I cannot remember with certainty when it started. All I know is that it didn't take long to actually feel it. Maybe I even felt it right away. Maybe I abandoned it all too quickly. I can feel myself becoming it again. It's taking over my life. And I'm letting it. I'm welcoming it in. I'm opening all my doors and saying, "Come in. It's warm inside. Make yourself at home." I can feel it decorating the walls of my heart, painting my brain shades of black.

Black. That was my favorite color. After all, that was like a requirement. Love black, wear black, ditch your rose-colored glasses for black ones. But it's different this time. This time, it's for real. I don't know how to stop it. I don't think I want to stop it. I finally have something to be. Something to say, something to do. I'm not giving that up again. I can't help but ask myself, why did I give it up in the first place? Why did I lose that feeling, that euphoric nostalgia? Maybe...

Maybe it's for my own good that I left. Because what I remember best about that time is that I had everything to lose and I was the closest I'd ever been to losing it. God, I was so close. I could almost taste the oblivion, the perfect silence. It was only one swipe of the blade away. I wanted it so bad. I needed it. I tried so hard to reach it. I liked the idea of leaving it all behind. When I had no where to go, it was there, waiting for me. Its pitch black eyes were sympathetic. Its pale white skin looked like home. Its spindly hands and sharp claws pulled me into the only embrace I'd ever known. I never regarded it with fear. I dangled my feet over my bed and waited just outside my closet. I was waiting for the monster to come and take me away. But before it had the chance to, I got up and walked away. I left it behind. Sometimes I like to imagine that monster is still hiding in my closet, waiting for me to coax it back out; waiting to be needed again. I was the only thing it had. We were the same. Sometimes when I look in the mirror, I see the same black eyes and pale white skin.

On some days, I think I can still hear the monster's voice. It's low and gravelly, yet somehow it never fails to draw my pity. It calls to me. "Remember me?" it says. I nod. "I'm still here. I'll always be here...when you need me." There's a wicked smile in its voice. I can't help myself, so I smile too. The monster is here. The monster will always be here.