I always thought my monster was made of stone, stubble, and Bulgarian blood, but time has made my mind close doors. And I think now, maybe, I've forgotten to remember the other half of the story. Perhaps the beast was my caregiver, someone I saw fall into sadness, tumble through despair, and grieve the experiences that managed to skip away once I was born.
Maybe I was someone's nightmare too.
I've always felt it. The hate. Those eyes looking at me, looking after me because they were supposed to. But the loss was there too. And so was love--regrets when I wasn't fulfilled, guilt when I was.
There is never anyone to blame but one's own self. For all the anger and fear that has kept my company and wrapped itself around my bones when I was young, my ears as I grew older, and now my courage and pride, somehow my mind still wanders into the realm of disaster and loneliness.
But I am not alone. With me I carry secrets--a man's rage, a woman's sadness, the subsequent, apparent nightmarish explosion that resulted in an unnatural union. Wed not under God, but in the fluorescent lighting of a house of human law, wrought with error and manipulated by mortal emotions.
I cannot think. I cannot feel. But I who I am supposed to be--the scapegoat, the fool, the loving daughter. No matter what. Because I owe my life to those who granted it to me, whether I wanted it or not. Before time, I could've fallen into silence, but instead began consciousness.
I kneel before these damning facts and allow them to tear me apart, lay their blades on my shoulders, their hands on my face, their words on my spirit. I know--though I will never win, will never be anything but defiled and defeated--it will pass, and bruises will heal.
The world continues moving on, no matter what happens to its individuals. Shade may block my sun, but it will come. It will come.