I guess you won now. I hate you more than anything, yet I miss you. I miss you and in my head there is a voice that says everything has been a lie. Everything. I tend to let my hands linger in the air to see if they’re really there. I’ll stare at people to try and see if they’re real. I’ll hear a soft whisper of your voice, or feel like I smell you somewhere and it’s like you’re inside me. And the voice says, you asked for it you little brat you should have been worse off, this is nothing, you could have stopped it but you never did and you never knew and you should have. You’re everywhere. I’m branded, marked. Even if I change my name you’re inside, I see you in my nose and in my eyes and in my hands and the toes of my left foot and the way my skin itches and the way I tan really bad and the way my pores clog up in the areas where the skin is from your genetics. I want to empty myself. My wrists ache. Every time I feel happy I get a pang of guilt. I never know who to trust or who to believe or who really wants me or loves me or wants to help. And there are moments when I can’t move and the voices get too loud. Telling me to jump under a train or a tram or a car because it’s all my fucking fault that it turned out like this. Maybe it’s true and I don’t deserve to be here. Maybe that’s why even the plants I have end up dying. I don’t know what’s real anymore. I have to remind myself that I’m awake. I have moments when I forget what the hell is happening. And the voices inside say die die die die. And it’s really hard not to listen. So I’ll curl up under blankets and tables and try to shake it out and when I can’t it just stays there and it will talk to me and touch me and I hate it. I have used up all there is of me to get answers but the truth is I never receive any. Everything is left loose or open or buried. Everyone wants to forget and have a simple life. Let go and start over. But I cannot. I simply cannot. All I can do is try to live through one more day, and then one more day. But I’m never enough.

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