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A Devil's Advocate

"Did it feel like a demon was coming out of you maybe to defend you?", she quizzed me. I looked at her confused. My face must have been staring at her blank. I could  feel a giant spout pointing at her nose.

It was mundane and generic but no less scary. I was still not used to it.

"No, that was not. A demon. No.", I had only one friend then and it was that.

"Why would you hate yourself then?", I was so confused at the bombardment of questions.

"I don't hate myself. I just don't stand... Can't stand them who wouldn't wait to even listen to me", I needed to lie down a little and chat with myself over the regimen I have been carrying out.

"Are you scared Em?", this felt like a burn through my metaphorical kevlar. Ofcourse I was. I always am.

"Ofcourse I am not. Haters don't deserve my attention. "

"Hmm...", she tapped her pen twice at the sheets she had in her lap.

"And why is that?", I muffled an almost cowardly shriek on hearing it.

I had once read to deny to accept ill towards you means they stay with the ones who wish them.

But caught in the situation often I feel a split inside me. One seems unfazed. Mostly. And other comes out to defend the fadest fazed composure. The latter distastes its existence.

"Do you really want to know?", like a reservoir which just reached its threshold, I spilled over, "It is hard to continue the fight to protect yourself. All by yourself."

_____________________________________________

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