I looked into the harsh eyes of the Beast and I did not feel fear.
His stench was foul, the bones of his fallen victims and my fallen adversaries littering the ground beneath his feet, but as my own listless and tired eyes gazed back into his, I did not feel fear.
I had no strength left in my body for fear.
I had no sword in my sheath nor no arrow in my quiver; no, no, all I had with me was the same repeated words of those who had not met the Beast and the dreadful sensation of nothingness.
With no resolve and no hope, I did the only thing I could even think to do: I embraced the Beast.
You see, you hear countless tales of those fighting this creature with razor blades, with guns, with ropes, with alcohol, drugs, with whatever it is that they think will end this battle, because they think that every battle must be fought with strength and with violence, but that is not always true.
Sometimes, the biggest weapon we have against something is acceptance.
The Beast is foul.
He has tortured my friends, my family, and myself.
But the Beast cannot be defeated with our weapons.
He is far too strong for that.
As my arms wrap around this creature, his darkness seeping into me, I suddenly feel.
Just a little.
I feel sensations I have not felt since I first met the Beast, sensations that very few feel on a daily basis.
Realization dawns on me.
Accepting the Beast does not mean overcoming him.
It means embracing him, living with his body intertwined with mine.
He may thrash within me some days and we may break apart some days, but this, this joining?
It is much better than the constant battle.
It is much, much better than that
overwhelming
sense
of
nothingness.
