I have to shut my eyes to keep the monster in.
It’s late morning, and I grip the sides of the sink. I try to pace my breath, inhaling and exhaling in ragged rhythm, and pressing my forehead against the cool of the marble. My blood is pumping fast, and my brain sending warnings throughout my body – my muscles to not let go, my lungs to keep going, and my eyes to stay shut, no matter how much it aches.
Last month, they opened too soon, revealing a startling shade of green – followed by an inhuman scream clawing its way out of my chest. Rage burned through my consciousness like battery acid, and I remembered grabbing the mirror with green hands before blacking out. The nine o’clock news and the acrid stench of smoke filled in the rest.
“You have so much power,” my psychiatrist whispered to me later at the hospital. “So much power.”
Horror is what created me, and horror is what keeps me going every day.