A Delicate but Grotesque Girl

[Melusine]

((Continued from..... somewhere?))

"I feel fat and ugly."

She looked down, scratching the white paint stain on her joggings. She hated talking about her appearance. In a way, it reassured her when people debunked the myths related to her perception of herself, but it was always buried under a pile of uncertainty and self-consciousness. When she described how she felt about her appearance, her perception of her body, her constant flow of negative thoughts, and her anger toward herself and the world, she feared this ugliness inside of her would come out.

"Like... Really fat. My 600 pounds life but worse."

She feared that when she spoke about her insecurities, they would come to live on her body. If she mentioned her scars, she felt like they would grow until they swallowed her whole like keloids made of hate and anger. She felt that just by thinking about them, they would become aware of their own reality. The flesh that she had would become sentient, and it would suddenly want out of this gig.

Willow had no idea how to talk about it to anyone without feeling like she was choking on an unimaginable amount of scars that grew in her throat until they would leave by her mouth. So, she didn't. Just like that, the imagined hypertrofied scars returned to what they were.

"I'm just like... unable to see myself without... feeling like a balloon?"

Dr. Munch nodded. She wasn't quite sure if he was mentally absent today, or just clueless of what was going behind the worrying eyes of Willow, but he was just taking notes. He didn't even look at her. Normally, Willow would feel upset, but right now, she was glad nobody was watching her. Her body felt like it was growing to immensurable levels. The bottomless pit that was created inside of Willow was hungry, but she fed it nothing. There was no point to feed a monster that would always be hungry no matter how many universes it feasted on, so Willow locked the cage and threw the key away.

"I don't know. It just feels like I'm... taking all the place of the world."

That wasn't a lie, but it wasn't entirely true. She didn't feel like she was taking all the place of the world, she felt like she was the world and she was being stepped on by thousands of people unaware of her. It was something else she couldn't quite talk about. By mentioning it to someone, they would become aware of the pain they inflicted on her, and Willow couldn't bear with the guilt. Despite her attempts to be cold and withdrawn, she was just a fountain of blood shaped like a girl who wanted to be loved and taken care of. She refused it, however. While she craved being with someone, her entire existence screamed and fought back when she wasn't alone.

In that moment, she wished she could live up to her name. Withdrawing herself from everyone she knew and disappearing somewhere she couldn't be hurt or harmed. Without a name or identity, hidden where she existed outside of the notions of time and space, she could thrive. Despite desperatly craving love, she wanted to be alone. Attempting to love herself was out the window, she hated herself. If Willow had to interact with herself, she would immediately hate her doppelgänger. Therefore, she couldn't love her current version of herself.

She wished she was incorporeal. Gone like a memento from another era. A tale that was spread with a dead tongue. Having existed, but not remembered. An observer of a world she didn't want to be part in. Gone and forgotten, but still having been herself. In her current form, Willow couldn't quite fully enjoy the fantasy of this idea.

"You know," she paused. He didn't know, at all. That was the point of therapy, explaining the gears and wires of something that was intangible. To create a human body for thoughts wasn't a simple task, but it was one that Willow was given. "I feel... like I don't deserve to be alive."

Willow had the bad tendency of saying things that made her cry. It was a reason why she would take time to talk. Words that came out of her mouth were vile and toxic, a knife that plunged again and again inside of her chest until the nothingness on the inside became the outside. While she hated others for their words, her own venomous message was the worst. Others didn't quite understand the fragility, and the resilience, of Willow. Certain things that appeared to be small and hidden were actually tumors that needed to be excised.

"May I ask why?"

Willow looked up. Dr. Munch questionable but probably reasonable silence was lifted. She wasn't holding back tears, but they weren't flowing down her cheeks. Her vision was blurry. Another reminder she was alive, and another way that her body was taunting her.

"I just feel like I should have died years ago." Another stab in the gut by Willow herself, but she wasn't over yet. It was only the first part of the ritual as she continued to softly described the pain, "I feel like I'm... not good enough for this world?"

Willow wanted to become incorporeal. It was her only goal in life.

Leaving it.

((She continues here))