My demons used to swallow me.
I used to feel like I was swimming inside myself,
sometimes drowning in a never ending sea.
I struggled for a long time, fighting them off,
but eventually I gave up and gave in.
I let the feeling of sinking lull me into indifference.
When I hit the bottom I stayed there
allowing the darkness to surround me completely.
I convinced myself it was the quiet I always craved,
when really I was trying to convince myself I wasn't alone.
I would glance up from time to time,
but it only scared me to see how far I had fallen.
I was lost —
I hated myself for who I had become and how far I'd fallen.
I saw the disappointment in the eyes of those I loved.
It only made me hate myself more.
The self-fulfilling prophecy continued,
stuck in a cycle of self-loathing and pity
fueled by my demons,
yet I continued to feed them.
Every morning I'd promise myself that today was the day,
but then night would come and
the darkness was always hungry.
The memories of that place still taunt me,
beckoning me in the dark.
I remind myself that I am not alone
so that I can see how far I've come
and how far I can fall once again.