If you are a familiar, you know that the devil has been messing with me lately. Everyone goes through it from time to time. There’s nothing like spiraling amidst a life altering trauma that is then sprinkled with random unrelated heartbreaks. The piling on feels unnecessary but surviving, thriving even, under such attacks is the best way to show that he can, respectfully, fuck off.
When life goes off the rails, I will urgently seek out a good (or bad) scary story in any form. The Conjuring Universe is my most comforting default, but I will cheerfully dive into just about anything that promises hauntings, witches, monsters, aliens, or (a personal favorite) demons.
The Possession of Alba Díaz by Isabel Cañas saw me through a few chemotherapy treatments, and recently I landed on a show called My Horror Story. It is exactly what it sounds like and I cannot stop watching (ref: good OR bad).
Creepy coping mechanism? Sure, but final girl energy is contagious and life these days requires the summoning of that kind of courage. At least I’m not possessed by a demon—as far as I know…