(This story is about negative thoughts, inner turmoil and how hard it is to break the cycle of self criticism and destruction. Sometimes the old stuff is more comfortable than the new simply because the old is what we know.)
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I toss the covers off me in a pile on the same foundation I’ve rebuilt a hundred times. Eye to eye she and I stand. What now? Can I do this? Can I stand up to her?
I said you have to leave.
You don’t want me to stay?
No.
Are you sure? You seem anxious. Can I get you anything? A razor blade, a photo of your mom to sit next to your bed? Anything? You look like you could use a blade.
If you don’t leave I’ll call the police.
They won’t believe you. Everyone knows you’re a manipulative liar. Besides, they’ll take you instead of me.
She expects me to pause but I don’t. Today I’m steady with my words, determined to separate us for good. Tonight is the night she sleeps shivering and alone. Tonight is her lonely night. I’m sure of it this time so with everything I’ve got I tell her again, “I asked you to leave. You can either walk out of that door or they take you out on a stretcher.”Did you threaten me you weak little, little girl!? You’re entire life you’ve depended on my voice, she chuckled. You listen to me like I’m some kind of god. I make sure you don’t get too full of yourself or act like you belong anywhere and you eat it up like a hot bowl of soup. You can’t beat me. I’ve spent my entire life breaking your will, holding your tongue bound and your feet weight down by guilt. That’s my only purpose in life. You’re distracted by hope and beauty, but I have one purpose, destroy you. Think about it, how does a peon plan beat it’s superior?”
She’s right. She’s been here night after night ridiculing me, mocking me and making light of my every flaw. With skill she pounds into my eyes the truth of my inner filth which can never be cleaned. The Riddler in sing-song scorn tells me I deserved what I got, in fact I wanted it. I’ll never be anything but a sex toy, a punching bag and a slave. My mother may not own me anymore but The Riddler sure does. With no owner I am nothing at all. But wait, I’ve read stories about the land of freedom and the journey to find it’s treasures. There’s a map on worn cloth and an X that marks the spot. Maybe, just maybe if I gather provisions and even the weapons I’ve been given I can follow the trail. I can find my way to this land and take it, take my freedom. Privy to my thoughts the Riddler scoffs, “And you intend to use these weapons against me? They’ll take you straight to prison. If you think you had it bad growing up wait until you get in prison where they’ll make you wish you could come back here and let me ride you.”
I won’t go to prison, I say with confidence, It would be self defense and I have witnesses. My friends and anyone who loves me …
She laughs, “Loves you? You’re kidding right? Have you forgotten what you are?” If she only knew how often I try to forget “what I am” she wouldn’t ask the question. As if I don’t know what she means I continue, “Anyone who loves me knows what you’ve done. They know I’ve asked you to leave before but you’ve kept me captive here. Killing you is self defense and no one on earth would say anything different. I suggest you pack your bag of negative banter and leave on your own.”
“You want me here. You need me here.”
For a few short seconds we stood eye to eye. With her head down and tail between her legs she lifted her bag of harm and shuffled out the door. “You’re going to need me,” she said quietly. “You’re going to need a reminder that you’re worthless or you’ll never make it out here. I’ve been here for years helping piss you off so you get up and produce. I’ve been here providing you with sickening visions of what your mother did to you and with what result? You stood up and fought. You stood up. When I’m gone, who will be here to make you stand up?”
She’s right, her constant tearing down forced me to rebuild but why must I always rebuild? Can’t I keep my foundation strong and expand instead of always repair what I have? Yes, her constant cruelty and verbal abuse kept me on my toes but after walking on my toes so long the rest of my foot no longer knows how to support me. I want to walk flat on this earth not tip toe across it. Yes, it’s time for her to go. She can either walk out on her own or by force.
The Riddler slowly closes the door behind her and her footsteps begin to fade. I want to call out to her to come back. We’ve been together so long, now I have to try and be okay with all the positives in my life. I have to begin to accept that I’m a good person and accept without her contradicting voice that I deserve to live an abuse free existence. The one who ridicules me has been my closest companion since who knows. She was there the first time my mother put her hands on me. She walked me to and from school. We rode bikes together, painted and sang together. She was there every time I lifted a fork to my mouth or peered in a mirror. Life long companions we’ve been until now. How do I break a life long bond and expect to feel whole without her?
I can’t hear her footsteps anymore. My companion is gone.
Slowly I open the door then look back to my covers in a messy pile on a foundation waiting to be rebuilt.
Robert of Morton’s Pride
STORY: The Riddle – Saturday, February 28, 2009-1:28PM EST
Yeah the Riddler is gone. If she comes back and meets her demise, I’ll represent you pro bono – you’re right, it’s sure to be self-defense.
There is a map to that place of freedom you’ve heard rumors of. Though it’s always tempting to stay with what we know (because it’s familiar, because its constant lamentation of our defects and worthlessness are a sort of motivating force), there does come a time to shuck off the old and stand in all our newborn newness of life.
It can be lonely without that old gravelly singsong voice insisting on our badness, but the one who has sung to you these songs of your own lack of worth, this constant companion of yours, does not sing the truth. You may feel alone without her constant presence but, in truth, you are but ridding yourself of her so that you may embrace the presence of Another.