The Bloody Doors Off

I kept the slippers from the hospital. It’s a reminder of where I was.

I’m wearing this at this moment. Not out of fear. Not because I’m sliding into despair.

But because I’m attempting to embrace that part of me that I generally fear.

Everyone has demons. And we all deal with them differently. The darker they are, the harder we attempt to bury them. Some drink. Others dull the pain with drugs, or food. A few punish themselves by cutting.

I’ve done my share to beat back the night. There’s shit I’m not proud of. At least one thing I can’t forgive myself for.

But now? I write. Because I need to get them out. Shove them into the sunlight. Let them burn.

Song for Rachel was a good start.

And I just figured out the next story. I had the initial idea a few months ago, but it was too… huge. Like most of my ideas, I tend to blow it up before cutting the chaff and getting to the root of it. And you know what they say, write what you know. And I know stuff. I’ve lived through some weird and wonderful shit.

So, here comes Possession. Hold onto your seats. It’s gonna be a rollercoaster.