There is so much in me that is an echo of her. I wonder if I am looking at my future, that she is what I will become. I wear my heart on my sleeve just like her and I am just as transparent. I am creative like her and caring like her and selfless. I am sad and angry and lonely just like her. My words are my sharpest weapon and I have used them to tear people to shreds as they stand before me so they can feel my pain.
I’ve seen beauty in me that reminds me of her and I’ve seen ugliness that screams her name leaving me with incessant thoughts bouncing around my mind that I am ‘just like her’.
And I don’t want to be.
But she is in me because she raised me, she taught me that when people upset you you are to arm yourself and reduce them to nothing. She taught me to scream and throw things and use my fists or anything I could find as a weapon. She taught me to make violent threats and force them to fear you because they don’t care enough to love you.
I don’t want to hurt people.
So I turn it on myself.
I retreat and punch walls, cut flesh and watch the blood drip, internalise and hate myself, remind myself that they are not bad for not loving me. I am not worthy of being loved. I restrain myself and go numb, dissociate so I can’t feel the hate and pain. The shame of knowing she is in me, the shame of the rage that boils in me and wants to burn this world.
I’ve become complacent, I take what is thrown at me for fear that my reaction will scar someone. I avoid telling people how I feel so they don’t have a chance to let me down. They can’t hurt me if I don’t let them in and in turn I won’t hurt them.
I am not violent, only towards myself.
I am not aggressive but I am angry.
I am armed with words and I bite my tongue, hard.
She may be in me but I will die before I let myself become her.