Constant companion​

In a belated Mental Health Month post, I wrote a thing. What if I personified my mental illness? I know this is unlike anything I’ve ever posted on here, but I was bored. So here we go, a brief vignette imagining my mental illness as an entity.

Sometimes it feels like my depression and anxiety are another being and she will not leave me alone. She is my best friend. She is my worst enemy. But she is always there, and even when she’s not physically present, she is waiting in the shadows, gemstone eyes glinting and smile glowing, waiting for her chance to grow.

I open my eyes after a relatively sleepless night and the first thing I feel is her vise-like grip around my throat, preventing me from swallowing. She moves her hand down, pressing on my stomach and settling all of her weight there, like a stone. And I hear her whisper in my ear:

“Wake up, you’re pathetic. Everyone else has been awake for hours and you’re rotting up here in your tower, like some fucking delusional Disney princess.”

Her icy breath causes my stomach to sink. She’s right. I should get up. I suck at waking up.

I trudge over to my ensuite bathroom, my eyes bloodshot from the very little sleep I got last night.

Hands grasp my waist, pinching at any excess flesh before snaking down to my thighs. “You’re disgusting. Do you really think he’ll consider your bubble butt a prize if it’s attached to Monstro the Whale?” She’s right. I should definitely go to the gym and cut carbs. She curls her body around mine, resting her head on my shoulder. “You couldn’t function without me. You need me. I keep you interesting. Go on. Look at me. Tell me you wouldn’t be interesting or relevant without me.”

I look to meet her eyes in the mirror. The face that looks back at me is black. It’s inkier than an October midnight, with eyes the same colour as a garnet. Her jet-black hair hangs down her back and her jet-black fingers are spindly, pointed and created for grabbing on and not letting go. She smiles, showing off perfect white teeth. “Go on, then,” she practically hisses.

“I wouldn’t be relevant or interesting without you,” I whisper, fumbling to spread Crest onto my toothbrush.

She grins again. “That’s my girl.”


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