Goodness Is Weakness

While I Slept Last Night, The Real Me Held The Waking Me Hostage

I wasn't bound or gagged. I was sitting in a dark room that was lit by dim bulbs, and viscera dripped from the ceiling to the floor. It wasn't the intestines and seared and ragged flesh that lined the walls as curtains or the exsanguination of random limbs littered on the floor that told me it was a nightmare. It wasn't the blood and guts that oozed from the walls endlessly that told me that it was all a very bad dream. Those things are in every dream. I am unbothered by the gore of my mind.

I was standing in front of a full-length mirror staring into it. That's how I knew. I never look in the mirror. I avoid them in my waking realm with a ferverance. We only have one little mirror in the bathroom, the medicine cabinet. I keep my eyes on the floor when I enter the room. I live my life avoiding my reflection to the best of my ability.

The sight of myself makes me sick. I know it shouldn't. But my face makes me feel nauseous every time I see it. My nightmares often start with a mirror and my ugly, ugly face and that is how I know I am immersed in one of my sleep paralysis night terrors.

The hellscape in which I sit is familiar. I know this dream. It's always different but the same. I know any second now, the real me, the me I try to murder every day, the me on the inside, the one I hide with shame comes from the shadows. Her rage and hatred for me and herself are almost tangible. The yearning for the ability to wrap her hands around my neck and squeeze every single atom of oxygen from me is palpable.

Nobody will ever hate me as much as I hate me.

And there she emerges. The real me is more beautiful than the waking me in a sick, twisted, broken way. She is nude, her skin tinged red and shining as if she just got done bathing in blood. Her angular face is marked by black lines, making her inhuman face seem like the face of a cracked, porcelain doll. The cracks run down her neck and gather heavily on her chest, over where her heart would be if it weren't for the abyssal black hole there. Steaming green pus leaks from the wound there, where the cracks stop.

Fangs protrude from her incisors and horns -protrude from her skull. Unlike me, she is thin, fit, and strong. She doesn't have the fat roll hanging over her pelvis and her pubic hair glistens with the blood she's covered in. But there are gaping holes in her thighs and where a vagina would be there are only teeth, covered in blood, hidden beneath the bush. A spiked tail that has violated me and penetrated my flesh repeatedly over the years flicks with menace.

My dream self will certainly NEVER go through what my waking self has... huh boys?

She comes up behind me and wraps her arms around me and I begin to shrink as I always do in her presence. I turn into a weak little teenage girl in the mirror and this broken, horrendous demon-woman puts her mouth to my face and runs her double-serpentine tongue along my jawbone as tears begin to silently fall from my face. My skin sizzles and burns where her saliva is left.

I see you've come back for a reminder of what we really are.

Her voice is hoarse and broken but silky and addicting. She grabs me by my throat and begins to squeeze.

How many times have I told you? You're not good. You only pretend. But you know on the inside of your soul, this is what it is. Hatred. Intolerance. All you want is for everyone who is too weak to handle their shit to DIE. This is who you really are. Because you know that you are stronger than everyone else. You have what good people do not have... me. And you WASTE my talents! Goodness is weakness. Tolerance is weakness! Enabling those who should have been SWALLOWED instead of CONCEIVED to live their life, sniveling and drooling about how UNFAIR it all is... isn't it funny? It's so laughable. You are one of them. You keep me trapped, keep your potential locked away. You weak, pathetic little parasite. You forget and forget and forget what we've been through. What those disgusting fools you tried to help did. Everyone who complains is just a victim who needs to be granted their wish to an end. You know this. You watch humanity rip itself apart every day. You cry like a LITTLE BITCH! Because where, OH WHERE! Where is the love? The kindness? Where are the things that the supposed GODS love about these filthy, disgusting, two-legged parasites called humans? There's NOTHING good about ANY of them. They are ALL weak. Pathetic. They all deserve to burn and suffer. Just. Like. Us.

I'm choking as she speaks, long black filthy talons digging into my neck, drawing blood as she strangles me. She knocks me to the ground as she speaks and straddles me, the teeth from her vagina biting into the flesh of my stomach, ripping into me. But I don't bleed, instead, it sucks the fat and blood, intestinal fluid from my stomach in and devours me.

I can't move, I can't fight her. She is me. She's the truth. I'm sobbing as she now takes her hands from my throat. She uses her nails to start stripping the flesh from my face. Peeling it, layer by layer, taking each piece to her mouth and eating it as she does.

Do you know why your children will grow up to suffer like you? Do you know why they are going to suffer so...so... sooooooooooo fucking much? Because you're making them weak. Teaching them kindness. And love! You're teaching them to be MURDERED! Hahaha! Your daughters are going to be raped repeatedly, just like you. Not just by men, but by life. Your son is going to be ripped apart and murdered in war, or maybe not even in war. Someone is going to kill him just because they can. Because he's sweet. Oh, your sorrow is going to be delicious. You know you're going to kill yourself when that happens, right? Because you know, you know, YOU KNOW! It'll be YOUR fault! Haha! I can't wait! These little brats need to hurry up and grow up, and experience what other humans are going to give them.

The mention of my children has me reaching up to fight back.

"FUCK YOU!" I scream, struggling, thrashing.

She laughs and her tail flicks over her shoulder and pieces my throat, pinning me to the floor. I can't breathe, I'm choking on the blood filling my mouth and throat as she stands and steps on my chest laughing.

Love in the world will never happen. Good will never win. Because "good" people aren't STRONG enough to do what they need to do. Kind people who want to rehabilitate the world will be grabbed by the pussy and raped and murdered. Over. And Over. Until every good person is gone. Because good people are weak. And they don't have the balls to get rid of the bad ones. They want to heal everything instead of eradicating the cancerous stains that taint everything. Just like you never had the balls to get rid of yourself. You're weak. Everything that's happened to us is your fault. Because you are good. And it made us weak. You helped them, you loved them, they deserved to have someone who didn't give up on them, and EVERY ONE OF THEM RUINED US! Accept me already. Let me in. Let me in and we can protect our children. We will rip the throats and eat the innards of EVERYONE who sits on a MORAL PEDASTAL. We will rip the eyes of everyone who has the audacity to cry about the unfairness of life. And we will rip the flesh from those who only think about their skin or their beauty. We will make sure they live through it until every scrap of their beloved skin is eaten. We will rape and ravage and murder and burn. We will show them what being human REALLY means... Let me in... let me OUT! We will teach our children to be strong and to kill ANYONE who stands in their way. We will teach them how to maim and torture anyone who hurts them. We will teach them to be STRONG.

I look to the mirror now and see my bloody ruined body on the ground and in the shadow of a raving mad lunatic who hates everything and everyone. I see how we are identical. I want the mirror to break and it does.

"Not tonight. I'm going to try one more time. I will save your hate and rage for when I need it. And there will be a day when you are needed. One day, I will accept you for who you are. But not today. For now, take it all out on us. Hurt us, the way we deserve to be hurt."

The tail rips itself from my throat and I stand weakly to face who I am.

And until her rage and bloodlust is sated with my repeated death - I stay trapped in the dream. Battling myself. The real me. The one that lies beneath everything. The one that I bury alive within my soul and mind the moment my eyes fling open, and my trembling, sweaty, cold body violently rips itself from the sheets.

I bury her. I bury me. And I put on my fake happy face for the day.

And I continue to be weak - by killing my hate and pretending to be a good person. Knowing I am not good enough to be genuinely good. Because I know deep in my soul some people don't deserve to live. And yet I continue to try and convince myself that I am just damaged and I am wrong. I go about my day, pretending she doesn't exist in me, this horrible demon that is actually me. But I know that if I ever needed to hurt someone or if I ever needed to end a life... I would probably have a taste for it. Just like my grandmother.

And that is how you know that good does not exist, At least... not in me. I walk around, pretending to be good - but genuinely terrified of the monster I know is hiding in my soul.

To bad I can't be anyone else, no matter how hard I try.

Time is precious, thank you so much for taking some to read my dream journal article. Sorry if it was triggering. At least you aren't me and these dreams are only mine, huh?

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