S. Lyons

No. 011022

I see my psychiatrist once a week, and when she asks how I am I tell her;

My house has good bones, a beautiful Victorian, built on the top of a hill in the early 20th century.

People say houses like mine have character. But I think it’s just the energy, left over and absorbed by the walls.

Lately I’ve been thinking maybe that’s why I love old buildings; because they have ghosts living between their walls, too.

Perhaps I was born with monsters already living in my head, or maybe they somehow snuck in, crawling out of my nightmares in the moments before I wake.

S. Lyons

They say you’re not supposed to make deals with the devil, but I had no choice. I had to befriend the ghosts and monsters if I wanted to survive.

Lately I’ve been thinking that maybe I’m doomed, maybe loving my monsters is why I find comfort in men who are also monsters.

But it’s all too much to say to a sane person, so I smile and tell her, “I am fine, I am well,” because I am, and because it is what it is.