With you I hurt myself.

I don’t like who I am around you.

I don’t like who you are around me.

I can’t really tell you these words. The fear of you getting hurt by my truth and the terror of what you do with your pain stands like a soundproof wall making sure you can’t hear.

I always thought I was responsible for the turmoil inside you. An other burden I carried.

A belief that taking care of you and your mental health before I get a chance to take care of my own sanity is still very much activated in my system. In fact I have plenty of practice around me to keep that belief remain alive.

I look for you in everyone and secretly beg for them to give me the responsibility of what is hard for them to carry around then they feel better and abandon just like you did.

That is my victim story.

My friends see that I am leaving myself behind, neglecting the part in me who wants to work hard energetically to fix and rescue everyone.

I spent hours being tortured around you that s all I know of our relationship.

An ally in your suffering, and in the chaos inside your head that is what you find in me. You can wear a mask that softens the tone of your voice and a few polite words you use in public when you want to look good as you approach me and lure me into your trap.

Not this time I say. Clear loud not this time. This time I see what your doing. I smell the illness from far, and even though the familiar feels good to some parts who had gotten use to sick safety and refuge in you care, most of me knows better.

It s amazing to know that I have zero control of what goes on in that sick head of your. I do have control over reminding myself that your opinion and your definition of what is good or bad is ill.

You enjoy seeing people hurt and have what you call problems that gives you the impression that everyone suffers and you and everyone is not uniq in their suffering.

You normalize the cruelty one does to oneself the cruelty you do to yourself and others. You think you can hide and run away from the one who show you the exit door of the prison you locked yourself in.

You enjoy and find comfort in your sickness I can’t stand this.

You try and convince me that you have grown and you are not as sick anymore. I don’t see growth. I see a mechanism well in place that you wake up to every morning and press the button play.

The way you attract your pray is by charming them into thinking they matter and they are important to you. Once your pray bites the hook you make them your procession in that moment you poison them with something that clouds there thinking and blinds them you hypnotize them to see you as this helpless thing who can only be saved by it s pray. You get served you demand then you give them the impression that they have to make up with more serving for mistakes you convince them they make. They. Screw up then have to redeem themselves.