The Darkness.

It had been a wonderful week full of joy, she’d surfed the wave of happiness like a professional. Seven consecutive days, a new record for her. She hadn’t even thought about the other thing at all, so when it began to make its presence known she was a little taken aback. An irrational feeling of unease was the first sign of its approach. An anxious fluttering in her chest, heartbeat stepping up a couple of notches and the unsettling sense of a vague smokey shadow swirling lazily in her peripheral vision.

As she glances around in a false nonchalant manner and wipes soap suds onto the towel, she notes this is where it usually happens. Maybe the feng shui of the space is to blame, the mirror to her right on the window ledge must be in the wrong place, the lay out of the plant and soap dispenser or the pull blind could be affecting the flow of chi. Catching sight of her reflection she impulsively turns the mirror face down on the sill. She takes a step back covering her mouth with her hand and steadies herself at the counter with the other. Vertigo grips her momentarily and a fleeting feeling of nausea adds to the dizziness. She has been startled by the reflection of her dead eyes looking out from the mirror dulled by this unwanted presence.

Upstairs attending to her ablutions she feels the first touch of the shadowy tentacles sneaking into her head. Soft almost gentle, stroking and teasing her brain. Then a thrust disturbing a memory, salt poured into the wound of doubt and an irritant rubbing against paranoia. A reservoir of tears straining behind the eyes prickling painfully, threatening to burst the dam. The shadow begins to enfold her in a lovers embrace and enters her slowly, absorbs it’s self into every inch of her being filling her to the brim, suffocating every positive atom with its powerful force.

It’s cold and dark in this cave but there’s no fear, just disappointment in herself for not holding it at bay for longer. For allowing it to overpower her again adding more fuel to the fire of failure. Only random convoluted thoughts jump around in her jittery brain like so many fleas on a mangy cat. She thinks she must remember to change the layout of the sink area when she escapes this time. Replaying recent conversations and cringing at her own inadequacy to trust in herself and others. Always the clown or jester of the court or so she sees it that way.

Of course no one will realise this is happening because she will continue to wash dishes and smile when necessary and float through however many hours or days it takes to fight through. There will be a quietness about her as she struggles to hold eye contact and few words will be spoken as all confidence in her abilities are strangled and lifeless. She can only wait as yin and yang battle inside for equilibrium and freedom and neurons spark to produce the much-needed manna. The butterfly will emerge from the chrysalis and breathe clean fresh air and dance in the sunlight once more.

Until then she is the prisoner of the Darkness.

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