Drip.

To numb the pain. To numb the pain. To numb the pain. Drip. The candle wax drips onto her arm. It’s scorching heat healing the throbbing pain in her heart. Drip. She doesn’t feel the tears wetting her cheeks. She doesn’t notice her chest dripping with the saline solution. Her gaze is unfocused. Unblinking. Lost. She looks in the mirror but sees nothing. Drip. Even the wax has stopped hurting. It’s lost its efficacy. Drip.

Her world goes black. Her brain goes numb. Drip. She doesn’t see the demons surrounding her. Laughing diabolically as they whisper into her ear. Their slithering tongues slicing through her comatose state, “Unwanted. Unloved. Inadequate. Insecure. Imperfect. Look at you.”

Drip. She looks into the mirror and watches her reflection change. Change to a grotesque monster. She flinches. Biting her lip until it bleeds. The metallic taste fills her mouth. She welcomes it. Drip. She’s mortified of the creature before her. Is this what she’s become? A horrible, horrible, monster? “Unwanted. Unloved. Inadequate. Insecure. Imperfect. Look at you.” The words ricochet in her mind. She lets them sink into her like a poison. The words run through her veins, more potent than any amount of molten wax.

She looks dumbly in the mirror. Blood trickling out the corners of her mouth. Her chest starts to constrict. The room starts to close in on her. “Unwanted. Unloved. Inadequate. Insecure. Imperfect. Look at you.” She can’t take it anymore. She screams, her palms flying to her ears. The demons laugh, jittery that they’re finally getting some attention. The words repeat themselves. Louder and louder until they’ve reached a deafening roar. It’s overwhelming. It’s unbearable. She needs to drown it out.

Blood flies from her lips, spattering the mirror as she cries, begging for it to stop. For the world to come to a stop. She looks once more at the horrendous creature in the mirror, “Why can’t you be better?” It’s a quiet plea. One of defeat. She’s given up. She can’t win this act of war. Her lips quiver. All she wants is some silence. She looks at the gleaming knife on the vanity. The demons scream in victory. They’re going to win.

“Stop.” A voice. Different from the ones that have infected her. Different from the lecherous mantra that was taught to her. She hadn’t even realized she had reached for the knife. Hadn’t even realized her shaky hand hovering it above her exposed wrist.

The demons shriek. Their voices start to fade. “You are wanted. You are loved. You are more than adequate. You are beautiful. You are perfectly imperfect. Look at you.”

In a moment, it’s over. She hears nothing. The voices are gone. The monster staring before her starts to morph. Morph back into her own reflection. With a shaky exhale, the battle is over. The war is won. She knows they’ll be back. They’ll come back, and keep coming back. And each time she’ll fight. She’ll fight until she can’t any longer.

She draws in a breath and blows out the candle. Allowing the quickly hardening wax to fall once more over her arm. Drip.