You open the door. The fresh wind gusts through the door, your face flushes the burst of air overwhelming you.

There stands a silhouette, a familiar scent rushes through and a presence that brings warmth. Yet you still cannot identify that which stands before you.

The forefront of your mind screams. You know this. You want this. Just Think.

No matter how fast your brain processes, you cannot find the answer within this sea of emptiness.

You give up. Instead, you reach out. Grab ahold of the figure, then you’ll know.

You close your eyes and extend your hand. You grab ahold. Until you realize, you’re holding on to nothing. The figure has vanished and you’re alone.

A light shines down as you peer through the door only to see a mirror. You see yourself: mangled, unruly, changed, angry, upset. Not the same. Not good enough.

You want to slam your hands against his chest. Bruise his face, break him down because he allowed himself to break down. But yet, at the same time, you yourself cannot find the strength to fight.

You still push forward. You shove him back, throw a right hook, knock him down, kick him.

You continue to beat on him, but he is silent. Taking every punch, every kick, every bruise, every broken bone. Not even a single flinch.

He slowly stands up, awaiting more, begging. He finally utters two single words,

“Keep going”.

A second rush comes over you, you pick him up and throw him to the ground. Stomp on his chest, he’s spitting blood, but you keep going. Not because you have anger left, but because he wants it.

You want to prove you have strength. You want to prove you can do this. You want to prove you can beat your demons, even if they are yourself.

He’s finally had enough.

He lay there, ******, defeated. You look up, close your eyes, open them.

You look down, and the broken body is gone. Instead there’s a mirror. You take a hard look. Once again you just see a dark figure, but you look past that. You see yourself. This time a reflection.

You have a black eye, bloodied face, lost teeth. You lift up your shirt to see bruised ribs.

This whole time you were attempting to fight your demon, your demon that was begging for more, you were beating on yourself. No restraint, no mercy, pure enjoyment.

You just want to feel strong, to feel worthy, to feel good enough.
But you’re not.

How could you be?

How could you be good enough for someone else when you’re not even good enough for yourself.

You’re weak. You’re scrawny. You cannot protect yourself, let alone anyone else.

You are nothing,
but a joke.

*******.