It feels like being chased. That’s the only way I can describe it.
When things are good I can slow to a walk, I don’t have to look over my shoulder for I know It is gone. Then I might catch sight of It out of the corner of my eye. Alarmed I’ll quicken my pace in the hope to avoid It. If I just keep walking it’ll be fine.
Now I have to check over my shoulder occasionally for I know It is in the neighbourhood. Hopefully It hasn’t spotted me yet though so it’s ok. For now. Who knows I might just shake It off.
Shit. It’s behind me properly now. It’s spotted me so I’ll hurry up and try and lose It.
No no no no no no. Panic. Its running now. Properly running. It’s going to catch me. Oh shit how can I get away? I’ll run as fast as I can. My legs turn to jelly. Please no, let me lose It. I’m slowing, I can feel it. Why am I slowing down?! I need to run faster but I can’t. I’m spent. The inevitability of it; I thought I’d escape this time. I thought it’d be different this time.
And It catches me. It grabs at me and I crumble to the ground, adrenaline still pumping. I curse myself. I probably secretly wanted this to happen. I surely could have shaken It off if I’d tried, if I’d really wanted to. I could have, couldn’t I? But I didn’t. I let It take me. Fucking weak, that’s what I am.
As I come around I look at the blood from my wound; from my injury that I have inflicted upon myself. Fuck. Best tidy up. Clean up. Put the knife away. It is satisfied. Maybe that will be the last time. I won’t hurt myself again. No. Absolutely not.
I pick myself up and begin sauntering casually. It is nowhere to be seen. I’m ok. Everything is ok. Nobody even saw anything. It’d be easy to forget it had even happened except it left a mark. Another one.