Murder she wrote.

I have come to consider the darkness to be a friend, this black dog that comes and goes, always leaving hair that clogs up my mind even when the creature is ausent, its own form of love letters, hidden in nooks and crevices.

It’s ironic as now I have adopted a black dog and she sheds a LOT of hair but she brings laughter and bruises to my life, headbutts made of love and overexcitement, it made me think about my other black dog, the one who pads silently beside me, inside me, everywhere, anywhere it can reach… I used to think it was only there to hurt me but I wonder now; is the black dog cursed too? 
I have created this creature in my mind, this animal that has grown and changed along side me, now a majestic wolfish dog, with shining eyes and paws so big they look goofy, as if he never grew into them… His eyes are sad, almost as if he tries to help with his presence but is cursed with only pain…
Even then, there are nights I hug him, accepting the fate, embracing his prickly fur, his breathing the only thing I can hold onto as his breathing is mine, he is me, we are one… Aren’t we? It’s all in my mind, this beautiful creature, the pain, the darkness… How can it only be in someones mind yet drive their whole life?
I read the other day something like how shocking it was that the brain named itself and not only did it do that but in every language.
When you stop to think about it, just for a second, stop reading and actually think about that. The brain named itself.
I wonder sometimes if my brain is mine or I belong to my brain and it enjoys torturing me. My psychologist is worried I separate things in my mind too much, he says all these people that scream at me, all these thoughts are mine. How can I hate myself so much? How can I be fighting myself? A war inside me, like a book, a thousand characters so detailed in every way, they are me.
I killed some, finally they are silent. I told him I got them to leave yet I still can’t get the bloodstains off the carpet floor of that room… The guilt looms and people still wonder what happened… We are better off, I mean of course, I am better off now, but the blood… It still smells like pennies and it won’t go away, no matter how many airfresheners I put in there. I even created a cleaning lady to help, she got tired in ten minutes and took a rest like I do with my house. It’s too messy in here, up here inside and out here around me… How can I be organised without knowing who I am..?
It’s like trying to get to know an onion, each layer looks the same but is different, they all make you cry though.
I’m unsure about myself, I used to know who I was, or pretended to be I guess…
Now I’m torn, happiness is infront of me and those people are shouting again, telling me to fuck it up before it disappears, it will, there’s no IF for these people, happy endings are myths, lies so they can hurt you more later after you believe it. They taunt me, it would be so easy to break this beautiful happiness I have infront of me, they lead me to the pieces, the flimsy parts I am working so hard to strengthen and they push at them with their tiny feet, swinging from my scaffolding, using it as a swing, their feet the wrecking ball.
I picture my partners face, his freckles and lines, how his eyes changed since we met, the beautiful sparkle that they now have, his smile contagious.
Happiness is so fragile.
They hand me the tools to destroy him every day, these people in my mind, sometimes I swear the black dog comes to my rescue, making me tired and sad when they want me to drink, to stray, to fight. I can see him biting their necks and the tools falling from their hands and me along with them, almost welcoming the black wave crashing over me.
I don’t know anymore what is me and what is my illness, what I decide and what’s decided for me.
Whoever is cheering for me up there, I love you.
cropped-octapus-eye-ocean

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