There are demons who follow everyone around. Not demons in the sense that creatures from Hell as tip-toeing about in your shadows waiting to snag your soul when you least expected it; after all, it’s hard to tip-toe when you have hooves, ’cause that clopping makes a hell of a noise. I know, ’cause I used to be a demoness in Second Life–let me tell you, finding a pair of boots was hell. True, pure, hell.
I have demons of a different kind. They whisper in my ear and tell me what a load of crap I am, and then giggle at their own inventiveness. They run you down as much as possible and twist your head around so much you look like you came out of rehearsals for The Exorcist. Just once I’d like to get a succubus come and visit me, but that’s asking for too much, I suppose.
The demons came for me yesterday, and it was a close thing. They hit me at work, and never let up, keeping my heart in a constant state of feeling like it wanted to leap out of my body and run for cover. That is one of the worst feelings in the world, and after you’ve suffered with it for a few hours, you want the pain to stop. It didn’t, and it wouldn’t. It lay there like a dull ache, a rotted remnant of all the past pain through which I’ve suffered over the years.
It finally grew so bad I made a comment to some of my Facebook friends. It was one of those cryptic statements that gets people wondering what the hell is going on. I made a few, then left. I figured I’d stay off Facebook for a while, come back when I got home–after I chased the demons away–and then go back and apologize later. Little did I know the storm I’d set off . . .
I have friends, people who started calling each other and discussing the fact they thought they were something wrong with me, and the finally found the one people who, if they talked to me, would find out what was bothering me. Yep–that person. You know who . . .
The story has a happy ending. After many tears were shed and words exchanged, I settled down, I got my head together, I shot a video for my friends explaining what happened and what I was feeling, and everyone felt better when it was all over.
But there was something else taken away from it all . . .
In my current story, in the scene where Annie visited Kerry in the hospital close to the time when everyone’s suppose to go to bed, she tells Kerry he’s worthy of love. he so used to not receiving affection that her words strike him hard. He’s never imagined that he was worthy of anything much less love.
One of the things I was told last night is that I have to learn to love myself. I need to be selfish and put myself ahead of my love for others and make sure I remind myself, day and night, that I’m freakin’ amazing, and that I love myself. And I realized that’s something that Kerry doesn’t understand–not yet, at least. Even later in his relationship with Annie, he’s yet to figure out that he’s worthy of his own love. He doesn’t realize that if he doesn’t love himself, all he’s leaving for Annie to love is an empty, dead shell of a person. It’s why he feels such insecurity in later stories; it’s why he lets his parents treat him like an outsider. He hasn’t figured out that while he has Annie’s love, in order to survive, he needs his own love.
I’m getting better. I love someone, but I’ve found it hard to love myself. But with the hormonal changes, with the continuing transition, I’m now getting in touch with the person I’m suppose to really love. I don’t want to be a shell any longer; the deadness inside is no longer desirable–
It’s time to tell the demons to take a hike and let me love the one who needs my love.
Though if a nice succubus wants to stick around, I won’t complain . . .