Good Versus Evil

Ennui: "A feeling of listlessness and general dissatisfaction resulting from a lack of activity or excitement. A feeling of utter weariness and discontent resulting from satiety or lack of interest."

    Ennui. Apathy. Inertia. Melancholy. Listlessness. Spiritless. Lassitude. Fatigue. Desolation. Desperation. Depression. Despondency. The Allies of Despair. The Enemies of Exuberance. This is the Evil I fight every day, for it truly is a malingering, malevolent Evil.  These are not my Demons. My Demons are not Evil, merely bothersome. My Demons live with me, inside my skull, hidden in the recesses of Brain. My Demons are as old friends by comparison to the Evil. I have come to realize that such Evil, when consistent, constant, continuous, becomes a palpable force, a malignant entity, a perverse poltergeist. When the dark forces of ennui have filled a space for an extended, seemingly eternal, time they take on a life, an existence all their own. Are these the dark forces that haunt and possess, in the guise of departed spirits or demons? Is the buildup of such spiritual toxicity the real reason to call in spiritualists, exorcists, ghostbusters? Could pent up malevolence be at the root of the unnatural, the demonic? Having become all too familiar with the physical effects, the overwhelming force, the soul-sucking despair of such a haunting, has me pondering the ramifications and remedies of this spiritual siege. As I step out into the world of humanity, kindness, selflessness, and away from this weird reality that is besieged by corruption and Evil, the scales have fallen from my eyes and I can see with clarity what must be done to save my own soul. It really has come to feel like a battle of Good versus Evil.
    I have fought a similar battle, over a year ago, when I knew that the only way to save my soul from a toxic existence was to do what had seemed unthinkable. Knowing that my actions were likely to be horribly painful on every level imaginable, I went ahead anyway, despite the foreknowledge that what I was about to do was going to change my life in ways nearly impossible to predict. But I stepped off that curb. Yes, I faltered a time or two, was battered, bruised, regretted, despaired, wept, but I moved ahead. Now my life bears very little resemblance to life two years ago, a year ago. And I saw it, and it was good.
    Now I face the last remnant of that life. The last vestige of toxicity that threatens my soul. I know this battle will have to be fought differently. I must change tactics. I cannot merely walk away, I must extricate myself with a plan. But extricate myself I must. I cannot continue in such a place, watching my soul wither, my creativity be consumed, my light be darkened. This is no easy battle, and I am already weary.