.

 

I am not the sheet of paper I once thought I was,

lost to the wind years ago.

I am the pen.

I write this story; it is not over yet.

 

K. Suzette