The Marionette

Dear Mother

Mother? I have the worst nightmares. They are not the typical ones, they're the scary ones. Voices in my head are telling me things, Mother. The worst of things. They're telling me I'm worthless. Why are you looking at me like this?

The voices, they're always there. They whisper the meanest of things. Have you ever thought about death, Mother? I certainly have.

I'm hurting really badly Mother, my heart doesn't feel whole anymore. The world isn't as bright. The colours are fading, Mother.

Is there something wrong with me? I'm not crazy.

Night time is the scariest, it's when the monsters come out and play. They play with my thoughts, my feelings, my emotions. They torture me. They know that night time is the best, because it's the time where I'm most alone.

These nightmares, Mother... They're real. They're not the ones that you wake up from and realise that you're safe and everything is fine. They keep haunting you, tracking you down, hiding in your shadow because they know! They know you're weak and easy prey.

Mother, what is wrong with me? On the outside, people don't notice. They don't notice the dark behind my eyes. My fake smile, my fake laugh. They don't notice because they don't know what it's like, to have those maniacal demons following you around like a persistent fly on a rotting corpse.

Because that's what I am, Mother. Yes. A rotting corpse. A body with a numb mind, a broken reminder of the person I once used to be. Help me, Mother! I can't do this anymore. I can see the doubt in your eyes, do you not believe me?

Can you not see it? Are you like them, the others who fail to see the fake? Are you, Mother? Are you blind to the truth too? Or have you become too accustomed to the new me that you don't even know the difference between the imposters that have taken over my body?

I'm scared, Mother. I'm held captive, I'm doing things I wish I didn't. The regret and hate is unbearable. The voices, they're there. Telling me that cutting would make me forget, that the blood would make me feel better. But sometimes it's so bad, Mother. They're telling me to do things, to wrap a rope around my neck, to run a bathtub and cut my veins so I could bleed out, to drown in the sea, to jump from a building, to shoot a bullet through my brain. To kill myself.

Maybe if I do what they tell me to do, I will finally be free. See, Mother, I can be freed! I can fly through the skies, and never worry about the monsters inside of my head. It'll be easier for everyone.

Yes, I'm going to succumb to their demands, to the temptation. I am their puppet, their marionette. I will do it, maybe death isn't so bad after all. All those scarred wrists and thighs... Maybe I'll finally be beautiful up there, in the afterlife. I'm getting ready. I am waiting for the night. Carefully making knots in the rope. I won't regret this Mother, I'm finally happy.