The Thing | A Short Story of Psychosis

decline A self portrait: myself in hospital after a breakdown, with The Thing above me.

When she was 15,
something began living
inside of her head.

It inhabited
her body, her soul, every inch
of her being. There was
a time when everything
she touched turned to gold.
Boys fell in love with her at
the turn of a screw. She was
clever, pretty, funny,
all the things a teen wants to be.

Until The Thing arrived and played
his magic games.

“Touch that postbox three
times or else your father
will die.”
“Yes, sir.”

Six years later,
she passed that same postbox.
She slapped it thrice, four times,
for good measure. The Thing hasn’t
been around for a while, but she knows
he is still lurking within.

“Can you tell us about the thing,
that lives inside your head?”
“All I know is that it’s a man,
it’s definitely a male authority

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