Sunday Scribblings - In the last hour...

In the last hour I killed something. Not a person or animal, but a carcass all the same. Making a decision to kill something is never simple. There is a difference between letting something die through neglect, and wrapping your hands around its still breathing neck and strangling out the essence of life itself.

I could have let that part of me live. She has long sat in the back of my mind, in the nosebleed section, choosing to pop up at odd moments to stab me through the heart or take my breath away with her harsh criticism. You see, I did ignore her. I did try to let her die from neglect. I underestimated her desire to live. She grew thin and frail, her voice wasn't as loud as it used to be and she wasn't as lucid as she once was. But she wouldn't die.

I talk about her like we aren't the same person, the same entity. Of course, we are. She lived because a part of me was afraid to end her life. Afraid of what I would do without her.

And then this morning, I woke up. I knew today was the day.

I approach her softly, as she fitfully dozes. She is more frail than I realised, more sickly. I can see the fast and slightly erratic pulse in her neck beating beneath the paper thin skin. I reach out my hand and touch the sparse hair on her head. It is grey now, and feels like steel wool. Her eyelids flutter open and her brown eyes lock onto my green ones. She smiles a knowing smile, revealing yellowed teeth and a blast of bad breath.

"Finally. She comes to end it. About time, girlie."

I look at her with something akin to compassion. I made her what she is, and now I don't want her anymore. I fed her for years with self doubt, self hatred, lack of belief in myself and poor self esteem. Now I refuse to feed her. It is hard to kill her. She was my back up - someone to say "See? I knew you were worthless" when things went wrong and someone to say "It won't last" when things were good.

Go away, you old crone. I don't need you anymore. I reach my hands out and wrap them around her throat. She does nothing as I start to squeeze. There is no struggle, just the determined pressure of my hands and time. Tears run down my cheeks as she slumps back, heavy with the weight of death. I am relieved. I am free.