Once More Into The Breach

    My demons were especially cruel last light, tormenting me, taunting me. Flaying me open to reveal fresh wounds and still tender scars. They are incredibly skillful, these demons of mine. Their timing is impeccable. They know to wait until I am at my lowest ebb, and it is too late in the night for me to reach out (though they know I reach out very rarely and only under extreme duress). So in the the darkness they ply their trade, with infinite accuracy. Targeting my weakest points they prod and poke with glee. I know they lurk in the shadows, watching my life, waiting for unrelenting hardship or ghosts from the past to interfere with my fragile stability. They know that the slightest touch from these ghosts will spill me from my questionable life raft, my leaking vessel, and spill me into rough seas, frigid water, the murky depths. There, floundering, I am vulnerable to any assault. My demons know this, and wait. They won't attack when I am feeling fleeting strength and stability. Oh no, they are clever little beasts. They know that when I am feeling powerful and rock solid that their attacks will be easily deflected. They will wait patiently, burning red eyes watching my every move, knowing that I will tire and my defenses will flag. I can only protect myself from the constant onslaught for so long before fatigue forces my shield to falter, to droop, my stalwart defenses to crumble. Then they will move in stealthily, under the cover of darkness, to begin their tireless assault. They are clever little monsters, these demons of mine. Clever, patient, diabolical, relentless. I kept my defenses strong and firm for weeks, despite a continuing onslaught, despite wave after wave of assaulting forces. I stayed strong despite the odds, regardless of the repeated blows against the shield of my psyche. But even I cannot remain stalwart forever, without reinforcements any fortress is bound to crumble against relentless bombardment. In through the breach my demons swarm. Their invasion has taken on a life of its own, as they plunge deep into my soul, attacking any and all weaknesses, creating weakness where there was none. I have no defense left. I have no troops to rally to my aid. I feel I have nothing. No way to combat the current invasion. At this point, the best I can hope for is to play dead, lay lifeless and unreactive as the demons stab at me with red hot daggers. I have to hope that if I can remain quiet and calm, they will give up their monstrous game, tire of exerting themselves with no payoff. In this, I am asking a lot of myself. Possibly more than I can withstand. Possibly more than can be expected of any mortal soul. But I am out of options. My play book has left me bereft of ideas. And they say that no battle plan will survive beyond first contact with the enemy. I can plan, devise brilliant defenses, but when reality hits me like a land mine, unexpected and hidden, damaging and painful, no tactic will survive that. But I know I must manage to hold out. Maybe reinforcements will arrive in the nick of time. Maybe the demons will tire of their torment. Maybe I will manage to win a final and absolute victory over my demons. No. That will not happen. I know the best I can hope for is to finagle a truce, delicately harness their energy, bend them to my will. They will never be beaten, never surrender. Not in any real sense. But maybe, just maybe I can reclaim a working relationship with my demons. I know that in many respects I need my demons, they fuel my creativity, and can be the driving force behind my mania. My demons can whip me towards success, out of sheer tenacity, if nothing else. Despite an near overwhelming desire to just lie down and give in, I must make myself refuse to give in to their onslaught. I will find the strength, somewhere deep within my soul, to rise up against them. I will find the power to resist the overwhelming desire to succumb to their assault. I know I can be the victor, at least not be the fallen. I have done it time and time again. But I am so very weary. I just need a rest. I just need a brief respite to gather myself, again, for the next wave. For I know that when darkness falls, they will resume their insidious poking and prodding. But I will be ready for them. I hope.