Illness is picking at me, trying to get through the armor of medication, telling me to go to sleep, stop the meds, cut the arm...

It looks like a beautiful old leather bound book at first glance. Something interesting, something I am dying to touch, to read to learn and explore. When I get close, the demon rises up way above my head, a nebulous, yet solid creature with nothing but a giant mouth full of teeth. "I'll take you." it says over and over. No matter what I ask it, the answer is "I'll take you." Finally I tell it that I am too tired to fight, go ahead and take me. It doesn't.

My demon would prefer to torment me, to tease me rather than to take me. It wants me to be always afraid, and always curious enough to try to touch it so it can rear up and gnash its teeth at me. "I'll take you. I'll take you. I'll take you."