I am most powerful at night. I am most vulnerable at night. The darkness is my blanket, but under it I rarely feel secure. It is a blanket that clothes me in nakedness, an invisibility cloak that exposes my innermost contortions as I blend into the blackness around me. I am exposed to myself and no one else. I am invisible to all other people but my mind's eye, to which I am terribly, terribly visible. It sees pain inside of me that I had forgotten was stored away. It uses my body as a voodoo doll against myself. My blanket makes me uncomfortably drowsy. I am suspended in an aching, lethargic state, unable to close my eyes and submit to sleep.
I am swimming.
I am thrashing.
I make decisions for self-presevation?
My eyes, my chest, my body ache, and they pulse until I suddenly
drop off into a state of slumber.
When I wake up, I grasp desperately at the invisibility cloak around me. It appears different in the daylight, but I cannot afford to let it go. During the day, it keeps me safe. It holds me and protects me. It covers and conceals me. My contortions begin to recede, and I regain a normalcy of sorts. I am not vulnerable when the sun is shining, but I am weak.
It is funny how I have become an incarnation of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.
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