Alone, on the floor. Cold. Sensationally, not so much temperature. These thoughts.. these thoughts. Flickering between blackouts I wish I could remember and memories I wish I could forget. This basement room, I belong here. Misfit of the house. Lazy, stupid, unwanted, guilty. My newest titles.
I wonder if I can put all that on my résumé.
Stammering, stuttering, sputtering. Wandering. Where oh where…? Here. Found it. Tool box, in the garage. So convenient. And the memories, they come.
Crying? Not I, not I. Overreacting. Tears fix nothing. Nothing. I am strong. I can handle all things. I can make sense, I can make order. I control all things.
If your father comes, call the police. He shouldn’t, but just in case. He’s dangerous.
Talk about jinxing it. Within an hour, who’s banging on the door? Anyways who thought of all glass doors? So vulnerable. So guilty. I’m sorry I can’t let you in.. Mommy said not to. I can’t. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.
What an awful reflection. Tear-streaks and sweat are not a good look for anyone. How did I get here? Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the bravest of them all? You are.
I am brave. So I can’t cry. So I can’t scream. So I can’t complain, or talk, or explain. I can calm. I can control. This is what I do. I can play games, maybe I’m smart enough for that.
Just a bit of packaging in the way, not too hard to remove. No match for my nails. Being a girl is awesome. Long nails are such great tools. But I have something even better in store.
This cycling. It isn’t real. None of it. It’s an act, my mind is playing a trick. I am an attention whore, and I am needy. So very thirsty for affection, for understanding. Weakness. I am weak. Not brave.
A game. I know how to play now.
Slowly now. Not too hard, not too soft. The tear. Sounds so familiar, so welcoming. I love it. This is what love is. Consistency, control.
Here’s the wild card. How long will it last? Iron and salt fill my nostrils. Today, maybe I just let it flow. I always thought red was my color.
Wait for it. Wait for it.
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