But I don't believe in demons! Now after a week of restlessness, I have to admit that maybe I must incrementally, at least, open the door to the fact that I have demons and they need to be turned into angels.
My lover says it is different for everyone, facing demons. He says that every demon demands attention until there is no ignoring them. Some demons resolve themselves overnight, and others may take months or years.
I have to admit also that seeing my erupting feelings about the state of my life as demons feels very visceral. I kind of confuse the mental image of these demons with the little statues that protect churches -- gargoyles? My anthropomorphizing of too big emotions may be a way to belittle them again. If I don't have to take the image of the demon very seriously then I don't have to take the feelings very seriously...hmmmm.
My demons have been waking me up lately at 3 in the morning. They've been squeezing my chest so tightly that I can scarcely breath sometimes. They pull on my legs as if I'm on a rack, or make me feel that my brain is actually filthy and wouldn't it be nice if I could run cool water through my head until it runs clear again. No amount of stretching or breathing seems to slow down my heart rate once it gets going, and I think I'm actually having panic attacks in my sleep.
It's probably post-traumatic stress syndrome, but what are you going to do about that? I mean my adrenals were shot years ago. I used to see an acupuncturist who could not account for my shot adrenals, and we would wonder over this amazing phenom as if I was this perfectly normal person who happened to have shot adrenals. Do you think it was maybe because I lived in a state of flight or fight? Hmmmm.
The biggest demon is probably the one called "Justice". I really don't get this one and it is Justice that turns me into a weeping fool, a two-year old wanting what I want, and he ignores me completely. Another one is "Survival" and she holds hands with Justice and winks. Then there is "Must" who bosses me around endlessly. There's "Shame" who acts like an iron anchor sinking into a cold and endless ocean of emotion. There's "Can't," and she pronounces her name with a distinctive southern accent from somewhere in my primordial ancestry. "Grief" is a puppy, nippy and yappy and peeing and pooping all over everything I care about. Those are all that I can face tonight.
It's the best I can do, so please let me sleep.