I’m trapped by her. She won’t let me express myself. I can’t say it. I’ll trip all over my words. But I can write it.
I want to be happy for you, I do. She won’t let me. I want to ask about your day, and actually care. Again, she won’t let me. I want to tell you how much I genuinely appreciate you. But, she won’t let me.
In my head, she’s an absolutely gorgeous young woman. A slimmer face, smaller shoulders, more curvy. She smells amazing. Probably like an expensive perfume that she keeps in an expensive bag. She’s got clear, soft skin with the cutest button nose and full lips to compliment it.
Everyone envies her. If you don’t like her, it’s because you’re jealous. That’s the obvious answer. You only know what she wants you to know. The “story” she struggles to keep consistent with as she relays it to different people. She’s doesn’t want you to succeed. She doesn’t want you to be happy. She’s manipulative. She's a bully. She’s a bitch.
She thinks she deserves the world. She creates fairytales and fantasies full of bullshit and absurdity. She tells you, you should do this and that. But she won’t let you. She’s a horrible friend. An even worse girlfriend.
She’ll let you fall in love with a possibility. It’s so easy for her to make you get caught up in daydreams. Incredibly unrealistic daydreams. And when they don’t happen, she doesn’t care if it makes you cry.
And when you think you’re getting better, she’ll make you stand in front of a mirror. Look at yourself, she’ll say. You need me. You need me to make you think you’re feeling better. She’ll tell you, you don’t deserve this. This person is too good for you. Lead them on. Take them for granted. Sabotage sabotage sabotage because you don’t deserve them! Because you only need me.
She’s chest pain. She’s an unsettled stomach. She’s trouble breathing. She’s weight gain. She’s weight loss. She’s a messy room. She’s a dirty car. She’s excessively long naps. She's restless nights. She's overeating. She’s not showering for days. She’s not shaving when you absolutely need to. She's night sweats. She’s a bad hair day. She’s acne. She’s loneliness. She’s anxiety. She’s depression.
I hate her. And I hate that I still want to be her.
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