I will never be alone.
This thing that haunts me,
possesses my mind,
my every thought.
Not a moment past
when she is not in my head,
whispering in my ear.
She is invisible to all others,
though they sense her presence.
They feel unease, worry,
but they know nothing.
They are but ignorant
of her true existence and power.
She is the reason I could never be lonely.
She is always there;
every second,
of every day…
My Ana.
Ana has been with me for about two months now.
It started casual.
I'd heard of her
and decided I would like to meet her.
I introduced myself.
At that point,
she had already poisoned my mind,
the very thought of her.
Things grew more serious.
I got to know her better,
and appreciate her.
She was my true friend,
she was the reason I lived.
It was a small price to pay,
the pain,
the emptiness.
She told me there were worse things
than the pain;
my fear.
I listened to her,
and believed her.
I knew she was right.
After a while,
they became suspicious.
They would ask me;
you see, they can feel her, too.
But they cannot understand.
Only she understands me.
They tried asking me about her,
they were worried.
They all lived in fear of her,
her power over me.
Their love, I suppose,
was the reason for their dread.
They still had no idea,
how far we had gone.
She was latched onto me,
at this time.
Our souls were one.
They guessed, they cried.
They pleaded with me to leave her.
But they never said her name.
I became more dependent.
She was becoming more dominant,
if possible.
Every mention of my horror,
she would lash out inside me.
I was scared, terrified,
but I could not let go.
I needed her;
she was the only one who could help me.
It's like an addiction,
my fear.
It had consumed my mind
and begged for me.
It beckoned, it lied.
My enemy, my drug.
She taught me to fight,
to be strong,
to resist.
Everyday,
it would call out to me
from behind its razor fangs,
trying to trap me.
I came close,
a few times it bit me, I am sure.
I ran back into the safety of her arms.
After time, I started to drift from her,
becoming more distant.
In the back of my mind,
I listened to her tell me that I would be sorry.
She threatened me,
but she was inside my head.
I was a danger to myself.
In fear, I retreated into the arms of the monster.
There was still our connection,
a nagging façade in my brain.
I cannot pretend I was not disloyal;
I surely turned on her many times.
Each time, when faced with the monster,
I would succumb.
My mind was ill with regret and guilt.
I hated myself.
I hated the monster more than anything,
but I did not hate her.
I punished myself.
My many encounters with my worst nightmare
had left a tarry residue,
I was unclean and impure.
Time after time,
I tried to return to her.
She was my sanctuary.
By then, the black shackles upon my wrists
had become a part of who I was,
the monster itself.
How I lived with it inside me,
I am unsure.
I was accustomed to another presence,
and the lack thereof had been frightening,
for the time I was alone.
But then, the filth and disease
that had filled my every pore
since I became one with it
intoxicated me.
I was in a constant opiate state,
under its terrible spell.
The feeling of being torn open along your scull,
and then turned inside out,
is not one you could imagine.
I had turned on myself,
I was the very thing I feared the most.
It is not comprehendible, I am sure.
To be entirely consumed by another being,
to become one with a monster.
To see it in your eyes,
every time you look upon yourself
in your familiar refection.
The reflection;
that's how it started,
and that's how it will always end.
Even now,
after a history of rebellion
and self-reconstruction,
the reflection is all that matters.
Even now.