A Chattering Beast...

Silence. That’s what she could equate this too.

It had taken a while for her to notice it, to truly comprehend it, but today it had finally clicked.

That endless, needling, nagging train of thoughts that ran on and on eternally in her head had finally silenced. For once in her life, when she let a thought come, she wasn’t met by a thousand others. That toxic, corrosive voice didn’t answer back. It no longer coiled and weaved itself through every inch of her essence, digging and dragging claws no longer caused her to flinch inwardly each time she let herself breathe.

She had borne this shapeless, noisy creature all her life. Looking back, it was hard to imagine that the beast wasn’t always the way it was now, but she knew it simply couldn’t have been.

As a child, it was small and soft. A gentle creature whimpering softly into her ear. She had needed it then. Needed to know when to hide, when to be quiet, when to be still. It had served to keep her safe, to protect her. She grew to trust it to guard her, whether she realized it or not.

In high school, she dulled it. Kept it sedated. She offered it whatever strange cocktail it craved to keep it in line. She fed it one poison after the next, never knowing where it may lead, just knowing (or at least believing) that it was what this issue may need.

More. more, more. That’s what it took to keep the beast contained. She lamented, in part, to another close to her heart.

“Oh yeah,” They laughed, not grasping the severity. “You were always like that. When you first moved in, you’d say a hundred times a day ‘I love you, Gramma. (Please let me stay.)’”

It confused her. Surprised her. Could it really have been that way? She couldn’t remember it, not even a bit. Looking back on it now made her want to turn away. The beast had been growing, right by her side. When she was little, it was impossible to tell. Relative to her, it had always been this size. Then she stopped growing, having reached her full height, but the beast just kept going, as if it had every right.

She denied it at first, still offering compensation to keep it in line. As long as she fed it, she could handle it, right?

It was so normalized for her, to hear its whispering and chattering, that for years she hadn’t even realized that it was an issue. Each and every day she was bombarded with its noise. There were signs, of course. Things she knew had to change.

I can’t stop the thoughts of suffering and pain. I drive along, and in my head it begins to play. I see these scenarios, these stories, these thoughts. All the ways things will go wrong, the ways my heart will stop. Not literally, of course, I’ve never wanted that. But I see it shatter, I see my happiness shot. Those I love, the ones I need most, I see them die and then their memories haunt me like a ghost. It plays for hours, or days at a time. I can’t stop it, no matter how hard I try.

That, she worked on. She had to. It was maddening.

It was a struggle. A constant fight. Each time it spoke up, she’d tell it it wasn’t right. “Tell them they’re silly thoughts. That will shut them up.” It had seemed stupid but…hey, why not?

And it worked, for a time. She felt so content. “Oh yeah, I just have to talk back.” She’d say, telling those around her how much things had changed.

The more thoughts she put down, though, the more would spring up.The poison she’d fed it for most of her life seemed to backfire on her, leaving her beast toxic enough to corrode her inside.

So it changed its approach. Rather than conquer her with size, it would conserve its energy, aiming to fight the long fight. No longer a snarling mongrel, but now a long, ever growing snake.

No war is ever clean. No side wins every fight. She had her ups and downs, of course. Such is life. No being, no matter the type, could scare her though. She had found a guiding light. She just had to hold on until the time was right.

She worked on herself, holding her head up high. At least around others, but rarely when alone at night. She kept trudging on through the muck and the strife, not just in her head but with others in her life. The beast still seemed justified, when she always had to fight. Annoying, obviously, but a simple fact of life.

But then…Her goal. She had made it at last. She moved overseas, through countries, away from strife. She found herself safe, bundled in that warm light. She was here. She would be alright.

It had been harder than she expected though, adjusting to this new life. That inherent trust she had built with the beast when she was so little had never truly gone away. It was right often enough that, regardless, she’d hear out what it had to say.

The problem was, the fucker never shut up.

It whispered, it snarled, it bared its teeth. and in return she’d bare her own.

“God, stop it. Not everything is a fight. We’re okay, alright?”

She hadn’t even realized she had been doing it. That she had been wound up so tight. She’d stammered and apologized, trying to make things right, suddenly realizing how she’d been living her life.

So she kept her guard up, but not against others. She kept her sight on the beast, and did her best not to fight. She saw the habits it had, the way it overreacted. The more she watched, the more the uncovered, the more frightening the beast got. It mimicked her perfectly, chiming in each time she spoke. Every thought she had was met by a million others. Each moment of happiness doubted, each comfort denied, each moment of hope stomped down on sight.

It snaked and twisted its way through her thoughts, lumbering along, oozing corrosive acid to hurt her from inside.

I can’t do this alone, she’d pleaded and cried. Maybe I need therapy. Maybe that will help me survive.

And so she’d started, but the going was rough. It took awhile, but she realized it simply wasn’t enough. The beast had gotten louder, angrier at her strife. Most days she felt this was her lot in life. The more she accepted that though, the harder life got. She was drowning, completely, overwhelmed and desperately clinging to a dying light. She wanted to end it, as a way to save herself.

As she lay there at night, staring off at the walls, she knew that she had given it her all. The beast was winning. There was no fighting back. Not on her own.

Please. Please help me. I can’t fight it back.

She’d never been more serious, more genuine in her life. She had to do this, despite the risk, or how hard it felt. They had to help her, before she did something she couldn’t take back. And so they did, despite her misgivings. Despite her concerns, despite the beast’s determination that it was still winning.

The first week or two had been just that. The beast dragged her down, digging its claws into her back. She wept and wailed, silently, of course. Keeping it in and letting things run their course.

But the last few days…had been easier. Quieter. Not perfect, it reminded her. “Nothing ever is, you dope.”

And today as she stood there, wet dishes in hand, she let her thoughts wander. She saw a future of happiness, one nearly void of strife. She saw herself living a happy life. “Recovery is possible. I think I’ll be okay.” A previously impossible thing for her to say. For once she had silence, and hope for a new way.

Hope that finally, she might actually stand a chance at being okay.