To, My Nemesis.

Dear Nemesis,

Although i'd prefer to call you by your real name, i will refrain from doing so. 'Nagging Bitch' might not go down well with you at this point, when you've completely overpowered my sense of fair play and my non-judgemental, humorous way-of-being. Consequences might just be that you'll turn me into you, for posterity.

Why do you have to show your not-so-charming face so frequently? I know the circumstances that give rise to you are often and plenty, but sometimes i'm able to squash your form back into the depths of my dark side. How do you know when i'm most vulnerable? Do you smell the weakness and know the time is ripe to resurface and wreak havoc?

Like, i knew The Call wasn't coming last night. I knew it, it seldom does on a weekend. My not being able to hear The Voice thanks to the many other voices around it, was something that was as real as your parasitic existence in me. And yet, yet, i let myself get vulnerable. Weak. You MUST have smelt it, else i wouldn't be waking up this morning and finding your features in the mirror. It was you who let steam off at The Voice. You, my Nemesis, who threw all those hurtful things at it, saw the pain in The Voice resonate with the pain i felt when The Call (and several others) didn't happen. You, my Nemesis, who makes me lose control and unleash my terror on The Voice, succeeding only in driving it further away from me. And when you're done, Nemesis, you lie back exhausted. Spent. Satiated.

I, on the other hand, am left holding rubble from the battle ground, scars on my soul, and the heavy silence on the other end of the telephone line.

Leave me alone. I beg you.

Yours,

N.