The Nightmare

Only at times like this would he allow himself to admit the dismal truth. He had tried so hard to hide it; although when your hiding you cannot run. Often he wished he had run from the truth in the beginning while there was still time, still hope. He told himself it wasn't his fault, that people made him like this, he blamed everything or anything as long as it wasn't him. It took him ages to recognize the truth. When he looked into the mirror he wondered if he was even human anymore, the lies had buried him. He was a lost boy in the world. By his own standards, he had become what he feared the most, he had fought so hard and still he lost the fight. He couldn't deny it any longer he saw himself as a monster.

Sometimes he wondered if he even cared about anything at all. He seemed confused about everything and nothing all at once. He constantly contradicted himself at every corner of his own existence. What had become of the little boy with all those hopes and dreams? Perhaps, he already knew the answer. Maybe it was the lack of caring about anything. His existence didn't matter anymore he didn't care if he lived or died. His regrets were manny and yet so few; they were in a tangle of the good and bad. If he was being honest wit himself, he had forgotten how to tell the difference between the two. There was something so unsettling about him, so cold. He was in the darkness, but he didn't want to look for the light. There was something wrong with him, but no one knew how to fix it so they let him be.

Eventfully he realized that, that the reason this all began was this sense of oppression it over time turned into depression. He didn't know when it started to turn, this state of metamorphosis took a very long time. He started out with being normal and good, but then he started to see evil. He hated the evil at first, but slowly he saw the good in the bad and the bad in the good. He realized that the lies were everywhere and the truth had been buried with him. He was always told that one way was right, but he wasn't so sure of that anymore. He needed to know more, he had so many questions that were dismissed. People never cared about what he truly thought as long as he acted the right way. He became so good at acting he couldn't tell if he wasn't acting or not. It scared him not knowing who he was and also, not knowing if the reflection in the mirror was his true self.

Over the course of time, he saw what he had become. When he was a child he would have envisioned himself as a monster. Had he really become that? What his younger self would have run from? The worst part was now he realized the truth about monsters and nightmares, they had stories. They weren't normal, but there was cause that made them become what they were. He now knew the pain they had suffered, the hell they had gone through. It wasn't an excuse rather a fact. It was merely something to be observed, a note to be taken when dealing with monsters. The road of hurt was one of a monster. The only way to be freed from the pain was to forgive, but long ago he had lost that ability.

When he looked back he saw how he had grieved the loss of his humanity. He went through each stage slowly and through that saw the truth. For a very long time, he denied the very fact that something was wrong with him, then one day it hit him. That day he had a raging river of anger he couldn't contain he was filled with hate and bitterness. He even could still taste it in his mouth the metallic response to his own self-hatred.  Then he would plead, bargain anything just to be the way he was once a long time ago, but his dream was impossible. The depression was almost the worst, all he wanted now was death, but the grim reaper never came. When he finally accepted  what he had become it was a relief. He understood fully what he was now. He was the nightmare.