Back again with the level of acrid vitriol rising from my chest to my throat.
If only I could spew it out of me in one long projectile stream of self hatred.
And what triggered this beautiful nod towards all things grotesque? What caused the bile-like hatred to begin to burn? A dream. A fucking dream where I watched myself on a stupid home movie behaving in the obnoxious manner that I naturally adopted as the eldest child of three.
It wasn’t like I even really THOUGHT about it.
By midday, I was making sef deprecating remarks and wincing at the contradictions.
By about 6 I was seething. Wanting and needing some kind of punishment.
By tonight I was desperate to shred my skin. To use a wood plane from my toes to my shoulders. From the inside of my ankle to my crotch.
Yes. Messed up. I don’t profess to be anything else right now.
There is not a single shadow of a soul I can speak this hatred to.
Not a person on earth who knows how much I hate that little girl who I was.
I am burning up in the flames of my own hatred.
I feel very alone and very, very frightened.
Somewhere, somehow, lies something that feels very, very dangerous.
It’s my fault.
My sister is my fault.
But perhaps I am angry enough with her to not really care.
I don’t know.
