I’ve talked about the dark passenger before, and I’m going to explore it a bit tonight. It has it’s claws well and truly buried in my back, and I don’t know what’s happening next with my appointment with the consultant psychologist.
The dark passenger is persuasive. It sits in my head, quietly waiting for a moment where I have a dip in mood. It sneaks into my thoughts like a wisp of noxious smoke. I don’t particularly notice it’s there til I realise just how much the knife is a comfort, and that something is telling me to cut deeper. Perhaps it makes itself even better known when I catch myself browsing the internet for ways to snap my neck with a clean knot, or exactly where to cut to lose the most blood. I find myself wondering what it would be like to stop all this stupid shit and finally leave this planet in peace. I know then that the dark passenger is there, and it is talking in my ear like a strain of disturbingly familiar music.
It is awake, its tendrils lashed around my brain so tightly I can’t escape. I feel its clammy touch in everything I think. Even the gleam of a butter knife is a trigger, making me think of the fantastic gleam of the blade and its tantalisingly horrific kiss.
Worse still, it is like a voice in my head. I don’t hear it as if it was speaking next to me, but thoughts appear in my head from it that I haven’t formulated myself. It can scare the hell out of me. I actually sat there once and I shut my eyes, breathing deeply, and taking myself in my mind to meet it. It spoke at me. I have the scribbled words in my journal that it made me write.
It is me, that I’m sure of. I think it’s my subconscious because it wrote in my writing. What i do know, however, is that it never gets tired, and it is always waiting. It may sleep, but when it wakes, it is always there, and it wants my attention.