#inner critic

Face-to-face with my own worst critic...it would seem there's no escape from it no matter how far I travel.

Its grotesque face looms over, sneering at us all as it whispers hateful things at us.

One-by-one, my friends ensnared by this being's words approach the dark lake's shoreline. A sickening grin spreads across its lips, exposing jagged, yellowed teeth ready to rip them to shreds like its harsh words already did to their self-esteem.

Like hell it will!

Feverishly, I write three poems back-to-back, but I'm growing more and more lightheaded upon finishing each one. The wisps attack the beast, buying me enough time to write uninterrupted.

The first one I wrote, "The Eccedentesiast," struck the first blow against the beast, staggering it. Undeterred, my foe still stands. My friends enter the dark waters to be greeted by inky tendrils creeping up from the waters, ready to wrap around them.

My sharpened words amplified by the unwavering rhythm of my second poem, "Avenging Angel," slice through those tendrils before they can seize any of my friends. Each line I etch into the page slices deeply into the creature's slimy flesh.

It's wounded but not yet defeated. I know that there's only one way to slay it. I must take away its power... a power that it has only because I gave it. No more!

I finish the third poem, "Wormwood," that I dedicate to this towering monstrosity. By naming it, I steal back my power from it.

The creature's guttural screams fill the air as we all watch it shatter to pieces, reflective of its damaged fragile ego.

The spell has been broken, and my friends return to normal. They have no memory of what transpired, so I fill in the gaps of their memories and introduce them to the wisps.

We thank the wisps for their help before leaving for the castle. The sun is shining as birds serenade us with their cheerful songs. Though everything seems much brighter now, I still feel faint impressions of Wormwood's presence as we approach home, but not as to the extent of how it felt it previously.

I now feel it locked away inside the darkest corner of my mind. The truth is that Wormwood can never truly die because it's a part of me. And just like myself, everyone has a "Wormwood" that spoon-feeds them poison while cutting into them with sharpened words forged from their own harsh self-criticism, laying in wait for the opportune moment of self-doubt to strike...

Regardless, we're much stronger than Wormwood could ever aspire to become its sad, pathetic, joyless existence.

From this day forward, I've decided that we'll only host our Spoken Word Nights inside the castle. It seems like the much safer option...

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Story : © Obsidian_Asylum

I can feel it all around me,

Circling and on the prowl.

That never fleeting sense of anxiety,

Craving the taste of total mind control.

Seems as if I'm waiting for the other shoe to fall

Right down on top of us all.

It's like the busting open of the floodgates,

Unleashing that all too familiar dread,

The kind which makes the sea turn red.

Forced now to face an excruciating fate.

If only I didn't feel like this,

I could make it stop.

Then, I wouldn't always get torn apart

By the beast that dwells inside this pessimist.

Please allow me to help explain,

Exactly as to who it is that I am.

I go by many names,

Namely four.

They call me Death, Famine, Disease, and War...

I am that dark thing which haunts your daydreams;

That uncertainty for which you can't ignore.

What pains you is that I'm what keeps you up at night,

What kills you is deep down inside, you know I'm right.

You always end up creating what you fear instead.

Oh, how I love messing with your head...

Infesting your mind,

One bit at a time.

Consuming everything,

Including your life.

Suppression from regression.

Choking on your own toxic despair

And cursing the names of everyone that brought you there.

Oppression through obsession.

Like a moth to a flame,

There is no one else to blame.

Dear child, did you ever think I would leave you alone?

You are too much fun...

We are destined to do this forever,

With me being your own personal endeavor.

Call me your blessing, your curse, your affliction...

As long as you give me power, I will continue persisting.

Epiphany...misery loves company.

To deny me is to die by me.

To name me is to take power from me.

Clarity...nervousness is poisonous.

Open your eyes to truly see,

You are your own worst enemy.

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Poem : © Obsidian_Asylum

and it's always confused me, because why would my brain be so mean to me? i hate it, no one is having fun, it's not getting me anywhere, i cannot understand the advantage to it. there is some argument to be made for the "protective" aspect, that the inner critic is trying to protect me from outside criticism by criticizing me first. that's definitely part of why this part exists. but this voice goes so far beyond that, it's laughable the things it says to me. my therapist and partner literally have to try not to laugh when i tell them what it says to me (they do their best and are respectful, it's fine) (and of course, somehow even though i know how stupid it is, i can't just disregard what it says).

and yeah, some of that is just "it's mental illness, innit", but i had a bit of a revelation about this mean voice recently. i think there is another benefit that i hadn't considered.

this voice is a bully. and bullies bully for a reason. they get something out of it. they get positive feelings from bullying. it also feels bad, but if it only felt bad they wouldn't do it. and this bully is part of me. so even though i'm the victim of the abuse, i'm also getting the dopamine hit from the bullying itself.

i've often had this feeling of "being mean to myself feels kind of good" and then felt really ashamed of it, but thinking about it this way makes a lot of sense. being a contrarian and overly critical means you get to feel right all the time.

i'm not totally sure what to do with this yet, but it is helping me make sense of why it's so hard to break the cycle and why there's that sense of almost wanting to keep being mean to myself even though i also hate it.