I need to figure out how to stop fueling it so much.

Sometimes I think it’s gone and am convinced I’m free, even if I know it’s just for a little while. “I’ve had a good week”, I say to myself, and I say to others, and I’m smiling.

Then there’ll be someone in the know, someone not deaf-blind in my particular way who can see and hear the mysterious things that I seem to never be able to see and hear (often not even in myself). They will listen, and look; and then in the quiet dark of a car in the driveway at night before they leave they speak friend-words for my ears only: 

“So… it’s back, is it?”

Then I’m silent. Stunned, for a few seconds, before that little bit of something suddenly bubbles to the surface and the tears are wrestled into submission. Another sensation I can’t name creeps in, then settles a bit, and when I register that new sensation, that’s how I know that “it”, that beast, hasn’t been gone like I thought. It never left. Not even just for the week. It’s been just lurking. It’s been stealthily, quietly, biding its time.

In a moment or three the surge inside lessens, which relaxes the vocal cords just enough to: 

“Yeah.”

Knowing it’s been seen, the acknowledged beast simmers. 

Its sources of energy come into question. I’m reminded that it won’t go down forever, but the kind one who can see it tries to brainstorm with me what could be feeding it, giving it power. Maybe if we can figure those out, I can stop feeding it so damn much. Keep it weakened. 

I remember again that it can’t be killed forever — not until I’m dead. In the meantime, though, it can be managed, and that’s what my dear friend is trying to help me do.

I can’t say much, as is typical for me. I take too long to think, to sort out the words. But the kind one prompts with questions, and waits patiently, and some thoughts are sorted enough to be spoken.

I need to continue what they’ve helped me start here. I need to figure this out.