The bile rose in my throat, as what I once thought was monster trying to strangle me was now my wife, a knife still embedded in her chest as her skin went green to cream.

I sat there, tears welling up in my eyes, regretting my refusal to see a doctor over my psychosis.

The bile rose higher when I remembered I had run into a much smaller demon upstairs, in my son’s room even.

The tears and the bile burst forth at once, as I pictured my infant son, legs up, drowned in the toilet.