Claude Has Weapons

Fuck it all to hell, Claude is BACK.

That fucker is like a Die Hard movie…he just keeps SHOWING UP. It never ever ends.

But this time….this time feels…different.

Before, he used to show up and just…hang. If I went into the living room, there he was, sitting next to me on the couch, breathing coarse rude comments into my brain, things about how worthless I am, how I’m not successful, how my parents don’t want me, and neither do a lot of other people. He’d lie in the bed with me at night, and through my bouts of insomnia he would remind me of all the things I was ashamed of, all the things I’d done wrong, all the bad things that had happened to me that I somehow MUST have deserved, how worthless I am, all the things that during the day you manage to keep buried deep deep DEEP down inside but in the still of the night, come rushing back. That was Claude doing that, wrapping his wicked tail around my head, caressing me malevolently, gaining strength from my descent into sadness and depression.

The only way I could get him to shut the hell up was with sleeping pills. But even as I fell asleep, I felt his hot breath on my neck, and I knew that he would be the first thing I was conscious of as I awoke.

Now…now…

He’s no longer just sending waves of hot breath over me. No longer just curling his massive spiky tail around me in an attempt to lure me into being his hostage.

Now…he has weapons.

He has claws.

And with his claws he has lightly drawn a line down my chest and reached in to pierce my heart. He has no interest in slashing it, there is no pleasure in a quick death. It must be slow…I must be bled out. I must be slowly weakened as the life drips out of me, one small red drop at a time.

He has knives. Like the needles of an acupuncturist, he applies them lightly at first, so that initially, I’m not even aware that they are there. But then a gasp of surprise hits me as he rams them in, and I realize that the fine acupuncturist needle is actually a jian, a double-edged sword that he has brought with him from ancient Asia to fillet me like a fish and leave me gasping, as fish do with their dying breaths. I could take the knife out, but to do so is to die. Yet to leave the knife in, is to walk with constant agony and pain. The knife acts to plug the hole, and so, for now, it saves me. But one day…one day…it must come out. And then…then what?

What weapons do I have?

I know…I know I must have some weapons somewhere….

I just…I just don’t have the energy to find them right now. I am so so so so…tired. I have been stabbed so mercilessly, so often, that all I can do is lie there, because even to move is to increase the pain. And anyhow…

I just want to lie down…

And go to sleep.

What is there to move for?

Oh Claude. One day, you will best me. I will believe everything you tell me because…I will stop seeing what I want to see, and begin seeing…

The truth.

Oh blessed sleep, when after a long journey of despair and pain and suffering and loss and rejection and utter hopelessness…

We find peaceful slumber…

In the arms of God.

 

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