I have a big, walk in closet. In the days before my medication, I used to be terrified of it, I thought I could see the door open, thought the darkness under the door would slither out.
I put a silver cross necklace on the handle, and it’s still hanging there. There’s also a tub of miscellaneous junk that I push against it, which at first was to keep my cat from opening the door and going inside. But now, if I don’t shove the tub against the door, I feel nervous, unsettled.
I’m too old to be afraid of monsters in my closet, but in this case there literally is one.
I don’t remember when I painted him. Sometime in 2015 I think, my little brother helped me, but only after I put the background coat on. There was a stupid reason for that.
2014 was a really bad year for me, I did a lot of self harm back then and was vary depressed.
At one point, I felt vary angry and had a lot of pent up emotions I didn’t know what to do with, so I cut myself, went in my closet and started painting.
‘Painting’ It was more like taking my finger and smearing blood on the walls in the general shape of smiley faces. Very original I know, but what was I supposed to do? Paint a mural?
I covered a good part of the wall in smileys and then let it be.
Nobody was allowed in my closet after that, I was terrified that someone would see the blood on the wall and freak out, so eventually I tried to wash it off.
Tip: dried blood does not wash off of walls.
So, at last, I decided to paint the wall. I covered the blood in grey paint, and then let my little brother help me paint the slenderman on my wall.
He’s still there, hiding something I’m not proud of and scared to tell anyone about.
I can hear coyotes howling.
I wish I was as free as they are.