"They weren't trying to scare me… they were trying to speak."
Dear Diary,
When I was little, I never let my feet dangle off the bed.
I believed that something waited underneath —
something with too many eyes and long, sighing breath,
something ancient, dark, and patient.
I called them "monsters."
And every night, I built a fortress of pillows and prayers to keep them away.
But last night, I couldn't sleep.
I felt something in the room… but not threatening.
More like… familiar.
So I climbed down — for the first time —
and I looked beneath my bed.
And Diary, I swear to you…
There were eyes.
Not glowing red like in stories.
But soft. Watching. Waiting.
I should've been afraid.
But I wasn't.
Because somehow, deep in my bones, I knew them.
They weren't strangers. They were parts of me I had buried.
The one who cries when no one's looking.
The one who remembers things she wishes she could forget.
The one who doubts herself before anyone else can.
The one who carries shame like it's stitched into her skin.
They were monsters, yes — but only because I never gave them names.
Only because I never listened.
And last night, they spoke.
> "We're not here to hurt you, Wunor,"
one of them said, voice like velvet thunder.
"We're here because you never let yourself feel us."
I wanted to run. But instead… I sat.
And we talked.
We talked about the fear I hide behind my laughter.
The guilt I carry in my chest like a second heartbeat.
The dreams I've crushed with my own hands because I was scared to hope.
They told me they weren't born from evil.
They were born from silence. From neglect. From shadow.
And when I asked why they'd stayed all these years…
One of them said,
> "Because you can't be whole without us. We are the parts of you that still need healing."
And for the first time, I didn't try to fight them.
I listened.
I cried.
I forgave.
I whispered, "I'm sorry it took so long."
And before I climbed back into bed,
I looked them in the eyes and said,
> "I see you now."
They didn't vanish.
They didn't need to.
They just… settled. Like old friends who finally felt welcome.
And I slept deeper than I had in years.
So if you hear a sound under your bed tonight, Diary —
don't be afraid.
Maybe it's not a monster.
Maybe it's a memory, a fear, a voice that's been waiting to be heard.
Maybe it knows your name.
And maybe… that's the beginning of healing.
Till tomorrow,
Wunor 🌑🫀