I love this time, setting myself, setting you, up. Hating you gives my life… purpose. Never ever leave me.
Curl in a chair. Sit on the floor. Lie on the bed. Run finger nails along the wall. No where is quite perfect. Yet.
Another night of attempting to join in, appear normal, to fit in, has me….
I am weary, I am separate, alone, unloved, unwanted, an outsider, I do not belong, I am tainted, no one loves me.
And it is all your fault. You made me like this. You did this to me, you ruined my life. Oh, the unmitigated bliss of making it all your fault. Utter heaven. I feel like a movie star.
Oh, oh, oh, I so love hating you.
I do all of this for you, I sacrifice myself for you. I hurt and hate myself for you. Decisions. Decisions. Decisions. So much pain, so little time.
I revel, I bask, I roll in feeling resentful, ranging, furious, itchy bitchy, not sure what to pick at: Grapes or a scab? Chop a piece of cheese. Scrape a soap to soothe? Or shall I spread my legs and gently cut fine lines into my labia?
No, a sharp intake of breath through flared nostrils, eyes wide and eyebrows high, shoulders up, I quickly pull my fingers back from the shiny sharp blade.
Exhale. Wait. Wait. Wait. Take time, wind yourself up more…. Don’t come to quickly. Ride the resentments for a while, make a night of it, why not spoil yourself? I talk aloud and smile like a sadist.
Time to get my ducks in a row. I have purpose, now.
Let me love and lap at the sore spots in my psyche. Over and over, soothing myself with painful and turgid memories of you. How purely you failed me. It is so utterly thrilling.