I fought demons in my dreams night after night for years. It felt like I was training for battle.
The past few months have presented opportunities to use those fighting skills in real life, and I’m glad I trained so that my defense was automatic. If I had had to stop and think about what to do, I would have been torn to pieces.
I moved back in with my mom because I thought I could be of service. I thought we could keep each other company and help each other get through day to day stuff. I wanted to cook for her and do all the things a good daughter would do. I wanted to repair the damage done from early childhood trauma.
I’ve been here for over two years now. I’ve tried my best.
Like the demons in my dreams, she attacks everything good in my life. All that I hold dear, she mocks and tries to destroy. Or worse, she convinces me to destroy.
I tore up my sculptures and paintings and poetry and stories because she told me to.
That happened before I realized I was fighting a demon.
The way she laughed at me and took such pleasure in my pain told me who I was fighting.
So I stated to pray.
That infuriated her. She intensified her attack, but only for a little while.
Before long, she left the house.
I burned sage and prayed, waiting and wondering what to do next.
It wasn’t clear to me right away that I would have to move. I wanted to keep trying to make things better.
That changed after this last battle.
I sat at the table and found myself seriously contemplating suicide. I was very calm about it, and that is what scares me. I felt that suicide might truly be the only way out of this situation and that cold thought that was so unlike one of my normal thoughts, shook me up.
It is time to go.
She does not want to change or heal or work things out. She wants to hurt me.
I want to live.
I have to leave.