Rose Hesketh, 22 Aug '12

The Monster.

The monster came back today. You were doing well, almost three months without letting him back in, even though there were times when he stood knocking at the door.
But you stayed strong, and refused him entry.

Today, your defences came crumbling down - brick by brick, stone by stone - until there was just enough room for him to squeeze through.
And now that he's back, he's back with a vengance, ready to make up for all the times he's missed out on.

You fell into my arms and begged for an end; I held you tightly and begged for him to go, for him to leave us alone.

I've held you like this for ten years now. I held you when I was a child, and I hold you
as I become an adult. It's still just as hard to see you like this. Its not something you ever get used to.

People can never truly understand. Not really. They pretend to know and give the monster complicated names, as if a name will make it go away. It won't.

They tilt their heads, give a sympathetic sigh, and ask:
'Are you feeling blue today?'

'No!' I want to scream for you, 'No, he is not feeling blue.'

Because blue is the colour of the sky. Blue is the colour of the ocean.
Blue is the colour of joy.

This monster isn't blue. He isn't water lapping at your feet.
This monster is black. Black, black, black. He is the sobbing I hear at midnight.
He is the edge of the abyss where you stand, enticing you to take one more step. He is where hope curls up and dies.

And silently, silently - where none can see me - I hide away in fear of the day the monster comes to call for me.
He will come when I am weak. He will creep in when I am too busy holding you to notice. I will not be able to fight him off.

I fear that day more than any.

Because who will hold me when he comes?