read it carefully
the same damned he who i watched have his way with my mother; wrapped her in his arms and covered her in blankets of despondency and made her create a facade that was … exactly that. a facade.
he, who i never thought i’d personally meet, crept his way up to me slowly, emerging from the shadows. you couldn’t imagine my surprise when i saw him, i thought i already knew him well enough, from watching him on the sidelines but, suddenly, he was there when i closed my eyes, and when i opened them, and he quickly made a comfortable home inside of me.
i hate him.
he always tells me that nothing is okay.
he belittles me and yells at me until the tiny insecurities i held inside the back of my mind feel like a ticking bomb inside of my chest that has two seconds left until it explodes. he holds posters up of every single thing i’ve done today and tells me why it was all wrong. why didn’t i just listen to him? why didn’t i just stay in bed, like he told me to do?
and then i’m screaming, but i’m locked inside of a room with no lights, and there’s no windows, and the door that i thought was there a second ago isn’t there anymore, and i’m yelling for someone to come and help me but no one does. except him. he does. he comes, he always does. he lulls me into his false sense of security and comforts me, telling me that no one will ever love me the way he does. he holds me throughout the night and latches himself to me throughout the day, he always knows the right thing to say.
i hate him.
he dips me in the refrigerator light, and he douses me in gasoline and then lights me on fire, and i’m thankful for it. and on the days i’m finally moving on from him, after he said that one thing that pushed me too far, he opens the front door and steps right back inside of me, but he’s bought his best friend with him this time. he always brings his best friend with him when i’m being stubborn. i am the skin and bones and he owns everything else. he sits inside of me, with his feet on the controls and steers me the way he wants; him and his best friend having their way, like they always do. they’ve always got their feet on my pedals.
i hate them.
he’s my deepest regret and my most passionate insecurity. he’s the things that go bump in the night and everything painful all at once. he’s every nightmare and darkest thought put in a big box and tied nicely together with a bow on the top. the first day he came to me, the note welcomed me to the first day of hell, and oh my fucking god i wish i never opened that box.
i guess he’s not a he after all, he’s an it.
i hate it.