It still comes sometimes, doesn’t it? Of course it does. And you think it’s your fault. It comes when you are alone. So you do everything you can to be near someone. Anyone. Even if, say, you don’t particularly care for that person’s disposition or choice of music. Even if that someone isn’t good to you, doesn’t love you, even hurts you sometimes. “What’s it matter”, you say, “it’s better than it”.
The pain. The memories. The haunting.
Just when you’re feeling like you’re getting a bit of a break, then it starts to come when you are with someone. Anyone. It doesn’t care who you are or whom you are with. In fact, “the more the merrier”, it says. It likes to breed. So you start doing more, and more, and more. A paper route perhaps, or more university, more work, more aerobics, more sex, more food, more drugs. But it’s not going anywhere. In fact, it’s getting louder and hanging around all too often, in your opinion. It’s getting stronger. And scarier, and more strange indeed. But it lingers, and with your permission sometimes too. Pain is brutal, for sure, but trudging up old memories, ooooh, it’s too horrifying to think of. Memories must be exorcised for the pain to go away. The only thing that can exorcise memories is the light and air of voice. Pain grows in the dark of silence. This is not a secret told to you by your friend with blue ribbons who was told to her by her friend in a pink dress. No. This is a monster of a secret that started when it touched your skin and somewhere, deep in our hearts, we all carry around this beastly knowledge of what happened to you. To her. To that little girl on the corner, you know, the funny one with the weird parents. And to him. You know, that little snotty one over the road that likes to set bugs on fire. Sure. We all know her and him – because we’ve all been her and him. And they were born by it. And it is still here – haunting our hearts and minds.
The haunting will always come. When it told you that, it did not lie. It will always be there. It’s frightened you nearly half to death with threats of “I’ll be back” or “don’t turn the lights on” or “don’t tell anyone, right, our secret” or “I’ll kill you if you say anything” or everyone’s favorite “nobody will believe you anyway. They’ll all be mad at you for this if you tell”.
And that is it’s little secret, it’s little white lie to you so you don’t kill it. If you speak out into the light, it will die. And then just whom will it have to haunt anymore? So you learn you musn’t kill it, no, you must protect it. And it will protect you. Right? That’s what it tells you. And you so desperately want to believe, but all you really believe is that somehow it’s your fault..