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I'm Syaza.
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Saturday, December 14, 2013, 11:41 PM

I grew up with him.

Johnny, I mean.

He's been a part of my life ever since I was, what, eight years old? But I never really knew him back then. He's always been around, but he's never said hi or anything. Took me ten years to finally realise he existed. But ever since that moment, everything changed. He has never left my side, day or night. No matter where I was or what I was doing, he was always there to keep me company - from the time I won't go to bed without my stuffed teddy bear all the way to when I went to my senior prom with my then-boyfriend. Johnny didn't mind it though, and neither did I. I wanted him there, and he wanted to be there. I mean, it wasn't like three's a company or anything.

He was my best friend, and I loved him. And the best part is - he loves me too.

But, things change. And do you know what I want right now?

I want Johnny dead.

I want him to take a vein in my body and wrap it around his lumpy little neck, and end himself. I want him to choke on red and leave my existence. I want him to lose his way in the midst of travelling my body. I want him to grow bigger and bigger until he no longer fits my body so that he'll finally let me go. I want him to get pricked by a needle on every surface of his goddamn body and understand that he doesn't belong with me. I want him gone. I want him, gone.

But he never listened. Instead, it was my hair that left my body, strand by strand. It was my skin that dulled out and turned grey like those movies back in the 1920s. It was my figure that started disappearing into thin air. But he, he wouldn't move an inch. He has created a home in my misery where my happiness used to live. He has created feasts where my insides used to be. He has found shelter where my soul used to linger.

I've tried to get rid of him, believe me, I have tried. I've put myself through hell just to get rid of the Devil himself. But he loves me. He loves me so much that he will never leave me. That is, until I leave myself. And maybe even then, he'd still be following me.

I've embraced him until my arms grew weak. I've carried him until my legs went numb. I've kissed him until my lips went dry.

Though, I still haven't decided whether it was him, or the chemo. Ah fuck.

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