When I sit down to write, it’s not always gentle muses whispering poetic lines into my ear. Sometimes it feels more like a hostile takeover. The demon shows up uninvited, dragging all my unresolved grief, bitterness, and emotional hangovers into the room.
Suddenly, I’m not just writing… I’m exorcising. And it’s messy. Think pea soup projectile vomiting, but with metaphors.
The demon is wearing my face
The worst part? Half the time, the demon looks suspiciously like me. My fears, my guilt, my self-sabotage, all dressed up and ready to monologue across the page. Writing becomes the only way to trick it into leaving, one sentence at a time.
You might call this creative expression. I call it survival.
Because sometimes, the demon leaves. Not forever. It always comes back (ugh, anxious attachment). But for a while, the page holds it prisoner. Writing makes me lighter, sharper, clearer. It doesn’t erase the darkness, but it gives it form, so I’m not just carrying around in my chest.
Exorcism as art
The irony of all this is that readers love these pieces. The raw, painful ones I almost delete. Maybe because we all have our own demons, and seeing mine on the page feels like permission to face one.
So yeah, writing is an exorcism. Sometimes the demon is me. But if exorcism produces literature, then I guess I’ll keep letting the monster crawl out.
— Montse
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