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This is it, Ross my boy, I tell myself and fuck if it isn’t Dad’s voice speaking inside my ringing head. Down in the doldrums. Down, as in, all the way down to the bottom. You hit the end of the line. You’re sinking faster now.
No lifeline.
Let go.
But I keep going. No idea why. One foot in front of the other, one fucking drop of blood after the other. I walk toward the water. Cross paths with a couple stray dogs, hiss at them until they slink away.
Don’t wanna think about how much this life stinks, or I might just decide to end it. It’s crossed my mind a few times. Go ahead and be shocked. Go ahead and accuse me of being a coward. Tell me others have it worse. That I’m not worth an easy way out.
It’s what I keep telling myself, too. You don’t get off that lightly. You don’t get to escape. You did bad shit. You have to pay.
Fucking hell.
Now, I’ve never been religious. Never gave penance much thought as I grew up. Never thought much beyond getting through the day, staying out of dad’s clutches even for a few hours, numbing the anger and pain with booze and drugs, when I could get my hands on them. Making others hurt, transferring the pain to them, that was my way. Why should they be okay when I wasn’t, right?
It made sense at the time. Still does sometimes. When the anger gets the better of me. Gets fucking hold of me, sinking claws into my chest and shaking me. Making me into what I am.
Nothing can save me anymore.
Yeah, I’m the monster in your closet, under your bed.
Run away while you can.
