“There’s a corner of her room she never looks towards. A monster lurks there. One she cannot defeat without great harm to herself and her surroundings. It’s been there since she moved in, but only recently has it begun to attack her...”
The words sat there on the page as she stared at the computer, not sure what else to write. Doubt had plagued her mind, affecting everything she had done for the past few weeks. This doubt was especially difficult in class. Stick after stick, but yet no blood. Motivation to do anything was quick and fleeting. Life was crushing. Everywhere she turned, they all said the same thing. Push back. Branch out. Talk to people. Open windows. Walk. Create art. Do what you want, that’ll fix all your problems.
It all ended in shambles. Dozens upon dozens of half-written manuscripts sat untouched for months. She had the ideas planned out. She knew where she wanted it to go, but as she stared at the monitor, fingers hovering above the keyboard, nothing came. There was no muscle memory typing as the scenes flashed through her mind. A hand moved over towards the mouse, wanting to go back to Deviantart, but she forced it back over the keyboard. She had to focus. She had to not spend money. Her family needed it more than she did. They needed groceries more than she needed to buy art she would never use. They were running low on salt and pepper, something she would have to run to the store after class for. Maybe she’d splurge and pick up some bread and milk, too. They were rare treats.
The text cursor steadily blinked, but never moved forwards or backwards.
A slow, dull pain appeared in her side. How long had she been sitting here staring at the cursor? There was the steady thrum of water pouring from the kitchen sink as she emerged from her room. Her sisters were up doing the dishes. In the back of her mind, she cursed herself. She was the one who was supposed to do them, but she hadn’t had the motivation for weeks. Not like she had the motivation to do much else, anyway.
The squeakers still need to be fed, she idly thought as she shut the bathroom door behind herself. There was a monster in this room, too. It was smaller than the monster that lurked ever present in her room, but much harder to ignore when leaving. As she sat, she tried to think of where she wanted this story to go. She couldn’t. With her head down, she stood in front of the sink and began to wash her hands. As always, as she was rubbing the broken soap bar over her hands and wrists, she looked up. It was an old habit when she would compulsively look into it when she was younger. When she hated how she looked more than she did now. When she wished to fit in and not be made fun of in school.
The monster had caught her once more.
Two pairs of greenish-brown eyes met. From there it moved to the mop of short, brown hair. Even without being brushed, it wasn’t tangled. That was something she loved, but then then things became worse.
She hadn’t put on her glasses that morning.
To some, this might not seem too horrible, but to her, it was her downfall. Her glasses were the only thing that made her look even remotely ‘girly’, at least in her eyes. There were no feminine features to be found. There were no soft cheeks. No gentle curves like society wished for every woman to have. Instead, there was acne, square jawlines, and fat. Blackheads riddled her oily nose; the pores large and hideous.
She was hunched over and wearing a large shirt; her breasts were hidden. Staring back at her was just a young man. There was no young woman like there should be. How she wished to be him. How she wished to kill him. To rip him apart piece by piece so that he could never make her feel this way again. How she wished to be a young, thin woman. These thoughts attacked her, trapping her inside of her own mind in a vicious cycle. The image blurred as tears welled up as she fought for who she was. Who she thought she was supposed to be. Who she wished to be.
Images flashed through her mind of her wearing a binder, of speaking deeper, of having people refer to her as him. Wearing suits that didn’t fit incorrectly because of his bust. It sparked something inside of her, a want, a need, a fear. Then they switched and she saw herself pounds lighter. Her hair long and flowing as she walked around in shorts, skirts, and dresses. Make-up gracefully applied on her face, fully accenting her features. Wearing beautiful cosplay outfits and bathing suits. The water became too hot and burned her hands, thankfully pulling her out of her thoughts. She turned the cold water on as she set the soap back and then washed the suds off. A few tears fell down, but she didn’t care. No one would be outside of the bathroom.
No one was.
She entered her room again and sat back down. Notifications flashed on the facebook tab. Messages not for her in a group chat. People liking a post she shared. One of the names caused a stab of emotion through her heart. Betrayal, confusion, and a want to speak with. It was odd given that when she spoke to that person, her anger only grew. She was horrible at figuring out emotions, especially her own and she hated herself for that.
How that hatred ran deep and strong.
Possibly lust, but that couldn’t be. She didn’t lust after people. That was an intimacy she had never been able to feel. Wasn’t for a lack of trying, but she had just never felt it towards a person. There was no emotion like lust or sexual desire that she felt for another. It made her feel… broken. Like she was missing a piece of her life. How she yearned to, for just a second, look at a person and wish to sleep with them just so she could understand how it feels. So she could relate to others.
To her bed she went, but not to sleep like she wanted. She couldn’t. She had to run a scene. How she hated running that game, but loved it at the same time. It was the people, mostly. Those she didn’t know. She was afraid of them. Afraid they would be rude. Afraid they would hate the game. It was the first one she’d ran, but that didn’t mean she would cut herself any slack. Not like she had the motivation to run that, either. Too many times she had wanted to just throw it away. To allow someone else to run it. No one listened to her, anyway. They all spoke over her. They all gave their own rules instead of allowing her to give them. It made her feel pathetic. Worthless. Like an idiot that had to be led by the hand to even get from one place to another. She wanted to scream and shout every time they did it, but she didn’t. She sat there in silence, screaming mentally.
Why is there so much anger?
She hated running the game, yet loved when her players would say they had fun. Masochism was the only reason why, she guessed.
Glasses in hand. Glasses on face. She sat back down at the desk, but instead of trying to write, she tried to figure out exactly why that name, that person, sparked such an emotional response from her. After leaning back and thinking over the relationship they had, she could only guess that history had repeated itself. It was a continuous cycle of hating and caring.
Interestingly enough, She thought to herself, The hating always happens during the summer.
Without something to keep her mind on track, it wandered back to what she saw when she looked at the monster. She thought about asking her friends online to use different pronouns, but she didn’t know how they would react. The confusion was horrible, but the fear was worse. It ate at her. How badly she wanted something as simple as to just figure out what she was.