He says (again) that it's not his fault. It's never his fault. It must be my fault then (again)... He's safe in the knowledge that I will gladly accept the blame (again). I've been raised to do so, after all! It's only logical! And I'm an idiot because I get some sort of sick pleasure out of it, making others feel happy and safe, while neglecting to do the same thing for myself. Like a Mother Teresa syndrome but not quite.
I know a thing or two about nightmares and the people that cause them. I know how it feels, wanting to sleep but being afraid to close your eyes. I know all about guilt. About things you've done or wish you had. And I know perfectly well that, even though I am my own worst enemy, my personal hell is other people and the disappointed looks they give me. They all disappoint me but God forbid I do the same to them! Well, you know what? I'm done!
I will write some magnificent poetry (even if no one ever reads it) and I will allow myself some pleasure, not the sick kind, no, the real kind! And I won't care about what he says or doesn't say, and he can fuck off for all I care! And I won't think twice before eating chocolate! No, sir, never again! And all this love I have inside my heart? You don't want it? Your fucking loss! I'm better off without whatever it was you thought you were offering me. You almost convinced me to stop writing, you pathetic little cockroach! Go back to your tiny desk and your "perfect" life while I write about how sorry I feel for you! I DON'T NEED YOU or your criticism which is not constructive AT ALL! Worthless? Maybe I am. But you're not fit to judge me.
I know a thing or two about nightmares and the people that cause them. I know how it feels, wanting to sleep but being afraid to close your eyes. I know all about guilt. About things you've done or wish you had. And I know perfectly well that, even though I am my own worst enemy, my personal hell is other people and the disappointed looks they give me. They all disappoint me but God forbid I do the same to them! Well, you know what? I'm done!
I will write some magnificent poetry (even if no one ever reads it) and I will allow myself some pleasure, not the sick kind, no, the real kind! And I won't care about what he says or doesn't say, and he can fuck off for all I care! And I won't think twice before eating chocolate! No, sir, never again! And all this love I have inside my heart? You don't want it? Your fucking loss! I'm better off without whatever it was you thought you were offering me. You almost convinced me to stop writing, you pathetic little cockroach! Go back to your tiny desk and your "perfect" life while I write about how sorry I feel for you! I DON'T NEED YOU or your criticism which is not constructive AT ALL! Worthless? Maybe I am. But you're not fit to judge me.
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