All my life –seriously, all my life, and that is considerable at this point, all my life I’ve felt like I was fighting dragons.
Picture me in a medieval princess gown, with a broad sword, fighting off dragons as they come at me from every side. Vicious, horrible things that would make grown men run and cry like little girls. Breathing fire and stank like raw sewage. Ready to incinerate me, roast me, toast me, eat me whole or tear flesh from bone if I take even one second to let my guard down and rest. I’m scared, my back is to a tree and that’s the best I can do, find a shady place to fight and something to lean on.
All I’ve ever wanted — seriously, all I’ve ever wanted is for someone to take up that sword and protect me from the dragons. Just for a little while. Just long enough for a nap. That’s not asking much, is it? I’m so tired, I think to myself. I’m weak and tired & this sword is so heavy. I cannot keep my arms up, not even one more second. Can’t you take it from me, take care of me, protect me, just for a moment? Just for one fucking moment? Then I’ll take the sword back, seriously, because I know your heart is not really in it. I mean, after all, they’re my dragons, not yours.
Today, for the first time, it occurred to me, it might be in my best interest to stop leaving food and fresh milk out for the dragons. Perhaps, I should stop offering them a warm dry corner of my mind to sleep in. Maybe I should stop treating them as if they were my pets. They are, after all, vicious beasts.
The beast inside looks at me, smiles and says “You knew what I was when you picked me up.”
