THERAPY TALES PART 4: A SHORT STORY

Short story based on real facts

I’m unsure whether I’d dare to summon you up. My knees get weak by the thought of standing in front of you: my almighty inner demon. I swear, I’d go down on my knees in front of you. I would not mind you talking back to me as you wish. Shout and yell at me. To you this wouldn’t mean the same thing. Because to you, I’m the living proof we made it out of this. Alive.

It didn’t take me a whole decade to remember you. On the opposite, it took me ten years to cope with the damage you caused to me back then. There was not a single day where I would not replay the whole scenario in my head. On some high nights my spirit levitates and takes my thoughts back to you.

I closed you up in the furthest, deepest and darkest part of myself. Somewhere no one would like to go, not even my therapist. Abandoning you there only made you stronger and more damage-proof. You’re a tough bitch and I have to respect you for that.

But here I am now and once you’re done yelling and shouting at me, I wish you’d take a moment to considerate the following things I’m about to say. I never meant to abandon you there to neglect your existence. But you were demanding and could even become life-sucking. First, I did it for them. But also, you never let me sleep at night, you needed constant company but I was on the edge of failing my academic year. I’m sorry you feel like I owe you an apology. You should know we don’t apologize to each other. I never heard you feel any remorse for pushing me down the cliff numerous times. Why did you do that by the way? Ugh, forget it, as far as I remember you’re quite bad with answers.

You had some serious behavioral issues I couldn’t endorse. Even though I allowed you to cross the line several times, thinking that giving you some space would soften you. But you’re a bloodthirsty bitch who can’t have enough. I never really went along with your obsession with boys with the purpose of hurting them for the sake of my so-called dignity. Once you took over there was not much left from that dignity; not much left but aches. I can’t blame you entirely, after all you’re the one that taught me about the science of self-guilt. However as much as we relate to this, don’t shy off of your very personal contribution.

Why did you always have to try me? You were unable to form an equitable pact, one that would make us stronger together. While I was craving for your support, you shamelessly took advantage of my weaknesses. Trusting you was a 50/50 bet you cheated on to win. I hated your persistence which you liked to call ambition. Girl, proving yourself to others by talking down on other girls is cheap. You never intended to make me better, your goal was clearly to absorb every ray of light to make it your own kingdom. I got you there.

Matter of fact, you do have your kingdom, you’re the goddess of the wicked. Never have I ever heard similar statements, dipped in cruel self-destruction, as yours. Your passive-aggressiveness is the core of your existence and this should be pretty self-explanatory. The times you held a gun to my head to get high on adrenaline, is a clear example among many others. Bitch, you might not be aware, but things burn down when you snap. No one can live like that. Your attitude problems turn you into the most unlivable roommate aka mind-mate to have around. What’s with the week-long hunger strikes? And the constant need of lighting up one cigarette after another? Not to mention your expensive lifestyle…

You were born that night when I was only fourteen and it’s been a decade now. Your career has been long and as far as we can conclude, it was a successful one. But now it might be time for you to retire and give in. This place is not appropriate for you anymore, it doesn’t fit your environmental needs. I can’t feed you with anymore resentment or self hatred, my stocks ran low. Your craftsmanship was nevertheless appreciated while I was having harder times. You never let me down, whether for good intentions or not. After a decade I think it’s best for you and me to move on. We don’t do the same drugs no more, girl.

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Hanna Martins

student in her twenties with a lot of opinions

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