Scratching the Shadow: The Monster Under the Bed is Me

Sun is transiting my Pluto, and the long term effects I’m living on my Pluto line. Dealing with images, image, who I am, and finding out that the Monster that lives under my bed is me.

Intrusive thoughts of dressing up in masks and frightening my child with the “other mother” Plutonian Monster Trope, Coraline style.

Staring into the dark at 3am, knowing that lack of sleep plus large amounts of melatonin can induce hallucinations.

Logic vs Monsters

Me vs Me

I never knew till now that the monster under the bed, the one I’ve always avoided, was me.

I drew a picture of her in the dark last night, swirls, some round shaped head, her influence reaching out from down there to above to me on the bed.

Who am I and why am I hunting myself?

Two years of intense Saturnian responsibility, and I’m ready to kill the Old King. To boil him alive in my witches cauldron.

What wants to arise? Why do I desire to wear skin and bones and blood on the outside?

I turn inward. This monstrous thing with sharp fingernails and crooked head stares back at me, trying to frighten me. “I get your attention this way”

“Let me be monstrous” it demands against my IFS attempts.

“I’m tired of protecting everyone” it says, growing large.

I watch it growl. I let it scare me. It’s the least I can do. I demand so much of it that’s not it’s natural state.

I finally fall asleep and dream of being hunted by a man who stalks me, who wants my blond headed son, and then me.

The troll under the bridge who eats children.

I am given the key to a safe room in the building by a woman. But I accidentally leave the light on, making it easy to pick out in the dark hallway.

He’s there, and I barely escape him. He’s in the bathroom coming for me.

Later on I come up with elaborate ways to expose him, but he is well loved, a pillar of the community, a football player.

Is this my shadow?

Do I want success and recognition while hiding who I am, creeping through the building, seeking the light so I can murder the vulnerable parts of myself? The parts of myself that protect and love?

Am I that ashamed of what I am?

Of my anger, of my failure? Am I that imbalanced in my expression of responsibility?

I want to see where this goes. I want to let it catch me. I want to look it in the eyes and see why I don’t see myself there, why I’m desperate for separation from this beast.