The Bogeyman

Goodmorning/evening Life Charmers!

Today's post is a little darker and sadder than my usual posts. I try to emit positivity and vibrance, but sometimes I get down and don't feel too positive. ha Well, recently I had one of those days, and the thought of writing blog post about it came to me. So, I promised myself that I would. And here I am doing so. Sooo, without further ado, let's begin.

The Bogeyman is a character/creature that we associate with nightmares and terror. It is a dark being that adults use to scare children into doing what they are supposed to. So, what if the bogeyman became real? What if he was real to you? He was to me. Not necessarily as described or thought of in the usual way, but everything he was meant to be: frightening, haunting, terrifying, etc. So, this is my letter to my bogeyman.

Dear Bogeyman,

You were the monster under my bed. You were the fear in the dark. Everywhere I went, I was afraid you would find me. Everyone I saw, I questioned "Does he know them? Are they watching me for him?" Every time I was happy, your daunting image flashed into my mind and I was once again fearful. I tried to disown you. I tried to deny your existence. I tried to repress those memories. I became so used to those dreams, so accustomed to seeing your face in my nightmares, hearing your words. I don't dream anymore. Not good dreams. Not really. Everything is tainted. Every time I sleep, I wake periodically from a nightmare. However,  I no longer scream. I don't cry out. I don't even shake or shiver. I just roll over and go back to sleep, moving on to the next time I'll see your grimaces. Every time I couldn't find momma, I thought of you. Thought you'd had something done with her. Every time I couldn't find my brother, I thought you'd found him, kidnapped him forever. Every car I saw slow around the driveway, every car I saw pulled up to the house when I got off the bus in the afternoon, I thought belonged to you. I'd run to my room, or sneak around to the back door. Anything to avoid you. I remember the nights my brother and I cried, asking why we had to do it. I remember the nights I cried. The nights I asked why, when you whispered nightmarish things to me. But now, I'm older. Now, I see you for what you are. I've seen your tears, your pitiful attempts at manipulation. I'm not 3 anymore, nor am I 8. I'm not a little kid, and I'm no longer a teenager. Your words, your ice-cold caress, none of it means anything. I see you for the pitiful little shadow that you are, hiding in the corner and playing with the lights. I see the silly little faces you make, trying for my pity, longing for my affection, searching for that grip around my neck. But, its not there, is it? No longer can you touch me. You're a pitiful little storybook horror, and now I see you. I see you for everything that you are, and I no longer fear you. The only place you have any dark power is in my dreams. And I no longer scream. I just roll over and go back to sleep...

Honestly,

Your son.